#and if someones gonna vague me about not condemning the Bad Ones of course i dont fucking mean incest when im talking about crackships

[eggsploded]

skimming hstwt and getting blasted by real shipping discourse funny as hell how can you have this many qualms about pairings being 'more plot cohesive' than others. thought this was crackship depot

[twist-shout-and-shells]

Loki: Religious Predestination v Free-Will

And how that affects his relationship with Mobius, narratively speaking

So. In case it isn’t clear by *gestures at my whole blog*, I’m a Supernatural blog. I’m a DeanCas blog. I haven’t been around much lately because there are very important, Orwellian things going on in Brasil, but I still keep up with the fandom. And, more important to this post, I still keep up with whatever Marvel’s doing, which means I get up at 7 am every Wednesday to watch Loki.

(Before we start, I’d like to note that I had never actually published any meta on Tumblr. The most I had done was give it to my philosophy and biology teachers as school essays. So, bear with me, okay?)

Well, what does Supernatural have to do with Loki? Not much, except for the narrative they very obviously share. The characters are different, their motivations too, and so are many of the variables that surround, but deep down, at the core, it is the same narrative of Religious Predestination versus Free-Will. And yes, that drives me all the way up the walls.

Religious Predestination is the idea that all events, past, present, and future have been foretold, “written”, predicted by divine, omnipotent beings. There are different types of Predestination, but the two I think fit the most here are Double Predestination and Middle Knowledge (yes, most of my knowledge of this comes from Wikipedia, sue me).

The first claims that God (or whichever omnipotent divine being is responsible for the predestination, in this case, the Time-Keepers) chooses from his own will who will be “condemned” and who will be “saved”. This applies to the show when we consider the fact that Loki has been “predestined” to be a villain. Is all he’s ever been, it’s what he was “born to be”, while the Avengers were all born to be heroes, according to the decrees of the Time-Keepers.

Meanwhile, Middle Knowledge defends that, before the creation of the world (or, in this case, the Sacred Timeline), God already knew every choice that every free-will possessing creature could make in any given circumstance, and He chose the “timeline” that most suited his will. This version also makes sense when we consider the existence of multiple timelines and that the Time-Keepers united them and decided what would be the proper flow of time.

Now, which exact version of Religious Predestination to pick isn’t exactly my point here. My point is that I) everything about the TVA screams Religious Predestination allegory, from the minutemen and other agents being “created” to the words “decree” and “dictate” being thrown around whenever Ravonna is on screen or someone’s talking about the Time-Keepers (who just so happen to be kind of worshipped at the TVA, as there are so many statues of them. They are treated like gods. They are gods.). Do you know what else is a Religious Predestination allegory? Blade Runner. Do you know what was one of the main inspirations for the TVA’s design? Blade Runner! That could mean nothing or that could mean something given *gestures vaguely at the rest of this post*.

So. Loki seeks to escape his “Destiny”. He wants to make his own choices without them being decreed by divine, omnipotent beings. He wants his successes and failures (but mostly his successes) to be his own, and, most important, he doesn’t want to be what everyone expects him to be. Not anymore. Not after what he saw at the TVA. Because everyone is telling him that he was “born to be” a villain (or, at the very least, a side character), he will now want to prove to everyone that he can be more than that. Because he is that “insubordinate, stubborn, and unpredictable” (even if he plans on overthrowing the TVA, I don’t think he sees that as an act of villainy. Maybe he never even planned on actually overthrowing the TVA, maybe he just wanted to get the Variant).

And Mobius, well. Mobius is a good TVA agent. Not all good, of course, ‘cause he has shown more than once that he doesn’t completely agree with how the TVA does things (“They should be scared” “Not of us”), even though, at the end of the day, he believes in them and accepts their mission because he believes they are doing the right thing (unless I’m completely wrong about Mobius, he is the true villain of the show, and has an evil plan of his own. Sorry, I saw a post and now I’m paranoid). So, what happens when an already questioning, though devoted, agent of the Time Variance Authority like Mobius comes into contact with someone like Loki, who pretty much worships Chaos? After having studied Loki’s whole life, and admittedly being a big fan? Well, this happens:

(If looks could kill indeed, Mobius)

Loki is supposed to drag Mobius out of his comfort zone at the TVA, to make him question things harder. Because it would seem “good people are never truly good”, so what’s behind the TVA’s Orwellian, Blade Runner-y scenario? And, even if they’re just really boring and full of paperwork, why should anyone dictate the proper flow of time? What about Free-Will, what about Chaos?

That is how this sort of narrative is supposed to go. Because Loki and Mobius are complete opposites in where they came from and who they wanna be, but at the same time, they’re much alike, as Ravonna even says. She accuses Mobius of being just as insubordinate and stubborn as Loki is. Loki was born and he wanted to be king because he thought (and was led to believe) it was his birthright. Now he wants to tell his own story more than ever ‘cause how dare the Time-Keepers predestinate Loki. Meanwhile, Mobius was created and all he’s ever known is the TVA’s order. But he is stubborn at heart and he craves humanity (the jet ski???), even if he believes he can’t have it because it’s too chaotic or simply not meant for him.

Mobius doesn’t see Loki as a villain (“no one bad is ever truly bad”?). He believes that Loki can be better. And Loki, if I’m reading this right, should help Mobius see that he’s, you know, kind of working for an authoritarian agency, what with “dictating the proper flow of time” and all that. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Multiversal war this, multiversal war that, but isn’t Doctor Strange’s next movie called Multiverse of Madness? Also, has anyone ever actually met the Time-Keepers? Or do all the TVA agents just blindly follow their orders? Maybe we’re bound to have a Multiverse by the end of this anyway.)

(And I’ve seen this narrative before. Faithless man meets angel, makes angel question Heaven’s orders, angel finds out Heaven is not that good after all, angel literally fall for the faithless man. In between, there is a lot of staring and standing too close and betrayals. It’s ridiculous how similar it is.)

So, where was I going with all of this…look, narratively speaking, from what we’ve seen so far, these two are a perfect match (and I’m not even mentioning Loki’s thing for older men in positions of power, which Mobius is completely aware of

). But there is a big, big distance between the narrative pointing towards something and the creative (though, let’s be honest, probably the executive) powers following through.

Now, it wasn’t just the Religious Predestination thing that caught my attention here, no. It wasn’t even the Blade Runner parallels (I’m quite sure Loki has Galatians Syndrome, but that’s a whole other post). It was how similar the plot of Loki is to the plot of Where Mischief Lies by Mackenzi Lee. It caught my attention to the point that I’m nervously glancing at my book while writing this. But I don’t want this to be too long, so I’m gonna put that on a separate post.

Anyway, I hope at least some of this made sense, and thank you so much for reading through my rambling!

[mugionthewater]

Tsumugi Shirogane Deepdive: Prologue

I’m in a DR mood right now, and really enjoying revisiting Tsumugi in particular, so I thought I’d do a chapter-based retrospective focusing on all the cool Tsumugi material! A reread project especially rewarding for a character like Mugi, so I’m really excited.

In this series, I’m focusing a lot on all the foreshadowing, and also what we can extrapolate about Tsumugi’s true character along the way. I’ll be doing this chapter-by chapter, including the prologue as well as an installment for her Free Time Events.

Full spoilers for V3 under the cut.

The Pre-Prologue

We first see Tsumugi in the gym by the exisals to get their uniforms and their memories. Tsumugi herself has four lines of dialogue in this scene, nothing that particularly stands out, but there are a couple of things worth noting about how she (and everyone else) is dressed.

Kaede describes how she was kidnapped on her way to school, and it sure looks like that’s the case for almost everyone in the room. We’re used to seeing DR characters in flashy outfits that vaguely resemble school uniforms but actually reflect their individuality, so when the game first shows them in an ensemble lineup like this, it’s a lot more striking.

Not so much in this CG. While there are plenty of visual details that tell us about these characters (Saihara’s already hiding under a hat in his sprites; Iruma is revealing; Kiibo and Gonta are buttoned up and orderly, but Kaito’s shirt and jacket are undone to show a bold-colored undershirt), their uniforms look like they’re doing what uniforms are supposed to do: be bland and blend in.

What about Tsumugi? Tsumugi wears a basic uniform like everyone else, but this is where we get the game’s first indication that all is not what it seems with this girl. The clue is the blue. She is the only one in the lineup whose primary color isn’t a neutral tone. What’s more, it’s the same shade of blue Tsumugi is associated with throughout the game. Visually, part of her is already in character as Tsumugi Shirogane, SHSL Cosplayer.

Of course, there’s a much bigger item foreshadowing Tsumugi as the bad guy, which is that in advance of everyone getting their “memories”, the main emphasis is their new clothes delivered by the Monokubs.

There are a couple of reasons the clothes are significant. For starters, there’s a direct line to Tsumugi’s cosplay talent. For anyone inclined to suspect her before starting the game on account of her talent (and her general don’t-look-at-me-I’m-not-suspicious vibes), this is immediate theory fodder. This also primes the audience to look at the setting of V3 with a critical eye, between the contrast of the kids’ boring outfits and their flashy new ones and the Monokubs making explicit references to starting the “story“, there is an immediate suggestion of artifice that runs all the way down to their identities. Not for nothing is Kaede’s magical girl transformation visually similar to the memory light.

Another thing: pre-memory light, the person in the room whose outfit is the least uniform-y is Amami.

At the very least, it’s a look that’s noticeably more casual than what most of the cast is wearing. After Chapter 6, we know that Amami made it to the end of the 52nd Killing Game before he and Tsumugi were condemned to execution via participating in the next killing game- which he seems to be realizing in this scene- so it’s possible they’re coming right off the heels of the last killing game. It’s an ongoing mystery what his relationship with her was like up to this point? Does he know she’s the ringleader? Is “Tsumugi Shirogane“ anything like the person she was in the last killing game, assuming she was even there?

I’m not confident Tsumugi really switched to a new persona for the 53rd Killing Game, even though fake identities is kind of her whole deal. I’ll get more into why in this series, but I think a lot of the character we see in the game is the “real“ Tsumugi, to the extent that such a person even exists.

Introducing Tsumugi Shirogane: Professional Cosplayer, Sex God

If you go back and read the promotional blurbs for V3, Tsumugi’s mention her tendency to get so lost in thought that she’ll ignore everyone around her. This little trait isn’t super weird at first, until you realize later in the game that she doesn’t carry the shtick past the first chapter. It’s like she wrote the character blurbs herself, realized everybody has a wacky “thing“ that would come up immediately in the introductions, and came up with an act of low-grade wackiness so she’d fit in in the prologue.

This is great stuff, looking back. It gives an intro in brief to the many contradictions of Tsumugi Shirogane. On one hand, it’s overly phony and performative. But on the other hand, there’s a core of truth there about her character- she really is someone who stays in her thoughts without a care for anyone around her, albeit less in the cute way and more in the horrifying sociopath kind of way.

It also tells us something important about Tsumugi’s commitment to the Killing Game. She cares about maintaining the integrity of this world and its characters, but is pretty indifferent about maintaining a role for herself. She doesn’t give a shit about having a storyline or even much of a character. The pleasure of DR comes from what she can get as an observer/consumer. 

This is entirely consistent with what she tells Kaede and Saihara about herself and her feelings about cosplay in the actual introduction.

This is the ethos that makes me wonder how dishonest Tsumugi really is. She’s dishonest as hell, of course, but given that she later applies the entire DR LARP reality show experience as “cosplay“, what she says about her convictions largely rings true. She clearly cares about making her tribute an authentic one (lol), which extends to her being the primary creative director inside her fiction bubble.

It partly explains why she spends the next five chapters being little more than furniture. In her mind, her job as a producer precludes her from being a character in her own right, because doing anything to pull focus is tantamount to self-promotion, and, well, that’s an abuse of power that gets in the way of the story!

(sidebar: there are some fascinating things we could speculate about what she says about cosplay relates to her relationship with the rest of Team Danganronpa and the outside world, but this post is getting long, so I’ll save it for another day)

Like everything else about Tsumugi, it’s not until the end that you can fully contextualize how sinister she’s being here. What she passes off as a cute passion for cosplay is actually a bone-deep sense of consumer entitlement taken to a logical extreme. Tsumugi is a more vicious indictment of terrible nerds and a selfish fandom than anything Hifumi Yamada could embody. She loves DR so much, and feels so strongly that nobody should be participating in DR with any corrupt motives, that anything less than the real deal is unacceptable. To this end, she will happily transplant entirely new emotional realities on the others so that even the emotional torture of the Killing Game is authentic. In Tsumugi’s selfish nerd brain, this is the important part of the drama of Killing Games, and anyone who disagrees with her approach is a fake fan who doesn’t deserve any kind of creative control.

Anyways, there’s more to say about Tsumugi’s introduction, so moving on

Some pretty overt foreshadowing here. In the Japanese script, her reference is ep. 53 of Kiteretsu Daihyakka instead of Doraemon. I like the change for the dub, even though it’s pretty obvious. Someone who knows DR primarily through the dub is less likely to know about the franchise’s connection to Doraemon, anyway.

Tsumugi also points out the weird dragon statue in the hallway that will lead into a new part of the school down the line. It’s a neat little metatextual trick on the audience, because it’s the kind of thing that’s not suspicious at all on a first playthrough. She’s an NPC in a DR game, of course her dialogue is gonna point out plot devices that will be relevant shortly, but on a reread you know she’s being deliberate about it. This is far from the last time this kind of thing happens with Tsumugi.

Lastly, this charming observation from Kaede about why she’s maybe not so plain afterall.

Kaede puts it in the worst way possible, but it’s interesting that she, a person with a generally good read on people, decides immediately that there’s more to Mugi than meets the eye. Not only that, she relates it specifically to an audience spending a lot of time looking at her. If she were any less gross about it, Kaede making this kind of observation would land like a big clue.

This leaves us with the biggest question from the prologue: if Kaede wasn’t too busy being horny and gay, could she have put two and two together and thwarted the ringleader?

There is SO much more to say about Tsumugi, so I’m really excited to dig deep into other chapters!

[leutik]

Literature between Political Correctness and Cancel Culture

(Analyzed through Walter Siti, Natalie Wynn and Rick DuFer.)

(buckle up, because if you're gonna read this, it's gonna be long)

«Today is much easier to mistake an author’s personal stances with the content of their works, and then make the author pay for the work’s sins.

