#conservatives hate pronoun errors

[isawthismeme]

[human-souls-buy-dopamine]

Idk why I'm suddenly wanting to post a bunch of random unrelated shit but eh. Here we go I guess, under a cut because idk how long this'll get �� also tw, heavy discussion of religion (christianity) and religion-based homophobia/transphobia

So like. Love our grandma to death right. Never will stop loving her. Just GOD sometimes she frustrates us so much 😭 (for context we live with her, she's our parent)

I can't tell if she's trying to be accepting or if she's not sometimes? It's so confusing. She let us have a pride flag, let us get a binder, she sometimes tries to use our pronouns and stuff. But then on the other side of things she just. Also tries to slip stuff about Christianity and whatnot into a lot of conversation about it

Like. Okay, she has a right to her own religious beliefs, just like we have a right to our own religious beliefs. None of our business. But it's so difficult when she claims to accept us and then spouts blatant transphobia and homophobia, votes for the guy literally trying to take away our rights, tells us that "God only made man and woman," etc—

Also the fact that, during our stay at the children's home, we briefly had a period where we genuinely tried to believe in christianity (as opposed to pretending bc you basically had to there) and so we read some verses on those topics + others. And unless there's proof of it being some translation error, homosexuality is mentioned both in the new and old testament!! I can't recall if the word itself is used for Soddam and Gomorrah, but in the NT there's a few that are just. Way too direct to ignore

"(9) Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with men (10) nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God." (1 Corinthians 6:9-10)

"(9) We also know that the law is made ... for lawbreakers and rebels, the ungodly and sinful, the unholy and irreligious, for those who kill their fathers or mothers, for murderers, (10) for the sexually immoral, for those practicing homosexuality..." (1 Timothy 1:9-10, omitted some parts for length but I kept the meaning)

With that being said, you can't exactly cherrypick here. It's very explicitly stated, and while it very well could be a 'translation error', I haven't seen anything that supports/points that conclusion. (Not to say it doesn't exist, just we personally haven't)

So like. It's difficult to not feel frustrated, especially since she wants us to go to church— Like, you can't claim to support us as we are and then believe the thing that says we're condemned to hell for it?

And, maybe I'm making shit up here, but in our years of being in a conservative Christian town and listening to sermons, the way that sin is talked about is very much framed as a choice? Like, obviously in Christianity it's believed that humans are inherently sinful/unworthy (which is a whole nother can of worms), but you *commit* sins. You *commit* murder, you *commit* idolatry, you *commit* sexual immorality, etc— Gramatically I can't frame everything in that language, but you get the idea. While humans are apparently predisposed to sin, it's never implied (to us, at least, and from what we've read) that some people just ARE murderers, ARE idolaters, ARE cheaters, etc— people choose to commit these acts while having the option not to.

Therefore, using that logic, in Christianity, being anything besides straight would be a choice. Which we know from experience isn't true— Like, sure, we love our identity, but stars, dude, wouldn't it be a hell of a lot easier if we could just be cishet?? Why would we continually CHOOSE to be something that puts us at risk of being the target of a hate crime, of being murdered, of being harassed?

We've brought up these points, but it's like she just. Doesn't acknowledge it? Or she'll just go "I don't know why" when we bring up the last point, as if she thinks we ARE faking it somehow ???? It's like.,.,,,., ma'am. I love you. Please realize that while I'm fine letting you have your religious beliefs, as any decent person should be, if I were to be insistent about my own the way you are about yours you'd say I'm persecuting you. Your stance is inconsistent and we are rhe ones who have to live with the knowledge that under your beliefs we are a sinner condemned to hell for something we cannot control. That sucks. Like, I love you, but it sucks.

Idk man I'm just. Agh. I love her and she's a great parent, she takes care of us and loves us and provides honesyly a LOT for what we have available, don't get me wrong!! it's just this specific topic that bugs me aghhh

[nightswithkookmin]

A LITTLE LIL NAS METAPHOR COS I'M GASSED UP FOR REAL

Sometimes I try to mind my business and let shit go but really all I want to do is throw rocks at som of yall.

This is Lil Nas X. Iconic beautiful SLAY.

Certainly he made a choice to go out on the carpet because he's bold and he doesn't give a fuck what people think about him. Right?

Now of course it got most conservatives raging mad while others thought he is iconic- Just like Jungkook's Dorothy Explore moment at the premiere.

Yet there are those of us who saw that Lil Nas moment and immediately thought it was hilarious he pulled that stunt and went ahead and made memes of him- memes he willingly participated in- right?

Now supposing Lil Nas got all flustered on the stage and started giggling and acting coy, shy and I came out here as a Nas Stan and said well he's PROBABLY shy because he's conscious of all that air blowing through his ass cos his Naked bum in a room full of judgemental eyes- would that be shaming him?