Today I look around and I have the sensation that literature is no longer taken seriously: that the way to interpret literature the way I knew it, depth-focused, focused on the power of words to reveal truths otherwise concealed to their own author, is disappearing — substituted by a conception of literature that has to serve a list of good causes.

When some writers of the “neo-effort” (Siti’s neologism) insist on the fact that words are decisive, and that it’d be urgent to change the words in order to change reality, I’m suddenly reminded of those old Marxist authors: they explained that the structure, which is what lays under society, determines what lays upon it, that is words and ideology. Thus, changing the name of something doesn’t change the thing the word stands for at all.

Literature has been considered throughout time the most indicated form to make resurface the part of ourselves — often, the least pleasant — that we’ve exiled in the shadows of our subconscious: a process that often happens without the author’s acknowledgement of it.

The authors of the neo-effort believe they have the duty to spread their ideas to the largest possible number of people and that, in order to do so, they have to simplify as much as they can what they write, sacrificing on the altar of efficiency the style, considered useless. The aim is to do good, namely gain an effect, what does it matter if it’s good or bad literature? Literature used to “take root”, to influence; put at the service of pre-established ideas, and not to venture into the discovery of something we don’t know yet. This way, it gains an ancillary role. And it’s a humiliation of literature — which can truly be useful, instead, only then it hurts.

Sartre’s “Nausea” doesn’t align with his political stances. For Sartre, the effort was the individual reflection of a society in perennial revolution, substantially a school of liberty, whilst for neo-effort the role of literature is to reassure.

Their attitude, their rejection of style, their low consideration of literature, tends to isolate the good writers out there, marginalizing them in a niche that looks like a convention of obsessed aesthetes in the public’s eyes.

I see it in the writing courses I teach: more and more young people whose main interest isn’t to write to learn something about themselves or society, but it’s to write to gain the title of writer and place themselves on the market, detecting the most profitable sector at the moment, which might be fantasy, crime, or effort-centred writing: it doesn’t matter, what matters is for it to be trending and to be reassuring to the reader, in a more and more therapeutic conception of writing.

Literature isn’t immediately therapeutic, this is the difference. When “The Sorrows of Young Werther” was published, copies of this book were burnt, because of the suicides it inspired. Today we read it at school. How much time has passed? I don’t refuse knowledge’s benefit, I refuse that knowledge can benefit instantly, painlessly. When I went to a psychoanalyst to face my neurosis, the psychoanalyst made me suffer for months, and only after I took benefit from it. What would have happened if they had welcomed me with a pat on the back and said “Don’t worry, stop thinking and go help African children”. Probably I would have had an immediate benefit, but all my neurosis would have stayed there, intact.

The Literature I talked to you about is depth-centred, and literature hasn’t always existed: thus it can disappear, sink for many years. Who said that it’ll survive, despite everything?

In Pasolini’s trial he was acquitted because Ungaretti was called to testify. He wrote a letter where he wrote that the formal value of Pasolini’s work turned into literature even those scenes that the prosecution deemed obscene. Law couldn’t do anything but recognize the critical judgement and welcome it. Web’s tribunal, today, would have burned Pasolini at the stake, and Ungaretti with him.» (via Walter Siti’s interview with the Huffingtonpost)

In other words, we can summarize Siti’s view with the sentence «novels aren’t the cure to the world’s evils.» They aren’t, because they don’t have the power to be, and more so they aren’t even supposed to be: writing is a form of art, and art has primarily an end in itself. Literature isn’t a political marketplace, even if it can be used to be — it’s not a crime to turn it into one, but by doing so, one loses Literature’s nature. By doing so, the harm could be mistake literature’s primary aim (that is being a form of art, that is style, that is the pursuit of the truth) with what they turned literature into: a marketplace to defend the author’s ideology.

Siti’s powerful image of the Web’s tribunal, the Web’s court finds an echo in Natalie Wynn video Canceling: in a sense, what Siti calls “neo-effort writers” fall under the same line of thoughts of Cancel Culture perpetrators.

«Like the guillotine, [cancelling] can become a sadistic entertainment spectacle.

Now there's a version of this conversation that's already been had to death, and it goes like this: On the one side are a bunch of male comedians who constantly bitch about how Cancel Culture is out of control, you can't joke about anything anymore without these Millennial jackals trying to get you in trouble.

And the other side is mostly progressive think-piece authors who argue that there's no such thing as cancel culture, it's just that powerful people are finally being held accountable for their actions and they can't fucking handle it, so they go around bitching about cancel culture.

Now unfortunately, neither of those viewpoints is quite as correct as some people might hope.

What Cancel Culture does, [is to] take one story and transform it into a significantly different story.

Presumption of Guilt

There's a traditional understanding of justice according to which, before you condemn or punish a person, you hear the accuser's side of the story and the accused's side of the story. You allow both sides to present evidence and only after everyone involved has had a chance to make their case do you pass judgment and punish the convict.

But cancelling does not abide by the law. Cancelling is a form of vigilante mob justice. And a lot of times, an accusation is proof enough.

Abstraction

Abstraction replaces the specific, concrete details of a claim with a more generic statement.

Essentialism

Essentialism is when we go from criticizing a person's actions to criticizing the person themselves. We're not just saying they did bad things. We’re saying they’re a bad person.

Pseudo-Moralism or Pseudo-Intellectualism

Moralism or intellectualism provide a phony pretext for the call-out. You can pretend you just want an apology; you can pretend you're just a “concerned citizen” who wants the person to improve. You can pretend you're simply offering up criticism, when what you're really doing is attacking a person's career and reputation out of spite, envy, revenge.

No Forgiveness

Cancelers will often dismiss an apology as insincere, no matter how convincingly written or delivered. And of course, an insincere apology is further proof of what a Machiavellian psychopath you really are.

Now sometimes, a good apology will calm things down for a while. But the next time there's a scandal, the original accusation will be raised again as if you never apologized.

The Transitive Property of Cancellation

Cancellation is infectious. If you associate with a cancelled person, the cancellation rubs off. It's like gonorrhoea, except doxycycline won't save you this time sweetie.» (via Natalie Wynn's Canceling video transcript)

Natalie Wynn describes and formalizes the phenomenon of Cancel Culture in those steps:

I only listen to the presumed victim,

I abstract the context to a vague idea,

I equate the action to the actor’s very essence (as if such thing even existed),

I say I’m acting in favour of morals or truth,

I accuse every person the presumed abuser ever came in contact with to be an abuser as well,

and I either reject every form of apology at the moment, or bring up the issue as if no apology was ever made at their first misstep.

Now, in this post I’m not trying to perpetrate any concept of charity, not only because it’s an attitude that takes a lot of work to inherit, but also because the negative aspects that might bring one to be a neo-effort writer or a Cancel Culture perpetrator are part of the very human nature (or, very stupidly, they wouldn’t be humans.)

The self-evidence rises here: those negative parts of human nature can be channelled everywhere, and literature or any other form of art is the healthiest way to do so: you’re not going to get rid of your anger, or your sadness — the best thing you can do is learn to control it and suppress it, but how is it going to work in the long run? It’s going to act past your good judgement, or even cloud your good judgement, clouding it into thinking you’re defending some pseudo-moralism or pseudo-intellectualism, when what you’ll be doing is just venting on someone else.

This is one way to see it: when one forgets what proper thinking is and falls into those quick and gut-feeling “thoughts”. Or one could even take advantage of this Cancel Culture, of this ground of poor thinking to instrumentalize this lack of critical judgement to attack someone else.

On instrumentalization and its dangers, Rick DuFer says:

«Political correctness works when its aim is to protect the weak from abusers, but when it favours every little susceptible sensitivity it turns dangerous.» (via Rick DuFer’s podcast DailyCogito)

Rick DuFer talks about a shared responsibility that happens during offence: shared between the offender and the offended. The problem with offence, as opposed to harm, is that it isn’t quantifiable, so the offender is guilty in regard to their intentions, and the offended is guilty in regard to the instrumentalization they can enact with the situation.

And again we find “instrumentalization”: if one destroys my property, I can quantify the damage, but if one insults me, how can I quantify how offended I truly am? This is when I can twist one person’s words and turn them into an offender, this is when sensitivity becomes a mask and no longer a virtue (or, for the toxic masculinity’s thought, a vice.)

Now, to wrap things up:

These people take the (s)word of this school of thought (which some other dichotomists may, generalizing it, call it “Strong Thought” or “Unique Thought”), perhaps without even knowing there’s an alternative, while there are multiple, actually: as many as the human beings right now populating Earth.

They may do it out of a dualistic and very childish view of society — divided into good and bad people. And if that’s your view of life, you’re not gonna want to be associated with who others deem as bad, following a gut feeling and nothing more. (And I say “gut feeling” to avoid saying “very poor thinking”, because that’s what absolutization, essentialism, and the rest is.)

Your thoughts aren’t really yours, and you become a vessel for something that belongs to someone else, someone who crafted those thoughts in a very different context, or with instrumentalization in mind. You don’t want to risk criticizing those thoughts because you don’t want to be isolated, or because you’re a sane person who deems it important to act rightfully (even if you’re letting others tell you what “right” is.)

And for how problematic moral relativism is, it surely is better than any form of absolutization: better than rejecting your status as “sapiens” and stopping thinking altogether, passively accepting what others taught you to be right and wrong, maybe even out of fear, or a stupid rush for glory and sympathy.

So I wouldn’t call this moral relativism, strictly, but rather moral subjectivism, or context-centred morality. A morality in which people still have a brain to separate a piece of work from an author’s ideology (against essentialism) and to still take into account the context in which an action was performed (against abstraction). A morality in which “good” and “wrong” aren’t seen in black and whites, but rather into lighter and darker greys; a morality which systematic use can slowly dress into the habit of charity towards one another, into kind teaching rather than cruel instrumentalization.

And is it really utopistic, is it really unfeasible, if we’re not falsely annihilating the suffering and the negative parts of the Human Experience?

This whole discourse could be turned into a political marketplace of rights and lefts, of conservatives and progressivists — but my aim here is much smaller (or bigger, if one is a humanist): to make the reader question their critical thinking, and just that.

(We love some self-doubt.)

I believe moral acts aren’t supposed to be a badge to share on one’s vest — to renew your status as “approachable person” (as if saying “don’t worry, you can talk to me, you’re not going to be deemed as bad for it”) or to be praised for. Moral acts are the only acts that raise humans from other species, the acts where the “sapiens” shows its evolution, the acts where our negative aspects aren’t hidden but channelled into arts, without the fear that someone might call us bad for it. (Immoral, even, whilst acting in the most moral way possible, exorcising those negative parts of us in the least harmful way possible.)

So, at the end of this unnecessary rant, my question is: is it better to be a minion in a culture where you have to watch your mouth, as if it wasn’t yours, or to be a person who’s engaged in researching how right and wrong truly manifest?

[birdsy-purplefishes]

I have MANY thoughts and feelings about Midsommar.

Okay I saw Midsommar last night and it was an experience. So this post is probably going to be long and rambling and it is definitely 100% for-sure going to contain some spoilers. I’m gonna put a whole lot of it behind a Read More.

First, though, I want to say that while I thought this film was great it is definitely one of the most disturbing things I have ever seen. I went into it knowing almost nothing--and honestly I wouldn’t have been prepared even if I had read spoilers--and that was the ideal way to see it for me but there are many triggering things and some very problematic things in this film. I’m gonna try to be vague as possible but you might not not to watch this one if anything from the following list is something you can’t handle. That said: I am very easily disturbed by a lot of things and I found that this film was so bizarre that I never really felt like I couldn’t finish it. It’s... kind of weirdly selective about which gruesome stuff it shows and what it doesn’t. The most terrifying things to me were implied things and I didn’t realize them until after it had ended. Somehow... miraculously... this film didn’t come across as gore/torture-p*rn to me. So Trigger Warning / Content Warnings for this movie: Violence, blood, gore, horrible suffering. Sex, nudity. Mental illness and stigmatization/perpetuation of harmful myths about mentally ill people. Suicide. Ableism. Racism. A rape scene that I think most people didn’t even realize was a rape scene because it’s bizarre and left somewhat ambiguous. Emetophobia triggers. Body horror. A whole lot of drugs. Squicky grossout stuff. Emotional, psychological, and religious abuse. 

There’s probably other stuff I forgot. Basically everything horrible is in this movie. It was definitely worth it but it’s a hard watch.

Okay, now for spoilery stuff.

The backstory shown in the first few minutes is incredibly disturbing. Dani’s bipolar sister murders their parents and kills herself. It’s graphic. It’s disturbing. It definitely portrays suicide in a negative light, which is pretty much good, but: can horror movies stop perpetuating myths about mentally ill people?! This stuff is damaging! It makes mentally ill people out to be monsters and then ignorant people treat them worse. It makes mentally ill people feel like there isn’t any hope for them! This part sucked a lot. The only interpretation of this that isn’t awful is the fan theory that there are clues in the background that suggest that the cult may have actually framed Dani’s sister but that’s kind of a stretch. None of the other foreshadowing in the film is as subtle as the supposed hints that the cult fabricated the whole thing so I doubt it.

The foreshadowing is actually super obvious. It’s the typical horror film where the characters have no idea what’s going on & you’re like “DUDE GET OUT OF THERE!” the whole time. People on the subreddit are pointing out all kinds of foreshadowing and even the tapestry at the beginning shows you who all of the characters are and like 90% of the story.

Dani’s boyfriend, Christian, sucks. His friends suck. There’s a lot of macho bullshit and they’re just cold and dismissive. And the boyfriend’s a manipulative little leech. You hate him so much! I found myself hoping that she’d kill them all except maybe the cute friendly Swede. Basically the entire movie he’s gaslighting and dismissing her and his friends talk shit about her constantly. It’s the typical “oh, women are irrational and over sensitive” macho bullshit. Like to the extent that all of them know about the murder-suicide of her entire family but none of them try to fucking shield her from seeing the suicide ritual. Not even the guys who know damn well what it is going into it!

The fact that they’re all anthropology majors and they go into it with a sense of cold detachment and an insistence on cultural relativism (or utter obliviousness) and it makes them total assholes wasn’t lost on me and I’m glad that someone went into detail: https://slate.com/culture/2019/07/midsommar-graduate-students-villains-ari-aster.html 

The bros say something about him dumping her and finding somebody who “actually likes sex” and there’s a lot of interpretations to that, none of which are less than horrible. Like does he try to pressure her into doing stuff she doesn’t want to? Probably! Like whether she has emotional or physical sexual dysfunction isn’t discussed and that’s kind of brilliant because even if she does have issues it’s not her fault at all and the dudes are g a r b a g e for even suggesting it.

The cute friendly Swedish dude (Pelle) who was the only one to be kind to Dani at all was actually the worst manipulator of all! He’s totally luring her in! He’s love-bombing and manipulating her! He literally “draws” her in. He does some forced-teaming shared-trauma bullshit. I gotta say though: I fell for it! I wanted her to dump the guy for him! I’m almost surprised that she didn’t fall for it. I think it’s more due to the fact that she’s traumatized and grieving than anything.

The most disturbing thing about the guy, though, is that I can’t decide if he does all of this because he’s evil or because he’s genuinely a true believer and believes with all his heart that he’s doing good things. That will haunt me forever tbh. Just... always watch out for guys who want to “save” you. They are the scariest fucking abusers.

The whole cult is love-bombing her, actually. The whole film is like Cult Tactics 101. They find a vulnerable young woman who’s lost everything. She doesn’t feel a sense of love and belonging anywhere. She has no support system unless you count her garbage basically-sociopathic-but-aloof boyfriend who really doesn’t count. Pelle hand-selected her because she’s the ideal cult brainwashing candidate. He’s seen firsthand just how much shit she takes from Christian and how she’s constantly falling for his gaslighting and tolerating him mistreating her. I was actually kind of disturbed at how many women I saw online reacting to the cult saying it was empowering or matriarchal. It’s not at all! The first elder we see leading things is female but the ones handling the book and enforcing the rules are men. I can only recall two women elders who do much of anything and they’re both just prominent parts of ceremonies. They’re announcers/performers. They’re definitely complicit but the men are behind the scenes controlling it. And look at the sex ritual! There’s no real emphasis on female pleasure and it’s all being a good little brood mare. It’s a performance. And small babies are kept away from their mothers to be raised communally. They send the mothers away from their babies! Even the May Queen role sucks if you think about it for even a second. The whole “we’re a family” thing is just creepy as hell. There’s even a lot of foreshadowing to it that I missed, like the guy who greets her shaking the mens’ hands but saying “welcome home” to her. Said guy also calls his traditional garb “girly” when Dani compliments it, btw! And of course the division of labor is patriarchal. The clothing is patriarchal too.

The mental health ableism stuff is bad but there’s ableism based on physical disability as well. Arguably it’s supposed to condemn the cult for fetishizing disabled people and promoting incest to deliberately create disabled people but... it still comes across as “look at this deformed kid” and it’s fucked up.

I can’t tell if the movie is trying to show us that the cult is racist or if the movie itself is racist. They kill off the three non-white outsiders pretty quick. Was that classic horror movie “the black guy dies first” bullshit or was that supposed to be like “look, these seemingly peaceful and loving people are xenophobic and racist and there’s a reason why all of them are super duper white despite bringing in outsiders”. Like I came out of the film definitely convinced that it’s no coincidence that the blue-eyed blonde chick gets singled out as special by these people.

It made me really uncomfortable to realize that the sex ritual is technically a rape scene. We get clues that Christian goes into it voluntarily to some extent, sure. When he knows that girl (and she does look like a young girl!) is trying to seduce him we don’t really see his reaction but he doesn’t seem to refuse outright. He seems ambivalent until he's offered the drugs but then he hears that they’ll make him lose his inhibitions, looks at the girl, and gulps the liquid. He saw it as an excuse to get away with cheating and he took it. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s drugged when he actually agrees to the sex. He’s tripping the whole time. He’s being pressured and prodded and even literally physically manipulated. He’s out of it. The girl seems kind of out of it too. It’s really fucked up. But like it’s so weird and you’re so mad at him for everything shitty he’s done to Dani that you’re just like what?! But when you think about the fact that he’s drugged and you see the way he’s horrified after he realizes what he’s done... it’s horrific. He was violated.

I like that we see just how viscerally traumatic it is to be cheated on. Dani vomits, collapses and wails. And our sympathies are with her.

The cultists imitation of their members’ suffering is actually deeply disturbing and a huge aspect of the love-bombing thing, especially for Dani. She goes from being barely held by her expressionless piece-of-shit boyfriend while she wails to having a whole bunch of women replicate and act out her suffering. They do this too at the botched suicide and the final scene. They even kind of do it when she fails to eat the fish. It kind of looks communal and empathetic but it’s a feigned empathy. It’s another way that people in the cult lose their own personal identities. Nothing is yours there! Not even your suffering is yours.

To be honest... I went to see this film ‘cause a lot of the reactions to it were women gleefully enjoying seeing a shitty boyfriend suffer a horrible fate. I’m always down for misandry and cinematography! BUT... this was just excessive. The boyfriend is a total bastard. He did kinda need to die tbh. But he basically gets tortured to death. It’s made pretty explicitly clear that it’s horrific. They make no effort to mercy kill him like they did to the elderly guy whose jump failed to kill him. And like... the actor even gets it. The guy’s a scumbag and he doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. He even backstabs Chidi From The Good Place! But what happened to him is just awful.

The director and the lead actor actually disagree about the ending! Ari Aster says that Dani knows what she’s doing when she condemns Christian to die. Florence Pugh says she’s out of it.

I say it doesn’t actually matter whether Dani chose to kill Christian or not or what her motive was. Honestly it might have been a mercy killing given the state that he was in! Like maybe it was revenge for her and maybe the cult did it to make her feel empowered but it sucks being forced to choose who lives and dies. It sucks that some creepy cultist basically stole her man. It’s the whole “a pedestal is the same as a cage” thing for sure.

Last thing I can think of for now: I’m very surprised and more than a little distressed at all the people--especially women--who see this as a happy ending for Dani. Sure, it’s kind of a dark fairy tale revenge fantasy. But she’s objectively worse off than she is at the beginning of the film! She’s brainwashed and trapped! Like... I forgot where I read this now but basically Aster says that she goes from with one gaslighter to being with an entire cult of gaslighters! What do you think is gonna happen to her in the future?! She’s gonna have to live with her dead boyfriend’s baby that he had with some rando chick if that fertility ritual worked! She’s gonna have to live in a shitty commune. She’s gonna have PTSD 5ever from everything that happened. It’s honestly a tragic and horrible ending.

I’m... still processing this. I know I’m gonna end up adding to this. Feel free to chime in and discuss it with me! This movie was just Intense. BONUS LINKSPAM: Good Takes And Shit!

https://www.cinemablend.com/news/2474518/jordan-peele-says-midsommar-has-the-most-atrociously-disturbing-imagery-hes-ever-seen

https://themuse.jezebel.com/boy-problems-whos-got-em-midsommar-does-1835878652

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/alisonwillmore/midsommar-ari-aster-florence-pugh

https://www.vulture.com/2019/07/the-end-of-midsommar-ari-asters-last-minutes-explained.html

https://www.vulture.com/2019/07/the-end-of-midsommar-ari-asters-last-minutes-explained.html

https://www.npr.org/2019/07/03/738422258/midsommar-shines-a-solstice-nightmare-unfolds-in-broad-daylight

EDIT: Also!!! This film?! Somehow is a comedy! It’s funny as fuck and I’m definitely going to hell for laughing!

[pass-the-bechdel]

Dollhouse season one full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

92.3% (twelve of thirteen).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

46.83%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Nine, over half (six of those were 50%+, one of them 60%).

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-eight. Thirteen who appeared in more than one episode, six who appeared in at least half the episodes, and one who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Forty-two. Eleven who appeared in more than one episode, five who appeared in at least half the episodes, and three who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Not good at all. The series is rife with violence against women and involves sexual assault on a constant basis, with acknowledgment or exploration of such inclusions intermittent and interlaced with excuses. Needless to say, it never even gets close to flirting with an above-average content rating (average rating of 2.76).

General Season Quality:

A mess. There are elements of good things here, and some episodes that utilise that potential, but mostly this is a show that doesn’t seem to know what it wants to do or how far it really wants to pursue its own promises, and it is full of dead air and extremely questionable storytelling, wrapped around one of the least-dynamic lead characters I’ve ever seen. It’s a recipe for failure, and a disappointing one at that, because done right, this could have been truly amazing.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Let’s nail down how consent works, because it might be the most important issue at the heart of this show that the writers just don’t seem to understand: consent is not a binding contract. Real consent is 

1. ongoing (may be revoked at any time if the individual in question wishes; must be re-established or renegotiated if the circumstances originally consented to change)

2. enthusiastic (if the individual becomes uncertain/uncomfortable with conditions, actions must halt until consent has been renegotiated and re-established)

3. informed (an individual cannot consent to terms that are obfuscated or omitted; consent gained through lies or trickery is not consent at all), and

4. willing (coerced consent - whether through threats, ultimatums, manipulation, or other means - is not real consent. If the individual is placed in a position where declining is not a viable safe option, they cannot give consent).

Pretty clear-cut, really. With that in mind, the only way that the Dollhouse could operate in an ethical manner would be if the dolls were genuine volunteers who were restored to their original personalities after every engagement, so that they could consider the requirements of each job as they arose and pick and choose which ones they were comfortable fulfilling; it would then also require that their imprinted personality include strict parameters agreed to beforehand to preserve their ability to revoke consent if their boundaries are violated. Of course, there would still be LOADS of ways for the technology to be abused, but that’s an irrelevant discussion in context, because that’s not how the Dollhouse operates. Many of the dolls are not willing participants from the outset, but even if they are, after being stripped of their personalities and memories they lose the power to make informed choices and their enthusiasm is all programmed in, and it’s irrelevant anyway because they are not presented the opportunity to give or deny consent in their ongoing situation. Whether or not the dolls can consent is not up for debate: by definition, plain and simple, they cannot. To suggest otherwise is kinda the same thing as when people say that marital rape isn’t a real thing, as if signing a marriage contract permits your spouse to override your bodily autonomy anytime they want. Consent can be fickle, subjective, and highly conditional, and those are all good things because they protect the basic human right to personal sovereignty. Consent is not a binding contract. 

Despite occasionally throwing around lines about how ‘you can’t consent to being a slave!’, the show doesn’t want to commit to the idea that the dolls are, unequivocally, being abused, and the failure to be morally assertive on that point leads to some seriously reprehensible presentations, most notably in terms of rape. The oft-repeated lofty idea behind what (theoretically) makes the Dollhouse ‘good’ is that they give people ‘what they need’, which mostly means fulfilling sexual fantasies. Naturally, this makes all of the Dollhouse clients who acquire a doll for sexual purposes, rapists. They know that’s what they’re getting into, too, they know that they’re paying big bank to have a person brainwashed into fulfilling their desires, which by definition means that the person is being denied the capability to give consent. This isn’t a naughty secret being hidden from the client; it’s a known factor which they’ve decided they don’t care about. They’re ok with taking advantage of this person in order to fulfill their ‘need’. Thus, the fact that Joel Miner just wants to play house with an imprinted version of his dead wife is not cute or romantic, it’s still rape, but the show doesn’t treat it that way: it’s directly handled like we’re supposed to be happy that he gets what he wants, in the same episode as the writing finally bothers to dabble vaguely in the concept of consent issues after it turns out that Sierra has been raped by her handler (while NOT imprinted to think she wants it). Thus, the episode in question draws a straight parallel between the idea that there’s ‘real rape’ (what Hearn does), and then there’s innocent wish fulfillment (what Miner and anyone else who bothers to have their victim programmed first does), and we shouldn’t conflate the two. Except, obviously, we should conflate the two. Both are rape. There’s not a moral grey-scale here, that’s like arguing that if you drug someone first so that they can’t resist, that’s less assaultive than if they were cognizant enough to struggle. Both are rape, both disregard the bodily autonomy of the victim and deny them the right of choice. ‘But I really miss my dead wife!’ doesn’t make it better, and it certainly doesn’t make it ok. And giving people ‘what they need’ at the expense of others is not virtuous - especially when you factor in the price tag attached to a made-to-order sex slave.

The above-referenced episode is one of the most egregious examples of this at play, but it’s a recurrent issue throughout the series, and not one that’s gonna go away. The story is not interested in analysing the fact that DeWitt has repeatedly raped Victor; her conflict about the issue revolves around the feeling that she - like the other Dollhouse clients - is pathetic for ‘needing’ programmed service. And while Ballard expresses misgivings about the idea of raping Mellie, he still does it, repeatedly, and there’s no condemnation from the narrative; we’re supposed to see this as a complication to Ballard’s moral compunctions, that he’s confronted with shades of grey in the black-and-white world he had imagined, but there are no shades of grey. You knowingly committed rape. More than once. The first time they had sex, when he didn’t know she was a doll? THAT is something Ballard can feel conflicted about, because he didn’t do it knowingly, he was not able to make an informed decision, his own ability to consent was impaired and he’s entitled to feel abused by the Dollhouse machinations that put him in that position. THAT is legitimate conflicted emotion. Going “fuck you, Dollhouse, you want to send me a sex slave, I’m gonna take out my conflicted emotions ON HER through what I readily recognise as rape”, that’s...not something a character can do and then still hang around on the show representing any kind of morality. That’s not even anti-hero material, that’s villainy, and if we respond to Hearn’s crimes by snapping his neck against a coffee table, why is Ballard still roaming around feeling righteous? The show is so sketchy on morality, it doesn’t even present Ballard’s attitudes as self-delusions, it isn’t exploring his descent into evil. Even from the first episode, it was unclear where the story really sat with Ballard, seeming simultaneously aware of the fact that he’s not as pure and heroic as he imagined himself, but also never pursuing the idea of exploring a more complex moral reality. If ‘now he’s a rapist but he feels bad about it (but not bad enough to NOT DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE)’ is supposed to suffice as ‘deconstruction’, boy howdy, I got news. You can’t even pretend to deconstruct anything if you’re too busy equivocating to have an opinion in the first place.