How do you go from A to Z. How do you draw that conclusion. Makes no fucken sense to me.

If you don't like me making memes out of BTS and joking about them- IT'S A YOU PROBLEM.

It's only offensive if it's ill intended or makes the boys themselves uncomfortable. But I promise you, there's nothing I say here that I can't say to them in the face. I promise you- may be not the part I ship them that's wild but still.

And the tuktukker syndrome some of yall have- yall need to fucking stop. It's ew. Gross and disgusting. When you make assumptions about people and they tell you to the contrary you don't go telling them they lying mother fucker stop. It's unhealthy and immature.

It's how these empty headed hooligans keep calling JM a liar because he presents statements that contradict their delusional takes and assertions.

I take being called out pretty seriously because I'm not perfect and I don't know everything as relates to others and their culture and what not. If I am making insensitive jokes or comments about these men I do want to be corrected on it. You know? Because I would hate to be the source of their pain.

You don't know this but two years ago JM made a comment during live and from that moment I slowed down on making those in depth near psychoanalytic analysis. And when I have to do it, I try to keep it as respectful as possible.

I don't see anything wrong in correcting people. Some might be naive and ignorant or might be hurting people inadvertently. There's no need to be defensive about it.

Take the recent moments in this community where Chikoorita came under fire for defending some other account- don't know them don't care.

It was disheartening to see people go from trying to point out to them the errors of their ways to blatantly being nonbinaryphobic towards them, ridiculing them, invalidating them, and quoting Blaire White of all people as justification to call them a pronoun they preferred for Chikoorita.

I reached out to a few accounts to try to educate them on why this is problematic. Nobody knows the person behind Chikoorita's account. If they are telling you they prefer to stay "gender anonymous" there's nothing wrong in choosing to respect that.

Yall hide behind anonymous blogs all the time and each time you choose to use an anonymous Ask you are choosing not to define your gender as well. And even that, we respect you and do not assign a gender to you.

Would be weird if, we kept using a he pronoun to address an anon especially when they have pointed out they was a she or preferred not to be gendered at all.

Point I'm making is I am not above correction.

And I do take sentiments of that nature seriously.

But you better make sure it's not based on your feelings of what is right and wrong because feelings can be subjective.

Here's my feeling of your feelings

[kitchenangst]

Before Anything Good pt. 1

Mako x reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Barely one month of living on the streets, and Mako has grown skeptical of anything good that’s offered freely to him. When the girl from the other side of town calls him stinky and demands he take a shower, he might just be right about his newfound cynicism. 

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: first time writing a fic so pls feel free to give constructive criticism and say any errors i make! very very slow burn, might have inconsistent tenses

a/n: hi!! This is just my interpretation of Mako and Bolin growing up on the streets, but if there’s any errors of whatever kind pls let me know!!!!! 

pt. ii | pt. iii

Mako hated it. The crawling suspicion of stares grabbing him like wisps of fire over his body whenever he walked down the streets never left, even if he was in the faux safety of the dark alleyway he now had no choice but to call home. He couldn't help looking around, trying to find the pair of eyes that pitied him, the sneaky hands that tried to pickpocket the only remaining yuans he had, or the thoughts that hated dirty, useless, rotten children who had nothing better to do than steal for survival. 

He unconsciously reached for his little brother's hand and hunched his shoulders to his ears, the red scarf loosely wrapped around his shoulders reaching higher and higher up his face as his eyebrows deepening his scowl moved lower and lower and his legs dragging themselves faster and faster. 

He ignored the tugging on his hand until he heard his brother's strained call, "Mako? Ow, ow, ow!"

Mako whipped around to face his brother just as he stopped in his tracks. "Bolin! Are you okay?" His eyebrows undoing the previous tension and raising in concern before realizing Bolin was pulling his own hand free from the bruising grasp he held. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your hand," he lamely responded with a wince despite not being the one in pain. His hand found its place on his brother's shoulder. "C'mon, I spotted those bullies from yesterday. Let's get going."

Mako's eyes continued to flicker around, only returning Bolin's gaze once he noticed the subtle nod of his head. He let Bolin walk ahead of him, his own hand protectively hovering over the younger one's shoulder, and continued to walk at Bolin's pace. Admittedly, it was slower than the one he usually walks. Bolin, at the age of 6, isn't as tall as Mako, doesn't have the will to keep his stomach from growling even longer, and sees walking leisurely as a better way to conserve energy than speeding away from bullies. 