I’ve used this word so much already in relation to this show that it’s starting to lose its meaning, but what Dollhouse really suffers from is a misogyny problem. I touched on it already in the episode ‘Omega’ when I talked about how Alpha’s ruminations on the nature of the self/consciousness/etc are undercut by the intense misogyny of his character and story, because his presence in the narrative and his impact on other characters is so heavily tied up in the violent expression of his misogyny that there’s no room for a clear-minded discussion of anything else, and in truth the entire series suffers from the same affliction. Misogyny is so ubiquitous in the story at the same time as being so rarely acknowledged that they can’t engage meaningful thematic discussions about anything else; misogyny is the elephant in the room, and so much space is being dedicated to it, there’s nowhere to squeeze anything else in edge-wise. The refusal to acknowledge the clear-cut nature of consent and thereby the inherent sexual assault built into the frame work of the narrative is part of this, but it also represents an insidious division between ‘real misogyny’ and the various kinds that the show doesn’t want us to acknowledge, the many and sundry equivocations it is entertaining in order to avoid having a moral backbone. Alpha literally slicing up women’s faces is ‘real misogyny’ (by the writers’ definition), and a character like Nolan putting Sierra in the Dollhouse so that he can have force her to have sex with him is ‘real misogyny’ (quite contradictory since Nolan still has his doll programmed to want him, just like all the other clients; apparently it’s only rape if the perpetrator is a mustache-twirling cackling supervillain type). Tanaka slinging off about ‘whores’ is ‘real misogyny’ that Ballard can take umbrage with, but Ballard’s infantalising obsession with calling women ‘girls’? We’re not batting an eye. The fact that Echo is repeatedly engaged by one Matt Cargill, whose rape sexual fantasy is all about teaching a ditzy inexperienced girl new things? Cute! Echo being violently beaten in more than three-quarters of the episodes this season, sometimes multiple times per episode? Eh, that’s normal. That’s normal writing. 

The ‘real misogyny’ is the stuff that the writing deems worthy of being called out, and like with the issue of creating a false grey-scale to excuse ‘softer’ rape crimes, this creates a situation in which more low-key misogyny can skate by unchecked because we’re being encouraged to view it comparatively, instead of objectively. If you’re talking about a violent serial rapist and you say “he calls women ‘girls’ all the time, too!”, it sounds like you’re being silly, because hello, there are much bigger problems to talk about. On the other hand, if you don’t sit around making softening comparisons, you can actually talk about how women being infantalised by men is a big problem that is part of a larger tapestry of misogyny, especially disturbing for the intersection with sexualisation (HUGELY at play with the dolls in their ‘doll state’), and relevant to the discussion of pedophilia (which, incidentally, the show featured TWICE in just thirteen episodes, but without any kind of exploration or commentary that would suggest an actual reason beyond the voyeuristic fetishisation of sexual violence which is this show’s bread and butter). Because the misogyny problem on this show is so all-encompassing (along with the rape-apologist grey morality, it is built into the framework of the series itself), the fact that it is never acknowledged and brought into the thematic conversation of the story blows a hole out the side of the writers’ ability to have any kind of sophisticated conversation about the morality of their subject matter: the combination of oblivious sexism and wanton avoidance leaves the moral compass of the story...nonexistent, really, smashed to pieces and rendered useless. It’s like they didn’t want to have to talk about the morality of the Dollhouse at all, they just wanted the narrative conceit of programmable people and the opportunity to indulge various objectifying fetishes, but since that’s not how storytelling works they figured they’d ramp up the ambiguity and pass off the lack of nuanced discussion as ‘shades of grey’, despite how inappropriate that is with sex trafficking. Thus, you get a show which treats “but if the perpetrator is sad, is it really rape?” like that’s a legitimate question.

Honestly, we could unpack this show forever, because all of it needs unpacking, because it’s riddled and stained irrevocably with garbage in a way that is pervasive and complicated, but I’m gonna let this lie for now. We’ll talk about it all more as season two unfolds, and when I review that season’s developments and eventually, the full series (save me). There’s loads of stuff that I didn’t even touch yet, so at least I know I won’t be starved for content. I did know that, coming in, I knew it’d be an unhappy mess. The one thing that really surprised me about season one is how little the narrative actually discussed its own invoked themes, I thought they did better than that - perhaps season two will fill that void a bit. Maybe Echo will get hit in the fucking face less, too. I’m not gonna bet on that. After all, what would this show be without women turned into sex objects and then violently punished for it? Well. For starters, it would be better.

[brotherfaithsisterdoubt]

Extended Scene – Ch. 19, Gay and Christian

This is bonus content for the Supernatural fanfic Polish Prayers by DestielHisEyesOpened

Word count: 1,319

Notes:

The theologian mentioned in this scene is Rev. Dr. James H. Cone

More on queer theology and gay Christians: • UnClobber YouTube playlist • Romans 1:26-27: A Clobber Passage That Should Lose Its Wallop • Clobbering "Biblical" Gay Bashing • Two odd little words: the LGBT issue

Content Warnings: • Brief but explicit reference to sex • Brief mention of suicide and other consequences of homophobia • Brief references, in a historical context, to sexual abuse of children and enslaved people

Dean took a sip of his iced tea. “So, uh, I was wondering,” he said. He wasn't sure this was the best idea, but the question had been nagging at his mind all week. “How is it that you can be gay and Christian? Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with it!” he rushed to add. “I'm just curious, cause, you know. So many religious folks do.”

Boy did they, Dean added silently. He'd never forget that one hookup who, after spending half the night balls-deep in Dean's ass, left a tract about the evils of homosexuality on the motel nightstand.

Alfie put the half-carved bench down on his lap. “Well for me, there's really one Bible verse that settles it. Matthew 7:16, from the Sermon on the Mount. 'You will know them by their fruits.' A good tree bears good fruit, a bad tree bears bad fruit, I'm sure you're heard the passage. It's from the Sermon on the Mount.”

Dean hesitated, then nodded slowly. That rang a vague bell? Maybe?

“Well, what are the fruits of homophobia? Self-loathing, broken families, kids thrown out onto the street, violence, suicide, murder… And the fruits of accepting queer people as we are? Loving relationships, healthy self-esteem, intact families… So yeah, by Jesus’s own words, it’s pretty clear which one is good and which one is bad!”

“I guess,” said Dean. “But aren't there other verses that, uh, aren't so friendly?”

Alfie nodded. “Yeah, the 'clobber passages.'” he sighed. “Thing is, you can't just take a verse out of context and say, 'this is what the Bible says.' You've got –” he clenched his fist “– to consider the larger context of the chapter, the book, and the Bible as a whole. And a major theme that runs through the entire Bible is liberation for the oppressed. Hell, one of the theologians I read in seminary outright said that if a theologian doesn't emphasize that point, they're not even doing Christian theology anymore! So using the Bible to oppress, instead of to liberate, is automatically an abuse of the text.”

Dean saw some motion out of the corner of his eye, and heard some rustling. He looked down into the garden and saw Cas crouched there, pulling up weeds. He stiffened a little – he wouldn't have brought this subject up if he'd known they'd have an audience. Well, fingers crossed that Cas was too far away to actually hear anything.

“Plus,” Alfie continued, “nearly all of us read translations, not the original texts. So words like 'homosexuality,' which was coined in the late 19th century? Never appears in the Bible. Not once. Our present-day concept of 'sexual orientation' didn't even exist back then.Their whole understanding of sexuality was super different from ours. So how could the writers condemn something they had no concept of? It's like asking if they condemned, I dunno, the internet!”

“So what exactly were they condemning, then?” asked Dean.

“Well if you look at their cultural context,” Alfie answered, “they're responding to stuff like pagan sex rituals, wild orgies, sex slaves, men having sex with boys… There isn't a single reference, negative or positive, to loving, respectful, consensual same-sex relationships between equals.

“Hell, back in first century Rome, they didn't even think of straight relationships in those terms. You know what Paul thought of straight sex?”

“Uh, only in marriage?” Dean guessed.

“Well yeah, but also, he wished everyone was celibate like him. Marriage was a second-best option for the weak. And even then, the point wasn't to have an acceptable outlet for sexual passion – it was to guard against it. That goes back to the idea in Stoic philosophy that all passions are bad and should be overcome,” said Alfie.”

“Wait, so if people weren't supposed to have sex, where did they expect babies to come from?”

“Oh, people could have sex,” answered Alfie. “They were just supposed to do it dispassionately. Passion destabilized society, and brought on destruction. The ideal man had perfect control over himself, his family, his household. So sex? Yes. But love? Desire? Nope.”

Dean blinked at Alfie. “That's… not how sex works,” he said.

Alfie smiled. “Now you're starting to see how different their understanding of sexuality was from ours.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” replied Dean. “That's just… not natural!”

“Not according to the Stoics,” said Alfie. “And it's pretty ironic, cause people say being gay is 'unnatural,' but you know what was considered completely natural and unremarkable in Paul's day?”

Dean shook his head.

“A man sleeping with his slaves. Male or female, with or without their assent. He was higher on the social ladder, slaves were lower, so he could fuck 'em. That's why they could molest boys, too. But two freeborn men? That was 'unnatural' because they were the same rank, and disgraceful because it treated one of them like a slave. Or, you know, a woman. Cause they weren't big on gender equality back then, either.”

“So if we don't think marriage is for chumps anymore, or women are inferior to men, or slavery should even be a thing, then it doesn't make sense to pretend the man-on-man stuff is still relevant, either,” said Dean.

“Exactly!” said Alfie. “And there's more. I'm not gonna bore you with a take-down of all six clobber passages, but just one example – the passage in Romans, chapter one? Yeah, that's completely out of context. Some scholars looked closely at the grammatical structure of chapters one and two, and concluded that chapter one's rant against sinful gentiles isn't Paul's own thoughts. He was actually quoting the kind of stuff that his audience would have heard before, and probably agreed with, just so he could turn around and say, 'Hey, cut the crap! This angry finger-pointing isn't good, Christian behavior!'”

“Wait,” said Dean, “so you're saying people are getting that passage exactly backwards?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” said Alfie.

“Sounds like you've put a lot of research into this,” Dean said.

Alfie shrugged. “I guess. Some, I learned in seminary. And the clobber passages are a big hurdle for a lot of folks, so it's good to have a grasp on them. For me personally though, they've never been that big a deal. Cause Jesus made me about a thousand times more gay. How could that happen, if he had a problem with it?”

“Wait, what? You're gonna have to run that by me one more time,” said Dean.

Alfie chuckled. “Before, I was pretty gay. I was out, I was proud, all that. But then Jesus happened, and I went from 'pretty gay' to ' rainbows literally shooting out my ass.'”

Dean nearly choked on his chocolate pudding

Alfie, chuckled at Dean's reaction, then clarified what he meant. “He made me understand other marginalized people's humanity better, which helped me understand my own better, too. I had no clue how much internalized homophobia I was carrying around until that burden was lifted.”

Dean was a little confused. “Didn't you say you grew up Christian, though?”

“Yeah, but honestly, I thought it was full of shit,” said Alfie. “I left the church for fifteen years before learning how Christianity could actually make sense. But that's a whole 'nother conversation. Point is, loving someone when society says it's wrong, that takes a lot of heart. And I just can't imagine that God would call it a flaw to have too much heart. Hell, I'll go even further. If love is from God – and it is – then homophobia is blasphemy.”

Dean gave a low whistle. Strong words. “Maybe you should give the Pope a crash course on this stuff when he comes,” Dean joked.

Alfie gave him the side-eye. “Yeah, cause that would go over so well, I'm sure!”

[lilacflamesss]

Shattered (Chapter 3.5)

Summary: Hinami tries to deal with her sorrows through seeking Ayato out. Ayato can never turn away the girl he loves far more than he should. Two people with unrequited feelings, dealing with them in very different ways. Human AU. (1.7k words)

Warning: This fic contains unhealthy copic mechanisms, heavy sexual content, and plenty of problematic/ dubious things which I absolutely do not condone at all. This is a work of fiction that takes on a more mature, physical take on Ayahina’s relationship as opposed to the typical conventional one. Please feel free not to read this fic if it’s not your cup of tea! 

A/N: I ended up writing this mini-scene to at least give some insights into Ayato’s head about the events that went on in chapter 3, though not too in-depth as well to maintain the intensity for subsequent chapters. Mainly it’s because I wanted to write a morning after where Ayato wakes up first HAHA.  Please do reblog this and feel free to leave some comments!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4

Preview: 

Another blatant lie, another terrible attempt at hiding it. He winces at the sound of his voice, turning away from her, using the need for sugar as an excuse to hide his expression. He’s not going to see his sister. He knows he won’t go at all and even if he makes an attempt to, he’ll only turn back midway. He can’t face her, not after acting like a huge ass kid, not after hurting her and definitely not after endangering her child. Honestly, what would he even do if something had happened to that kid-- his own niece or nephew-- and what if it affected Touka as well? He can try to continue being the biggest asshole around; he can try to convince the whole world he hates his sister more than anything. But there’s more to their relationship that just that. A mere fallout isn’t enough to erase every second they’re spent by each other’s side; a mere argument isn’t enough to make him forget what she’s done for him.

His stomach falls. Being an ungrateful piece of shit is one thing, but it is incomparable to actually hurting her and even though she seemed to have walked out unscathed, he wonders if that’s truly the case. How frighten must Touka have been when she’s falling? Her hands had immediately gone to her belly, her face had gone ashen white and she had totally stiffened. She was terrified, not for herself, but for her baby-- the poor, innocent foetus that’s barely even given a chance to live, yet was almost destroyed by someone of its own blood.

He wakes up smelling lavenders and strawberries, nose buried in a head smooth hair. He stays in that position for a while, basking in the scent and the comfort of being curled up against her, under the duvet during the cold winter morning. It’s been weeks since he’s been able to hold her like that and while rare due to him always waking up after her, he’s woken up to her curled up against him more times than he can count already. Sometimes it feels like she has practically moved in. But even if this is the case, it always feels so surreal that the first thing he sees in the morning is her and that the first thing he’s made aware of when he wakes up is the fact that they’re pressed against each other, limbs tangled and holding each other tight. It’s a dream come true for him-- a fantasy which he wishes will never come to an end.

Hinami is burning up beside him. Ayato feels the heat radiating off her skin from the hand he has pressed against her tummy under the shirt she’s wearing. Clearly, they made a dumb choice the previous day. He feels like hitting his own head. Why did he think a dirty alley in the middle of winter was even a good idea?

Even though he’s slept over it, the gnawing in his abdomen has yet to fade and it continues eating him from within. He longs to just forget the previous day, but Hinami will start nagging at him if he starts to chug down the remaining beer he has in his refrigerator or if he even dares to pull out the pack of cigarettes he has in the drawer by his bedside. She’s so naggy. She reminds him of his sister in the past, always forcing him to continuously do something about the mess his room is in or his terrible eating habits. It’s a pain but it’s a kind of pain he craves and loves to experience even more.

His head spins as he recalls the sister whom he once followed behind like a puppy would after its owner-- the same sister he had yelled at and hurt, almost killing the child growing within her. It brings a bitter taste to his mouth.

He had forgotten she’s pregnant; he didn’t realise she is; he hadn’t pushed her that hard, she’s just weak. His mind scrambles to form justifications, to defend himself from the guilt that’s threatening to wear down on him. But every justification is as good as a styrofoam board, the logical condemnations he has of himself smashing through it like a martial artist’s fist. The fact remains that he made a mistake, an utterly terrible one, and he can’t do anything about it.

Hinami coughs and Ayato gets up, leaning over her to feel her forehead. She’s seriously burning up, not too much to the point he has to worry, but enough for him to know that she’ll really fall ill if they ignore it. She’s still asleep, so he decides to continue letting her rest. But he gets out of bed anyway, adjusting the comforter to cover her body properly before he heads to the kitchen. He’s sure he has some tea somewhere and he’s read somewhere that tea helps with soothing the body down.

He finds the tea bags pretty fast, but water still needs to be boiled. Ayato makes a quick work of filling a kettle with water and heating it up, but he leaves it to boil by itself as he starts to fill a small basin with water. He brings it back to his room, places it on the side-table and searches his closet for a piece of cloth. The best he managed to get is an old bandanna, and he decides to make do with that. His movements seemed to have woken Hinami and she rolls over to lie on her back. She opens her eyes, looking at him in confusion.

“Ayato?” She had sounded a little different the previous night, but her voice is completely weaker and more strained right now. She tries to sit up completely, but Ayato’s at her side in a matter of seconds, pushing her to lie back down.

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty bad,” she admits. “My body hurts.”

He feels partly responsible. No, he feels totally responsible. It’s because he was acting like an idiot that she fell sick. Of course there’s going to be some kind of bug or virus in that disgusting alley-- what did he expect when he was pushing her down onto the filthy floor? He dips the bandanna into the basin of water, before wringing it a little. After folding it slightly, he dabs it on Hinami’s forehead and cheeks.

“This should help you feel better. I’m making some tea as well,” he says. She smiles while she looks at him, watching him as he rises the cloth before pressing it against her.

“Thank you, Ayato. It does make me feel a little fresher.” She attempts to sit up, but he pushes her down again.

“Just stay in bed and rest. I’ll get you some tea when it’s ready.”

“You don’t have to do this. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother… I do enjoy taking care of you.” That’s not a lie, honestly. When he does that, it feels like he’s closer to her in a very different way from when they’re having sex or cuddling up in bed. But he also admits that there’s a lot more to this than just that. The guilt for forcing her down in such an environment probably has more to do with it but there’s no way he’s going to tell her that.

Hinami coughs again, bringing her hand up to her mouth. Ayato’s vaguely aware of the whistling of the kettle from the kitchen and he knows he has to turn to it. He dips the cloth in water again, squeezes it, though he leaves it much damper than it was earlier on, before he places it on Hinami’s head. Hinami is looking up at him in confusion but he simply offers her a smile before turning to leave the room to walk into the kitchen.

He’s pouring water into the mugs when he hears footsteps and he’s about to turn to her to nag her into returning back to bed when she winds her arm around his waist and presses her body against him, peeking at what he’s doing.

“What did I do to get treated like a princess?” she murmurs, nuzzling her face against his chest. He swears he feels a brief peck.

“You’re sick. You need to be in bed.” She sniffs as he speaks, as if to prove his point, but before he can really say anything else, she’s lightly rubbing her hands against his bare skin, distracting him for a moment. 

“I’m fine,” she says.

“Yeah… but maybe it’s better to stay away from dirty alleys. Definitely not a good idea to fuck there in the middle of winter,” he admits.

“Are you trying to say you hadn’t known it’ll be a bad idea?”

He did, but not for this reason. “You learn something new everyday.”

“You’re so stupid,” she complains, slapping him lightly. He pushes one of the mugs towards her and Hinami detaches herself from him to pick it up.

“There’s a reason why you’re the one who’s on a scholarship while I’m here struggling with my GPA,” he sighs.

“Your GPA will be a lot better if you stop spending all your money on beers and cigarettes and ending up having to take up extra shifts to make up for that…” Hinami grumbles, taking a sip of her drink. “Enough about that… Ayato, are you feeling better?”

“Me?”

“Yeah… because you know… about yesterday. I wonder if you’re feeling better now.”

His first instinct is to deny it and be honest, but he smiles at her instead. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Hinami stares at him, brows furrowing at his words. Ayato has always prided himself on his ability to keep what he truly feels at bay and lie easily to deceive others, but even he has to admit that he sounded like a croaking toad when he answered her. He shrugs, took a big gulp from his own mug and grimaces at the bitterness.

“Are you gonna see your sister?”

“Yeah, one day.”

Another blatant lie, another terrible attempt at hiding it. He winces at the sound of his voice, turning away from her, using the need for sugar as an excuse to hide his expression. He’s not going to see his sister. He knows he won’t go at all and even if he makes an attempt to, he’ll only turn back midway. He can’t face her, not after acting like a huge ass kid, not after hurting her and definitely not after endangering her child. Honestly, what would he even do if something had happened to that kid-- his own niece or nephew-- and what if it affected Touka as well? He can try to continue being the biggest asshole around; he can try to convince the whole world he hates his sister more than anything. But there’s more to their relationship that just that. A mere fallout isn’t enough to erase every second they’re spent by each other’s side; a mere argument isn’t enough to make him forget what she’s done for him.

His stomach falls. Being an ungrateful piece of shit is one thing, but it is incomparable to actually hurting her and even though she seemed to have walked out unscathed, he wonders if that’s truly the case. How frighten must Touka have been when she’s falling? Her hands had immediately gone to her belly, her face had gone ashen white and she had totally stiffened. She was terrified, not for herself, but for her baby-- the poor, innocent foetus that’s barely even given a chance to live, yet was almost destroyed by someone of its own blood.

Ayato doubts he’s able to stomach any more tea and he’s flushing everything down the sink before he realises what he’s doing or that Hinami is watching everything.

“Ayato? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “I guess I’m not that big of a tea person.”

He turns to her and smiles, just like he always does with her. Hinami seems concerned, but she also seems really conflicted about it, tiptoeing on whether to push the issue further or not. He doesn’t want her to bother to much about it, definitely doesn’t want her to bother too much about him, so all he can really do is keep her mind off it. He walks over to her and wraps his arms around her waist, gently pulling her closer so that she doesn’t end up spilling the tea.

“I’m going to take a shower… Wanna join me?”

It’ll cool her fever down at least.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this! Once again, please please do reblog if you like this! It’ll really help me out. Feel free to leave comments in the tags/ reblogs/ replies or through asks!

It’s exam period now and I’m going on a vacation immediately after that, so Chapter 4 might take awhile! I’m sorry for that. I hope you guys enjoyed this! I debated whether to include that last line, but I decided I might as well give you guys some spoilers for the next few chapters that’s not Touken and sub Ayato :) I’m gonna sleep now, so good night everyone! 

[rubyleaf]

if someone says tsubamahi is pedophilia they better not ship kuromahi either because kuro is older than even tsubaki is (which is why i personally dont ship them romantically or sexually, since they met while mahiru is still in his mid teens...) but i mean come on in a series full of immortals mingling with humans if youre going to say that you better share the same opinion about EVERY servamp/underage eve

Ahh, an opinion I already expected to hear, buddy, I was almost waiting for this to pop up. I’m still not sure why you’re saying all this to ME when you’re probably talking to that last anon because I’m literally just the mediator here, but you brought it up, so I’m gonna answer. You touched upon a pretty complex subject here, see, and I’d love to elaborate on it… although honestly it’s big enough to write a whole dissertation on it, which I almost feel like doing, but then I also want a full degree in Servampology. Anyway, here go my two cents on the issue. Read under the cut for massive length…

And BTW: If you would all be so kind as to go off anon and take this whole shipping discourse to your own blogs and out of my inbox, I would be much obliged. I have no time to go around explaining back and forth just because you want to share your opinions without admitting who you are, especially not in an issue that requires walls of text on the regular. Thanks for understanding!

First of all, I already said this yesterday, but the word pedophilia isn’t even the issue here, specifically. Excluding Hugh and the subclass kids there are no prepubescent kids in Servamp, and certainly none that get shipped with anyone. I’m aware that some people use it to refer to any relationship between a minor and adult, but according to dictionaries that’s inaccurate, and that would also technically include such examples as, say, an eighteen-year-old dating a sixteen-year-old or my then seventeen-year-old cousin starting to date her early-twenties boyfriend, where no one cried pedophilia or tried to get them to break up for another couple months till she turned 18. They’re still happy, by the way; no power imbalance of any kind. But that’s just a side matter. See the problem here? If you use it to refer to all cases of minor-legal adult relationships, you either include harmless cases (which, in turn, will take the edge and meaning off the word!) or the definition becomes a vague blob of “age difference I deem problematic”. Pedophilia is simply the most severe case of harmful minor-adult relationships, and an adult dating a minor can be bad, dangerous or abusive without it being pedophilia. Keep that in mind.

You see, the trap you fell into, like some other people, is that you’re only looking at the absolute numbers and not at the core issue that can make a relationship problematic or unproblematic – maturity. Because the vampires in Servamp obviously don’t mature the way humans do. Let’s look at the subclass kids at Misono’s, for instance: They all look like elementary schoolers, but we have no idea how old they actually are. Some of them might be a hundred years old, two hundred, three hundred. They just don’t look or act like they’ve lived in this world for centuries because they’re pretty much frozen in time – they don’t age, they don’t grow up, they never have to deal with the toils and responsibilities of growing up, they can always act like kids and keep playing the way they always did, and so they don’t mature. Dating one of those kids, even if they’re older than your great-grandma, would still be pedo – and not just because they have the body of a grade schooler, but because they think and feel like one, too.

And the same thing, although sometimes to a lesser degree, can be applied to all the vamps in the Servampverse. Sakuya fits in perfectly with 15/16-year-old Mahiru, Ryuusei and Koyuki despite probably being at least in his twenties, if not his thirties in reality. Hugh shows glimpses of wisdom but still acts like a child playing make-believe and pretending to be a stereotypical vamp most of the time (excluding [spoilery thing], but that’s a different story).

And Kuro acts like your average relatable depressed eighteen-year-old, but there’s more to that. He’s who knows how old, but Kuro has spent the overwhelming majority of that in isolation, doing literally nothing. We know for a fact that he never had an Eve before Mahiru, and he probably never had much to do with people in general, excluding Sensei, who seems to have had a special bond with him but who, from what we know, likely was some sort of selfish or even abusive parental figure who appears to have used the Servamps for their own unknown purposes. Other than that, he doesn’t even seem to have been close to the other Servamps, having hated his own kind long before the summons from C3. And he avoided responsibilities. He avoided facing things, he pretended they weren’t there, and never learned how to deal with them. In short, he steered clear of anything that could have made him mature and basically froze himself in time as an eternal 18-year-old who never changed and never learned.

Tsubaki, meanwhile, is younger in absolute years but very much different. For one, if we go by the theory that the Servamps were once human too, he was already older and at a later point in life when he was turned. He was already an adult, not like the teenaged Kuro. And also unlike Kuro, he didn’t freeze himself in his 21-year-old human state. He’s an extravert for one, and he surrounded himself with a lot of people; and then he also had Sensei’s task to take care of, whatever exactly that is. In short, he got experiences and he had responsibilities, and both of those made him mature, even if you can’t usually tell from his attitude (that’s the “immortality slows down mental aging” part, I suppose). And he was already at a later starting point when the whole slowed-down maturation kicked in, so there’s that too. It was only a difference of about three years, but at a young age three years are a lot.

And that leads us to the aspect of the power imbalance. If you watch Mahiru and Kuro interact, you can’t usually tell who’s older. In fact, most of the time Mahiru seems more mature than Kuro – not just in terms of responsibility than emotionally too, a field where Kuro is lacking completely. We don’t know how much experience Kuro has with people, but I daresay Mahiru has definitely experienced more stable and functioning relationships in his life than Kuro has. They both have no romantic experience, of course, but if either of them knows how to people properly it’s Mahiru, and Kuro can’t take advantage of the younger and more naïve Mahiru if he has no clue how human relationships work himself. Which presents a ton of other difficulties in turn, but not those generally associated with age differences and adults dating minors.

Mahiru and Tsubaki, though, is another thing entirely. Tsubaki is an adult and knows it, and you can tell that he doesn’t see Mahiru as an equal. Why should he? Mahiru’s just a kid to him, as well as a pawn in whatever screwed-up plan he has in his mind (my main concern with this ship, BTW). Just from the Sakuya arc you can tell Tsubaki has had way more attachments in his life than Mahiru had, or at least has good reason to think so (see him mocking Mahiru for not even finding stuff out about Sakuya even though he says they were friends? Yeah). To the subclasses who are stuck in Mahiru’s age group Tsubaki acts like a parental figure, and that alone should say something about why him dating Mahiru would be moderately creepy. To say nothing of the manipulative chessmaster tendencies he uses against his enemies.

So, at least, goes my reasoning for what ships I find creepy and what ships I don’t, and I’m sure a not insignificant part of the fandom thinks the same. However, since this is a completely hypothetical situation and largely dependent on personal views and opinions, it’s only one out of many acceptable reasonings. We can only go by the rules of the Servampverse and assume because we have no real-life examples to go by, so there’s no clear-cut right and wrong and you can ship or condemn whatever you want. Just remember not to start any witch hunts as long as it’s not a clear-cut case of creepy.

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

Daughter Series - Roadhog

Part two of the ‘Daughter Series’ I’ve created in response to the lovely @i-am-not-daredevil ‘s Overwatch headcanons that I requested - they can be found here. This turned into a behemoth. Forgive me. This baby ended up being 5,158 words. I put a line through the middle in case you need a pee break halfway through. Enjoy!

More Daughter Series: Hanzo, McCree, Reaper, Soldier 76, Genji

Roadhog installments: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

masterlist

               It was another ugly day in the Outback. And storm clouds were looming, so it was going to be a toxic day in the Outback. Roadhog twisted the accelerator on his motorcycle with a grunt.

               “Oi, big guy looks like rain,” Junkrat called out to him over the roar of the heavily modified engine.

               “I know,” Roadhog snapped.

               “Gotta find cover.”

               “I know.”

               “Gotta find it soon, or we’re gonna be sizzlin.’”

               “I know.”

               “Well then get on gas or else -” 

               The massive man behind the handlebars sped up again, more fiercely than was necessary, but the sudden jolt was enough to shut up his companion. As they continued to fly down the road a small amount of concern began in build in Roadhog’s gut – every little structure they passed was dilapidated, full of holes or crumpled like a tin can. The air was feeling heavy with humidity. “Shit,” he hissed.

               “There,” Junkrat barked pointing off in the distance. “An old Servo, on the left. Fortified, but nothing we can’t handle.”

               The lanky little man was right. It was a crummy old gas station with an imposing fence and a few automated defenses. Pretty sophisticated work. Which probably meant someone equally nasty was probably hunkered in there. But also –

               “Looks like a ripper place to find some scrap,” Junkrat said wrigging enthusiastically.

               He’d taken the words right out of Roadhog’s mouth. The Junker let out a rumbling chuckle before barreling toward their newest heist.

               Unfortunately, the pair of thieves had underestimated their target. Greatly. The ensuing attack was a whirlwind of well-concealed turret fire, a few deadly traps, and a ridiculously sturdy wall neither Roadhog’s scrap gun or Junkrat’s concussion mines could tear open.

               “Hooley dooley,” the bomb maker reeled after finally exploding a set of supports that caused the third turret to tumble into a fourth. “That’s the last of ‘em,” he cried triumphantly.

               “And that’s the way in,” Roadhog said kicking over a chunk of metal plating in the fence. Thunder began to rumble.

               “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Junkrat yelped, “I hate waiting!” The hunched man tore into the parking lot of the gas station with reckless abandon – as usual – and Roadhog was left rushing after him – as usual. A deafening shot rang out, and they both faltered just before the large man gripped his arm in pain. Blood coated his palm.

               Roadhog let out an annoyed sigh before snatching his squirrely compatriot and ducking behind a few rusted gas pumps.

               “Rude,” Junkrat scoffed, “shooting at us in our time of need! It’s going to start comin’ down any second now! Whatever happened to hospitality?”

               “Shut up,” the bodyguard grumbled, gently examining the wound. It had gone right through him but hadn’t touched any muscle – advantages of protecting his biceps with a thick layer of fat. Still hurt like hell though. He began to reach for one of his breathers when a familiar voice caught him off guard.

                “Mako, you fucker I know that’s you!”

               Junkrat and Roadhog exchanged a confused look. “Who’s ‘at,” questioned the smaller of the two. The masked man didn’t respond, but peeked out from behind their cover and spotted a wild looking woman with a rifle at the ready. She took another shot, missing his face by a few inches. “An’ why is she mad as a cut snake,” Junkrat spat.

               “I used to date her,” Roadhog huffed. “Didn’t end well.”

               The lunatic burst out laughing, “Gotta say, it’s kinda nice not bein’ the one who got us in trouble for once, you lil’ heart-breaker you!”

               “Can it,” the large man growled.

               “You better scram, Mako,” called the woman’s enraged voice again, “’cause next time I won’t ask so nicely.” The dark grey sky began to sprinkle.

               “Look, lady, I know you and my buddy here had a fling,” Junkrat said taking a foolhardy step into the open, chest puffed out in defiance, “but that hardly means you got a right to condemn a couple of fellas to death by irradiated storm!”

               She shot again, and the blonde man scampered back into hiding.

               “The hell did you do to her, big guy,” Junkrat gaped, covering his head with his hands. Roadhog shrugged, honestly unsure why she was this riled up. Afterall, she had dumped him. The storm was picking up speed quickly, whipping small raindrops under the crumbling awning covering the wanted men.

               “Mum,” called another voice, higher pitched than the last. “What are you doing?!” Roadhog and Junkrat leaned past either side of the pump to peek. A girl stood behind the irate shooter with a baffled look on her face.

               “Who’s the little one,” Junkrat asked quietly. Mako shook his head unknowingly. “Well, hopefully you ain’t ticked of this one, too.”

               “Get back in the house, Daisy,” demanded the older woman, lowering her gun.

               “No, not until you tell me what you’re doing with those two!” The girl had her arms out as if in surrender and seemed hesitant to get too close to her mother.

               “I’m defending the house, now get inside,” the greying woman snarled.

               “There’s a storm about to drop on us, they need shelter, Mum.”

               “No one comes onto my property without my permission – hell with the weather!” She began to line up another shot and the men ducked.

               “Stop,” the girl shrieked. Roadhog leaned forward just in time to see Daisy grab her mother’s arm only to be shoved to the ground. The barrel of the gun swung, aiming right at the girl’s chest.

               “Damn,” Roadhog muttered under his breath.

               “What do you think you’re doing defending these two shits,” his ex seethed, “I raised you tougher than that!”

               The girl was silent for a moment, completely still as the rifle dangled over her abdomen. “If you shoot those two, I’m going to be the one cleaning them up, and I got better things to do,” she stammered eventually.

               The woman let out a mocking laugh, but pulled the gun away from her daughter. “Better things to do? Like what?”

               “Like rebuilding the compound,” Daisy said moving to her knees.

               The two women stared at each other for long enough to make Junkrat start twitching his leg impatiently. “I’ll take care of them. You get in the house,” the older snapped as the drops around them all began to grow.

               “But -” Daisy began to protest.

               “In. The. Fucking. House!” The rifle was aimed right back at her daughter’s chest until she scrambled back into the house.

               “I guess you got a thing for scary chicks then,” Junkrat mused with a grin.

               “Didn’t use to be this bad,” Roadhog mumbled.

               “Now you two,” the livid woman said turning her attention back to the trespassers, “if you wanna step away from there we can end this real quick. Death by bullet’s a lot faster than death by noxious rain.”

               “Never!” Junkrat bellowed, frag launcher at the ready.

               Roadhog quickly clamped his massive hand over the little man’s mouth before he could charge in. It was his job to protect the idiot, and once again that meant keeping the explosive obsessed man from getting himself killed.

               “Gretchen,” Roadhog callout out slowly, chancing another glance at the woman. Another shot. Her aim used to be a lot better.

               Junkrat wormed away from the large man, giggling, “You dated a Gretchen?”

               “Hush,” he replied angrily.

               “Don’t you ‘Gretchen’ me, you fuckstick! I’m the one who – hey!”

               The woman suddenly stopped shrieking. Roadhog looked over to see that the young girl had somehow managed to snitch the gun from her mother and was now running toward them in an oversized coat. But she ran right past them. She stopped at what looked like an old garage to the left of them.

               “Umm,” Junkrat hummed, “what’s she doin’?”

               “Uh . . .” Roadhog trailed of watching the daring girl with curiosity.

               “DAISY!” The other woman’s voice rang out shrill and furious. “You get back here with my gun!”

               The girl seemed unfazed as she threw the door open, slipped inside, then poked her head back out. “Come on!” she called to them.

               They were both shocked, but once the wind kicked a smattering of rain right at them, Roadhog and Junkrat both darted to the door as fast as they could. Gretchen let out a bitter sounding screech behind them.

               The moment they crossed the threshold Daisy tossed an oil-stained towel in each of their faces. “Dry off, quick.” Junkrat did as she instructed with a series of disgusted, vaguely vulgar noises. Roadhog wiped himself off silently; while it had only been a handful of meters, he still felt grimy.

               “Thanks, mate,” Junkrat cooed, passing the rag back to Daisy. She took a step back.

               “Best toss it over there,” she said gesturing to her coat in the corner, “just to be safe.” They both obeyed. Roadhog was suddenly close enough to get a decent look at their rescuer – all five 165 cm of her. Both Junkers towered above her, but she didn’t seem too concerned as she took a step closer to the giant masked man. “Your arm,” Daisy murmured.

               Roadhog turned his gaze to his bullet wound and the long trail of blood flowing below it. Now that things had calmed down it was beginning to throb. He grunted aggrevatedly.

               “Damnit,” Junkrat grumbled poking Roadhog’s arm and getting a smack in response. “Kid, you got a med kit?”

               “Of course,” she said swiveling around and grabbing a big white case from behind her. With a quick hop, she jumped on top of the counter in the corner. “Come ‘ere, I’ll patch you up.” Roadhog hesitated. “It’s the least I can do since my mum’s the one who shot you,” she said with a small smile. He slowly lumbered over to her, placing his left arm in her outstretched hands. Kid’s hand were rough, like they knew their share of hard work, but her movements were gentle, careful. Roadhog began to lose the tension in his shoulders.

               The large man looked Dasiy over curiously. She had somewhat wild auburn hair and light green eyes. Big eyes. They were intently focused on his ripped open flesh, and her brow was pinched in concentration. She wore a tattered teal dress over a squishy body with purple leggings and a pair of tall boots. It looked like she had fashioned a plate of steel over her toes for protection. Smart. The dirt and scars that dotted across her skin made it clear she grew up in the Outback, but she was still cute. Real cute. Especially that upturned, freckled nose. And she seemed . . . nice. She’d saved their lives and was now sacrificing valuable medical supplies on a wanted criminal. Roadhog was starting to wonder how she was still alive. Gals like that were usually eaten up out here. Suspicion began to fray at his nerves.

               “Nice workshop you got ‘ere missy,” Junkrat said while messing with a device he’d found hanging on the wall.

               “Thanks,” she said giving him a quick glance before rummaging around in the mess of bandages and salves by her side. “’Fraid you’re going to need some of this awful stuff,” she informed Roadhog.

               The man groaned at the small blue jar in Daisy’s hand. The goop had been developed to close wounds in the middle of battle, but it was not a fun process.

               “Sorry,” the girl whimpered, “I don’t have the stuff to give you stitches.”

               “Of course,” he growled in his incredibly low tone.

               “Beats bleedin’ out though, right,” she encouraged.

               “Yeah, big guy,” Junkrat chimed in, “we still got work to do.”

               Roadhog rolled his neck, creating a series of audible pops before nodding to Daisy. With a swift motion, she pinched the hole in his arm closed and wiped the cold liquid against it. The large man gritted his teeth and took in a pained breath. It felt like someone slapping a hot coal into an open sore, which had happened to him once before. Daisy repeated the procedure on the other side making Roadhog wince.

               “Okay, we should be good now,” Daisy said scooting away from him, clearly a little frightened.

               “We owe ya one,” Junkrat said moving to his chum’s side. Roadhog said nothing.

               “Not a problem,” Daisy said with a polite nod. “Any chance you could tell me who ya are now?”

               Junkrat reeled, “What? You don’t know who we, we are?!” She shook her head. The bomb maker stuck his nose in the air, “Ugh! Well, now I’m offended.” Roadhog ran his hand over his mask. How many times had he told the idiot – they were wanted criminals, not celebrities.

               “My mother keeps me locked up behind that fence you two smashed through, I don’t know much of anyone,” Daisy admitted awkwardly.

               Junkrat took a few quick steps toward her and leaned in so their noses almost touched. Her face went three shades lighter but didn’t pull away as the long-limbed man inspected her. Evidently, he approved of what he saw since he cackled wildly and shrugged.

               “I ‘spose that explains it then,” Junkrat grinned before striking a dramatic pose. “I,” he began with a flourish, “am the mastermind Junkrat!” He bowed like a prince as Daisy giggled. Roadhog resisted the urge to tell her not to encourage him. She had a sweet smile.

               “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Junkrat.” She spread her arms, motioning to the cluttered room around them, “Welcome to my humble home, and, even though I’ve never heard of you, I’m sure it’s an honor to have you here.”

               The bomb maker squealed and leaped onto the counter next to her, pointing like he’d just made a groundbreaking discovery. “I love this kid,” he whispered to Roadhog. Daisy giggled again.

               “And you are?” she asked the large man.

               Junkrat let out an unimpressed raspberry, “That’s just my bodyguard, Roadhog. I’m the real attraction here.” Roadhog scowled behind his mask and crossed his arms. “Oh alright,” Junkrat moaned, “I guess he’s a pretty useful guy.”

               “I saw you two fighting my defenses from the roof,” Daisy said sounding delighted, much more at ease now, “you were amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it – the destruction was impressive, very impressive.”

               “We demolished your house and you’re impressed,” Roadhog questioned before he could think better of it.

               “Yeah,” she said enthusiastically. “sure my stuff got trashed, but I got to see everything wrong with my work, and now I get to make some new designs. And you guys put on a heck of a show.”

               Crap, now Roadhog was starting to like her too. Any girl with that much appreciation for destruction was likely to get on his good side. And she liked picking through the rubble. He chuckled wryly at her.

               “Wow,” Junkrat muttered giving Roadhog a shocked look, “never seen the big guy take to someone so quickly! You must be a good un.’” He smacked Daisy lightheartedly.

               “Just hope I can make up for my mum’s nasty first impression,” she said rubbing the back of her neck.

               “Broad seems like a real piece of work,” Junkrat said leaning back against the wall, “waving that gun at you and whatnot.”

               Daisy twirled a lock of hair around her finger, looking at the door worriedly. “Not the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

               Roadhog tilted his head at her. “You really Grethen’s kid,” he asked quietly.

               Her head darted to him, frowning deeply. “You know my mom?” Roadhog lifted his shoulders then let them drop nonchalantly.

               Junkrat began to fake a cough. “They used to date,” he sputtered in between hacks. Roadhog instantly growled back at him.

               “You – you used to date my mum,” Daisy gawked.

               He moaned, rubbing the leather of the mask on his forehead. Both Daisy and Junkrat were looking at him expectantly, one with a devious smirk and the other looking just as concerned as Roadhog felt. “Yeah,” he muttered eventually.

               “Huh,” Daisy said nodding slowly. “Fancy that . . .”

               “How long ago were you and this ‘Gretchen’ rooting,” Junkrat asked as if it were a perfectly appropriate thing to say. Roadhog smacked him in the chest and the smaller man rolled over in pain.

               “I’m just wonderin,’” Junkrat defended himself.

               “No,” Roadhog growled. He had been thieving with the insane demolitionist long enough to know what he was thinking, and Roadhog was thinking it too, but he wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet. Of all the shit Mako had ever encountered, the idea of him having a daughter was by far the most terrifying.

               A loud banging from below pulled all of them from their thoughts. Junkrat jumped to his feet, looking around for someone to frag. “What the hell was that,” he squaked after surveying the empty room.

              “The tunnels,” Daisy yelped, “I forgot about the tunnels!”

               “What,” Roadhog barked.

               “This place used to be used for drug running or something,” she explained, “there are underground passages linking all the three buildings on the property. Mum must have come through one to get to us.”

               “Daisy,” came the same enraged voice from before. “you unlock this door this second!”

               “Guess she hasn’t cooled off, eh,” Junkrat joked, grabbing a mine from his belt.

               “Wait,” she said grabbing his arm, “she may be a bitch, but she’s my mum. I’d rather she not blow up in front of my eyes.”

               Junkrat whined, “But mayhem!”

               “Please,” the girl begged with a painfully adorable pout.

               “Oh fine,” he moaned returning his weapon to his back. “But if that woman comes at me I’m comin’ right back!”

               “Understood,” Daisy nodded before looking to Roadhog who put his hands up in a show of good faith.

               “How tough is that lock,” Junkrat asked as the dust on the floor flew up.

               “It’s not locked,” she confessed, “just stuck.”

               As if on cue, the hatch door flew open and Gretchen was standing before them, a pistol in each hand. She took no time aiming one at Mako’s skull.

               “Grief Mum, calm down! You -” Daisy was cut off by a gun to her head as well.

               “That’s enough out of you, girl. One more word and I’ll pull both these triggers and save myself a world of trouble,” Gretchen hissed.

               Daisy’s face darkened with anger, taking another step toward her mother. “Bullshit,” the girl snapped, “if I were that expendable you would have killed me ages ago. Now you are going to stop flyin’ off the handle and tell me what has you in such a rage!”

               Gretchen rolled her eyes, “For fuck’s sake, girl, they’re trespassers! Out here we protect what’s ours.”

               “We’ve had people on the property before, Mum, but you have never gotten this  . . . crazy on me before.”

               “Do not call me crazy, Daisy. Do. Not.”

               “Don’t lie to me,” she retorted taking another step – the end of the pistol pressed against her cheek. “What is your problem with these two?”

               The two women had a bit of a staredown, neither moving or speaking, just leering at each other until Junkrat tried to break the silence.

               “Why don’t we all just take sec and -” he began in his most innocent voice. A shock of light and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Daisy fell backward. Roadhog’s heart seized.

               Junkrat was holding the girl’s body with a look of shock plastered across his face. “Crikey woman! She’s yer kid!”

               Daisy pulled away from the thin Australian and Roadhog heaved out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Blood was dripping down her face, and there would undoubtedly be a burn from the heat of the muzzle, but in the end, the bullet had just grazed her. An unexpected rage began to boil up in him and he moved to grab the gun from Gretchen. “Don’t test me, Mako,” she spat moving the firearm closer to his forehead, “we both know you aren’t that fast.” He sighed and let his hands drop back to his side.

               “How do you know him,” Daisy demanded. Gretchen turned her attention back to her daughter and jumped when she saw that the girl had produced a gun of her own.

               “Where did you -” Gretchen whispered.

               “Made it myself,” Daisy said with a proud smirk. “Been workin’ on it for ages. Every time you would do a supply run I’d be out in the dirt for target practice, so I don’t think I’ll have any trouble hitting you at this range.”

               Gretchen scowled, “I’m your mother, you won’t shot me.”

               Daisy shrugged, “Maybe not dead, but I won’t mind taking out one of your kneecaps. Now talk.” Kid wasn’t all rainbows and glitter after all Roadhog thought while holding back a laugh.

               “If you don’t put that half-assed hunk of metal away I will shoot this fat piece of shit,” Gretchen snarled wiggling the pistol closest to Roadhog.

               “Oh Mum,” Daisy chuckled, “if you ever did any of the repairs around here you would know that the gun you’ve got aimed at Mr. Roadhog is the one that’s been jammed up since last spring.”

               The older woman’s face blanched as she tried to fire at Roadhog only to hear a useless clicking. Both Junkrat and his bodyguard burst out laughing as she whimpered out a weak, “Shit.” Gretchen dropped the broken gun and put both hands on her remaining one, swinging it at each of the three people in front of her desperately.

               “Don’t bother, Mum,” Daisy said with a skeptical look. “With your aim, all you’re gonna do is nick one of us and piss somebody off. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll hit the safety of this baby.”

               Gretchen glared at the trio a few moments longer before wailing frustration. “This big, stupid dipstick is your father and fucking hate him for it! And you!” she explained.

               Roadhog and Daisy shared a quick look while Junkrat whooped beside them: “I knew it! I’ve only seen under that mask once or twice, but I knew I recognized them big green peepers!” Daisy flushed but smiled. The truth rolled over Mako in a rush of fear, bewilderment, and relief. At least he was sure now. But also completely unsure of what to do now. Gretchen didn’t give him much time to think.

               “I’m not going to let you two of you tear apart what I’ve built here. For the past twenty years I’ve looked after this brat and saving up every last penny her tech has earned me! I finally have enough to buy my way out of this hellhole your father created, so I’m not going to die out here in the dust! But you one of you sure is, right god-damned now!” She raised her arms to aim and Roadhog instinctively grabbed her wrists to twist them away from Daisy. The middle-aged woman was no match for him, and he easily disarmed her, but not before she squeezed the trigger one last time. He smacked her over the head with his massive fist, and she fell limp to the ground. He whirled back to Daisy, putting his hands on her shoulders.

               “You okay,” he asked, shaking her from her stupor.

               “Y-yeah, I’m okay,” she replied quietly. “Are you?” He nodded, prompting her to smile.

               “Well I’m not alright,” Junkrat whined, “that psycho almost hit me!” The blonde man frantically running his hands all over himself, double checking that he was still intact.

               Roadhog rolled his eyes with his whole head, “You’re fine.”

               “But I could have been hurt, or terribly maimed! I’m going to need some compensation,” Junkrat sighed gravely.

               Daisy laughed, “Take anything you want, tough guy, I think you’ve earned it – for all the psychological trauma.”

               Junkrat giggled, “Thank you very much!” He began grabbing things from the shelves around him and stuffing his pockets.

               “Sorry ‘bout him,” Roadhog mumbled as he let go of Daisy.

               “He’s fine,” she said waving off any offense the bomb maker may have made, “but, is she . . . dead?” They both looked over to Gretchen.

               Roadhog kneeled down next to her and saw the older woman’s chest rise and fall. “Just out cold. You want her . . . ?”

               “No, no, no,” Daisy said putting her hands up. “The woman’s nuts, but she’s my mum. And I kinda like the idea of her being stuck out here.”

               “Fitting,” he nodded with a chuckle. “N’ you?”

               “I’m going to run,” she said firmly. “I can’t stay here with her any longer.”

               “Where?”

               She swayed to the side, “I dunno,” she admitted quietly. “But I know where she keeps the cash, so I’ll figure it out.”

               “Cash,” Junkrat butt in with a sing-song tone.

               Roadhog shook his head.

               “But -”

               “No,” Roadhog said with finality.

               “Ugh, you better not be going soft on me, big guy,” Junkrat moaned shoving a drill into the back of his pants.

               The masked man looked to Daisy just in time to see her gently touch the matted blood under her eye and recoil in pain. He took a step closer and very gingerly took her dimpled chin is his hand, twisting her face to get a better look at the injury. “I’ll patch you up this time,” he grunted dragging the first aid kit closer to him. As Roadhog pressed the antiseptic to her face, she scrunched her face, making her little nose wrinkle.

               “Aw,” Junkrat cooed from behind the big man, “look at her tiny snout! It’s just like your mask!”

               “Hush,” Roadhog snapped even though he’d been thinking the same thing while simultaneously wondering how a lump of trash like him had helped make something so endearing.

               Junkrat snickered, “That was the least convincing ‘hush’ I’ve ever heard out a’ you.” The bomb maker grinned as Roadhog pressed a bandage to Dasiy’s puffy cheek. “Hey, can we bring the kid with us?”

               “What,” gulped Roadhog, voice about an octave higher than usual. Junkrat burst out laughing at the change.

               “Y-you don’t have to do that,” Daisy stammered straightening her dress. “I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything.”

               Junkrat scoffed, throwing his arm lazily around the girl. “Inconvenience us? Missy, you’re gon’ do the total opposite! If you can rig up fancy turrets like the ones outside, you must be smart as! And I’ve been looking for an apprentice. Plus, just look at ya! You’re short, unassuming, but still cute as a button – you’re gonna help us break into all kinds of swanky places!”

               “Break in,” Daisy questioned.

               “Did I not mention we’re thieves? Criminal masterminds? Men wanted across countries all across the world,” Junkrat boasted.

               “Uh, no, you did not mention that.”

               “Well, we are.” He leaned down to whisper unnecessarily in her ear, “We’re the ones who stole the crown jewels!”

               Daisy’s face lit up in a way that made Roadhog smile. “You did,” she said in a hushed voice.

               “Hell yeah! Didn’t we, big guy?”

               Roadhog shrugged and nodded. The job has been surprisingly simple. But a lot of fun. That crown . . .

               Daisy’s eyes lit up, “That’s amazing!”

               Junkrat giggled, “And we got a whole lot more planned! Whaddaya say, you want in? Payment for an internship such as this is minimal, but I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement – you help us, we let you watch us in action – that sort of thing.”

               “That sounds fantastic!” The girl looked giddy, like someone had handed her a limited edition peachimari, not a gig that could easily get her killed. Daisy looked up to Roadhog and her face slowly fell as he stayed silent, “but if you would rather not have me come along, I understand.”  

               The massive man shook his head quickly. It wasn't that he didn’t want to have her nearby, but forcin her into the criminal life? “It’s just . . . dangerous,” he said quietly.

               Daisy gave him a soft smirk, “So is the Outback. I could die at any point out here. I’d rather risk my hide having some fun out in the world than scraping by out here.” She twisted her hips, flaring the bottom of her dress. She deserved to have a proper gown, not a grungy hand-me-down. “Plus,” she added, “I’d kinda like to hang out with you some more.”

               Roadhog melted. The kid was everything he still valued in this world: soft, warm, squishy, adorable, brave at the right times, hesitant when she needed to be, smart as hell. And hopeful. She had hope. Usually, he thought that was an idiotic thing to have, but it was different with her. Everything was different with her. He was going to do all he could to keep a smile on that sweet face.

               “I’d like that,” he said with a light laugh.

               “Seriously,” she asked eagerly. Roadhog nodded, and Dasiy bounced in excitement. Girl was going to have him wrapped around her finger in no time. He wouldn’t mind.

               Junkrat squealed, “Daisy, mate, you’re gonna love this life, best was to make a Quid! Grab yer stuff – like the cash – and we’ll be one our way. I’ll tell you all about my newest plan! But we gotta travel light. Won’t be much room on the bike with all three of us.”

               “And we need room for loot, right,” she said with a vaguely teasing grin.

               “She’s a natural,” Junkrat laughed jostling her about.

               “Rain’s stopped,” Roadhog noticed. “Let’s head out.”

               “Yes,” Junkrat said tossing the door open and darting out, “It’s a perfect day for some mayhem!”

               Roadhog held the door open for his daughter, but she wasn’t following him. Daisy stood by her mother, concern on her brow.

               “She’ll be right,” he assured her.

               Daisy hesitated a moment longer, before rolling Gretchen over on her side and bunching a towel under the woman’s head. Gretchen curled her legs toward her body – a sign that she would be okay. Mostly. Eventually.

               “Just like after a bender,” Daisy sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”

               Within five minutes Junkrat was lounging in his sidecar while Roadhog finishing wiping down the leather seat. Daisy came bounding over to them with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a yellow floral backpack.

               “Ready, intern?” Junkrat asked.

               “Yup,” she chimed.

               “Then all you need is a codename, like Roadie and I,” Junkrat said scratching his chin in thought. He gasped dramatically. “We can call you Piglet!”

               “Uh,” Daisy said raising one eyebrow. “Do we have to?”

               “Yes,” Junkrat demanded.

               “No,” Roadhog assured her simultaneously.

               Junkrat groaned. “You got a better idea?”

               Roadhog looked to Daisy and hummed thoughtfully. “Princess.”

               “Princess?” Junkrat frowned.

               He grunted, “Mhmm. ‘Cause anyone who doesn’t treat my girl right gets executed.”

               Daisy beamed, sliding onto the motorcycle behind Roadhog when he gestured. There wasn’t much room, but she fit. As if she’d always belonged there.

[kendrixtermina]

Typing Misadventures - IN edition

So, typing and the difficulties therein.

Aside from person-specific ad-hominems, some that have been elaborated upon in attempts to explain them on this very website.

Sensors: Bad Sensor descriptions written by NPs, combining with the fact that Sensors rely a lot on developing a practical experential “feel” for things. A bad, vague and overly abstract description that doesn’t relate to their life is gonna be not very useful. (especially for SFPs for whom what they relate to is srz bzness) - Interestingly I’ve seen a lot of Sensors saying that they easily indentify particular types once they have encountered them IRL. (Speculation: With intuitives it probably depends more on wether they have their definitrions straight.)

Ne-Doms: Type-hop and doubt their type alot because they know they always could be mistyped and possibilities are the primary facet of reality for them. The “creative” nature of the auxillary, and their auxillary being a function that generates and handles belief systems,  means they can always reinterpret the evidence by redoing their reasoning or reassigning meaning, also the lack of Si leads to less constancy in their thinking, they change opinion easily, which is normally an asset, but not so much for self-typing as every input generates new ideas. (The auxillaries also have this but to a much lesser degree - b/c)

—

But today, I want to talk about INs (I know, boring - but those are what I know the most about since I am one.)

You may have seen me caveat my posts with “Unless I am actually an xNFP or something” as of late Yeah. It went about like this:

Troll: Haha you’re mistyped!

Me: Why?

Troll: because X.

Me: I have an alternate, more fitting explanation for X and a lot of things which my current typing explains betters especially when you get into the nuance of mbti theory.

Troll: (*hamfistedly applies overreductionistic function definition*) “Anyone who ever quotes a source ever is a Te user”. Just like anyone who ever mentions memory is a SJ amirite?

Troll: *shifts the topic to my person and then accuses me of talking about myself*

Me: *blocks troll largely to curttail own tendency to waste time & energy with internet arguments*

So at my best,  I believe in not dismissing inconvenient PoVs and double-checking, and the main point of replying them was to leave an alternate opinion for future readers hence no point in continuing after that had been done.  

At my worst damn inf Fe makes it hard to ignore input even if I don’t believe it’s justified (except when it fails to pick them up - as inferior functions are wont to be its either sluggish or AHH with little inbetween. ) and that lil 8 fix of mine doesn’t want to “stand down quietly”.  

So I ask a few reasonable, knowledgeable, non-troll person, one of which said “Hm, could be, you anecdote alot which X type also does”

I believed this was better accounted for by simple ol’ Si and w4-self revealing tendencies, but, how could I know for sure? I never denied having a pronounced 4wing and fix, but I thought that sufficiently explaining their perceived discrepancies insofar as I found them consistent with reality and indeed all data collected so far. Too much would just be filed away as “inf Te” as a blanket term, the way any sign that [fan favorite character] is ST rather than INFJ is “inferior Se” though that supposed “inferior” is 80% of what she does and all moments claimed for F or N are the sort of situations where anyone would display emotion or philosophizing and what intuition they display is distinctly Ne instead. 

Like the proverbial man who dreamt of being a frog I couldn’t cast the doubt from my mind and went over reinterpreting my thought patterns throughout the day. How do I know I’m NOT X type? After all my idea of and criteria for type are based on the definitions I extracted from various mbti sources when first familiarzing myself with the topic… how do I know I understood it correctly? How can ANY human correctly understand a definition if they have to deduce/reconstruct/guess what the other meant with their own flawed mind?

(At this point the non-INs in the audience might be rolling their eyes)

I still thought my type made the most sense but the person, through trolling in that particular instance, was not alltogether clueless and had some good insights, and also, some ppl agreed with them (theres that Fe again) - I was pretty sure I was in the holographic-panomramic thinking style but I could be wrong,  thats a fairly rarely used concept which I simply started using cause I thought it made sense. ENFPs can mistake themselves for introverts. I have been mistaken for extrovert b/c of my lack of filter… but I was pretty sure I was a very pronouncedintrovert and had Fe, and so I went over it over and over again.

They said I didn’t comprehend _ i had some theory as to why they thought the way they did (not just bias against xNFPs but assuming all Ti is like aux Ti. After all, an introverted function as a dominant builds a framework and may be reluctant to accept or need time to withdraw when said framework clashes with reality to the point of needing a full revamping, purportedly resulting in a certain stubbornness particularly if it’s a Ji function.  )

but what if I really Didn’t comprehend? Then all my reasoning would be worthless! I dont think I have the skills of an INFP, but what if i misunderstood those? Was a lot of what I’d attributed to Ti just Ne? i thought I had rather typical Ti speech patterns (it was hard to unsee, like my brain used a highly predictable parsing alghorithm to make thoughts into words) but they disagreed and pointed to what they thought was Fi. 

I thought that despite all the differences introduced by  shared preferences and  there were differences between I and the Fi doms I knew. The 9 and the 6 were much more lowkey, non-confrontational than I and way more perceptive in line with how socionics describes Fi as the “Ethics of Relations” and how Nardi calls it an “Inner state of listening/reacting”; I mostly listen to the contents of someone’s words; I’d spot a liar by contradiction or unbeliavable statements, or by deducing what beliefs they are operating from. Feelers supposedly use primarily tone of voice... but I have sure noticed tone of voice a few times, and this is a qualia. I can’t compare what “Fi” or “Ti” feel like without making assumptions of which one I am using. 

Supposedly

The 4! INFPs should be the most similar to me, on the other hand, they tend to have a certain...absoluteness in their beliefs and statements in a way I wouldn’t be comfortable with. I’m more hesitant, more relativizing, adding qualifiers etc so bI don’t say anything incorrect. 

I don’t mean to bash the INFPs here, they are usually just processing their specific feels and do not mean to imply things about others. (Tumblr INFP: “I, an INFP, experience X.”. Tumblr xxFJ: “Are you saying that other types don’t????? You can’t say that! How self absorbed are you?” Immature  Tert Fe User:*distantly feels the same urge toward ,moral condemnation as FJ,but couldn’t care less if INFP offends anyone -  settles for calling them a snowflake instead. * TJs and Ti doms: *roll their eyes, half-assedly consider correcting whoever they disagree with but ultimately just keep scrolling*) Of course Team Fe sometimes has a point if the INFP in question is young and/or irresponsible. 

Example: 

One INFP 4w5: “I be those shallow fake bitches look down on you just because you don’t wear as much makeup. I don’t think anyone who wears makeup can be trusted, unless it’s like,halloween makeup or something like that, they’re just putting up fake faces to be popular.”

Me (let’s say, presumed INTP 5w4): “I dunno... Like I agree that those girls are shallow bitches,if they had spines, they wouldn’ perform arbitrary fake behavior just to be popular.* But not everyone is the same - maybe some people might just wear makeup because they like how it looks. The real problem is people being judged by arbitrary conventions on principle. What does is matter whether someone wears makeup or not? Its a made-up convention with no real reason.  It’s none of anyone’s business.”

* for the record I have since realized that there’s nothing bad about wanting to be popular as long as yopu dont harm anyone, and that for some people its genuinely what they want. I was, like,  13. Common (w)4 pitfall I guess. 

As you see both I and this middle school friend of mine are expressing 4-ish povs, but I used to think  the difference in our reasoning highlighted some differences. 

Granted this is more 5w4 vs 4w5 than necessarily Ti vs Fi,  Could just be the 5′s general disconnect toward action and desire to “know more first”. 

There are 5 INFPs. after all. Mostly sx 5s and as such differentiable from the relatively intense, dramatic sx 4 as long as you’re certain enough that they’re sx. Thinking about how to describe them. More second-guessing and ‘drifting’ than the 4 ones but like them in their analytical nature. A different kind of contemplative.  Still reasons distinctlylike an INFP - See, One of them was religious, for example, and I’m pretty sure an INTP would have had more posts about why they were religious or not, though it’s one of the types most likely to be a non-believer, the religious ones tend to have a theological bent and talk about the perfection and incomprehensibility of god, how god is totally logical etc. (Thomas Acquinas is a famous example) - their faith will be an ordered self-consistent system. A bit like that example of copernikus assuming the orbits must be perfectly circular because natture as he understood it would tend toward the most “perfect” forms. I’m not religious and I could likewise talk about that at lenght.

Arguments that convinced me:  “This is how these beliefs came from, not an actual god” and “If were made out of single celled organism who die all the time as shed skin cells, how would the rest of them dieing at once be different?” “Even if your religion is true that means many, if not all others are not. So at least all some must be myths. How is your “true” religion different from them?” 

Arguments made by famous Te-Fi users: “Occams Razor.” “We can’t disprove a giant sucker on the back of Pluto either, but its no reason to suppose one.”“Belief in god hampers human development and creates dependent, slavish mentality”

That 5!INFP’s attitude toward their belief reminded me more of another Fi dom I know (albeit an ISFP). “Yeah, I know the common objections, but look, it’s what I believe. Don’t come into my house and be a jerk to me about it.” or “[Assholish behavior] is not actually in line with my religion. My religion, and this aspect of it, are actually about love/peace/duty/etc” 

If, while conversing,  you hit a hard disagreement, that is,  an axiom that’s not up for debate, your Fi-dom friend may change the topic/agree to disagree/ “It’s just the way I feel” 

[This could apply to other moral or ideological questions religion is just an example; This is not supposed to be about religion it’s just here to illustrate a perceived difference. . I’m not implying all INFPs have the same approach to religion or even have to be religious.]

Another conversation I remember having with them actually on the very subject of Fi vs Fe. IDK how we got to that topic but I mentioned something I initially thought was an enneagram thing (my memory is vague on the details) but I mentioned something like lowkey feeling guilty for receiving praise that I believe was undeserved. 

She deemed it a Fe thing and said that for her, as a Fi dom/ fe opposing type, a bit of praise she did not agree with might not cause any reaction at all unless she thought they had a point  or otherwise had a reaction from her end, like deciding the criticism was unfair - why should she feel guilty b/c of what someone else says? 

Granted that’s just an anecdote, but what am I to do? INFP 5s are not super common. Also I’m not making this decisionbased on any single of these examples but... not even from the “preponderance” so much as to how they can be best explained. 

And  of course, if I really did get everything wrong after looking into the topic for years, what guarantee is there that I typed any of those people correctly? None, as one of the trolls/claimants correctly pointed out. 

After all what I want is the truth, it doesn’t matter what it is. Or at least that is what I strive for as much as human frailty allows. so what if I’m an INFP? INFPs are awesome. I even considered the type early on, I just thougnt INTP fit better especially once I found out about inferior functions.  And I have always held that a person has no obligation to follow their “talents”. If I don’t have a “talent” for reason (which isn’t the same as mbti thinking anyways) all the reasons why I believe that it is a good way of life to aim for would still stand. Reason is a method to correct for human error and bias, after all, the error and bias we all have, no matter what Ji function we use.

Type insofar as it can even be said to be a real thing is a classfication of emergent qualities, not a hard measure you can get in an instrument. 

As much as I’d want to figure this out, there comes a point where you just have to like step back and put it in context.  it’s just a personality test/ little tool to facilitate communication in which “maybe this or that” is more helpful than nothing. 

Striving for it despite not being handed talent at birth is all the more worthwhile - and if reason was only for certain kinds of people what’s the point of it? Regardless of what tropes people associate with “science” or “logic”, what they actually are by definition are simple basic methods.

Last but not least there was a moment

Soo, existential crisis. At least they can’t doubt that I’m a melancholic or an oldham ideosyncraticXD

Then,  my doubt crumbled away to the “ mostly sure, dont think it could be anything else but im not omnicient” levels at which it was before.

What happened? Well, a rare event:

Well, I went outside and talked to people.

I visited my folks, saw new places, got into a few unscripted situations in other words. 

I’ve seen one post detailing that INs may mistype because they analyze themselves as a whole, feature in less apparent traits and second-guess their reasoning worrying about bias, noticing what sticks out more than the norm etc.  and so on and that may be it in part but I don’t think it’s only this relatively “noble”, too-much-of-a-good-thing mistake.

- It’s a matter about how we are all about ~extrapolating~ from data and using multiple data points and less about decisiveness and practicality. We brood away endlessly trying to come up with interpretations and conceptualizations that makes all the data points fit rather than just going with what they themselves largely seem to suggest. 

One good description I once heard is that Intuitives think in networks while Sensors think in puzzle pieces - I went overboard trying to build ever more complex networks instead of going “Yeah, with all the puzzle pieces so far it’s probably this.”. 

Sometimes the latter approach can be incomplete and miss game changing interconnections - but just as often, the former gets convoluted and therefore, both uselessly vague and too far removed from the actual data its meant to interpret. 

Aaaand, well, almost every sentence I said was “Did you know that...?” or “I think so/ don’t think so because of [observation followed by possible deduction].

Sure, I could be biased in my observation or unconsciously “doing it on purpose to appear a certain way” even if I don’t think I am or care about that, , but some critical mass of “doing it on purpose” would itself be equivalent with 5 (or a 3)

I was a little afraid one time; I reacted by withdrawing and looking at the whole thing as an observatrion and it was a highly temporary thing. And as much as I complain about Fe users playing police, I may have been guilty of one moment of overreacting, unwanted/socially-chiding “help” myself there. (The person perhaps justly called me a know-it-all. They were wrong about one thing but I may have handled it all more constructively) I repeatedly expressed vague undifferentiated preferrences that were closer to analyzing what factors were at work rather than having clear like/dislike reasons readily available. .

I critiqued a TV show (myself and the local INTJ annoying all the non-NTs with our loud, animated critiquing ) and a big factor to being unabvle to enjoy it fully was the lack of High-Concept abstract sci fi content and mostly the lack of consistency - normally a lot of my enjoyment would come from extrapolatinmg and deducing what the world is like and how it, the themes and charactzers “work”, but here I coulnd do that because it was tacked onto a ‘verse it did not fit into. I observed how said INTJ and I reacted to us correcting each other on small things with like a brief thanks or apology & just moving on whilst similar things had gotten annoyed snarks out of our otherwise patient Feeler sister...

The nails in the coffin were those 2 tumblr posts, one about differences in how Fi and low Fe argue (the latter pile including 3 phrases I used verbatim in the last discussion with my SO just hours earlier) and a post by the afore mentioned “resonable poster” about, as she called it “oversharing in soc variants vs soc blinds” though the correct amount of sharing might well be in the eye of the beholder.

But that was the one objection of the troll I didn’t have a non-vague satisfactory reply to, what rly kept me wondering rather than “eh not gonna reinvent the wheel again”, something about “sp/sx woldn’t have long descriptions or emo rants” Apparently they do when they never have to dea with the person again (such as on the internets. )

IDK I did move the description so no one’s forced to read it but lots of peeps have one (This is like... a blogging site??) but the reasons for its existence had more to do with “completionist urges related to then-current obsession (typology)” and “So I like X, bite me.” sort of sentiment than whatever it was they presuposed. 

Dear Causal-Deterministic peeps (ENTP, INFP, ISTP, ESFP): Instances of the same behavior can be caused by different causes! Look at this: 2 4 8.

What’s the pattern? - Could be “powers of 4″.  Could also be “even numbers” or even “any increasing integer”. 

Of course this whole mess is an example of where we H-P folks (INTP, ENFP, ISFP, ESTP) look at everything from multiple angels/Povs, (”Is it like this? Is it lika that? It COULD be seen this other way...”) rather than, well, decide which ones are most relevant here/ “Pick one”. At least the SPs have Se to “just grab one” or whatever it is they do. 

Whereas we just stand there speculating XD The ENFPs sorta do it too but in a whole different way/ area of life? 

Me: “Either he is nuts or I am nuts because we can’t both be telling the truth!”

ENFP: “Well I empasize with both of you so I don’t think either of you is nuts?”

Me: Sorry but this is a real dichotomy here for once. If he dun nothing wrong, then I would be wrong for accusing him thus, just as he says..

ENFP: Can we all agree to disagree and chil maybe? plz??

Might also be why there`s this overlap between ENFPs and Universalists? Though obviously not all ENFPs are universalists and vice versa. 

So yeah. Kinda comical in hindsight. I started out all second guess-ey and entertaining both possibilities in parallel but in the end, well, I do think it’s INTP after all, at least, I’d say its the most probable by a considerable margin. Most definitely 5 tho. For all the occasionall 4 ness its by far the most overwhelming tendency in day to day life/thinking ugh cant I NOT spew nerd facts about everything in sight. What are other conversaton topics? 

Bottom Line: By thinking about your own thinking you alter your thinking, and that way lie 2nd order chaotic systems, the Uncertainty Principle and Goedel’s Theorem...

So going outside both threw me out of that recursion and added new, raw data as a means to test the competing hypotheses. It forced me to see what I actually act like by and large in a natural setting rather than the many ways I could interpret or read the way I act like, which like, is not actually all that mysterious lol