The low humming of fire crackling and the unpredictable wisps dancing along his skin returns, and he can't help but grab Bolin's shoulder more firmly, moreso to ground himself from getting lost in the uncontrollable heat than to run away at a moment's notice. He pockets his other hand and busies himself with recounting the yuans he brought today. At the count of 21, his head follows the sudden blur in the corner of his eye, making sure to remember every face that so much as makes eye contact, stare, leer-

"Mako?" Bolin calls when the hand on his shoulder is near a death grip, which, to his relief, immediately loosens. "Can we get dinner? At the place with the nice lady who gives us free tea?"

--

1358 yuans. That's the remaining amount of currency they had after selling every article of clothing and anything salvageable from their wrecked home once their parents passed. That's enough for about 6 weeks if they keep eating at food stalls for breakfast and dinner and split it between the two. 2 months, at the very least, if they were to live off of apple-peaches, maybe longer if they resort to stealing--

No! They're orphans, living on the streets, having just lost their parents and in no way, able to contact their relatives from Ba Sing Se. Even after being turned away from every door, they still had to be law-abiding citizens and were expected to pay for their needs. Then what had they done for their parents to pay their life for them to end up huddling underneath the worn down cardboard as their blanket? Mako blinks the stinging feeling of tears away before they have the chance to form. 

Even after 2 weeks of the unfortunate event, Mako and Bolin still couldn't get used to the hard concrete beneath them, how the cardboard will never be as soft as a blanket or wrap around their shivering forms, or how their dad's scarf that smells like home was starting to smell like sweat and smoke. Although Mako wears it during the day, he makes sure to wrap it around Bolin’s neck, and leaves the ends of it centered between their two forms once they lay down. 

Mako thanks his mom for teaching him the basics of fire bending, seeing as Bolin revels in the warmth of the flame lit between them that paints his face in the softest of oranges and reds better than any compliment or praise. He kept the flame lit, reciting his mother’s bedtime stories until Bolin's eyelids grew heavy and were far and fewer in between blinks. With a small smile, he pulls the cardboard over their shoulders once Bolin returns his good night, and lets sleep take over. 

--

Wake, eat, restroom, sleep. Although it wasn’t always in that order, the two brothers were growing familiar with the schedule. Protect their money, check their money, and use it sparingly. Luckily, Bolin was able to earthbend a small chunk of the ground out to place their money. It looked a little out of place… and anyone could bend or dig it out… but it was better than placing it directly underneath anything else (they did put some effort into concealing it by adding more rocks around it). Other than protecting their money, they deal with the bullies who happen to always start the verbal war, and it usually ends with either the brothers running away or with their parents scolding them. Whatever their reason, the two are just glad to see them gone.  

“Why are you two just sitting there?” 

Speak of the devil, Mako internally groans as he puts himself in front of Bolin. He looks up to tell the person to screw off, but halts at the new face. Just a few feet away, a little further from the alley entryway, the setting sun casts a warm shadow on a girl, no older than him, with her brows furrowed and a frowning mouth to match. 

Bolin’s form visibly shrinks at the new person, and in Mako’s legs, the flames grow frantic and set his instincts on fire to run and to leave before her parents would confront them with their pitiful stares and-

“Are you lost?” Her voice lifts in confusion and distracts him from his turmoil. 

With a scowl, Mako responds, “Just leave us alone.” To get the message across, he crosses his arms and looks as intimidating as he could. 

Not frightened in the slightest, she persists. “Why? Won’t your parents worr-”

“We don’t have any!” Mako's hands gesture wildly, as if pointing in every direction will show her his parents are nowhere to be found. 

Her eyes find their way to Bolin’s before meeting Mako’s again, and her brows lift in understanding. “Oh… I don’t know what to say…” Whatever expression she wore turns blue quickly. 

“Then don’t,” Mako spits at her with any remaining energy he has. Even briefly mentioning his parents always leaves a sour note in his mouth and somehow drains him of his energy. “Better yet, just leave us alone!” 

The next few seconds drag out like months with the way Mako glares at her, and he’s caught off guard when she suddenly grabs his hand and tugs him out of the alleyway, too flustered at the thought of holding hands to yank it out. She looks over her shoulder, making brief eye contact with Bolin as she motions for him to follow her. 

“Where are you taking us?” Bolin questions once he catches up. “You’re not taking us to the butcher, are you? To be butched?”

She looks down at him and laughs. “Silly pig-bear! I don’t think you’ll be very tasty when you haven’t taken a bath!” Mako quickly swipes his hand from her hold to grab Bolin, who was frozen at her blunt statement. “No, no! I was joking,” she quickly explains at the sight of Bolin’s fearful eyes and Mako beginning to drag them away from her. “No, I just wanted to take you to the bakery!” As if timed, their stomachs growl at the mention of baked goods. 

With great reluctance and Bolin’s pout, Mako gives in. “Fine, but only if you’re paying.” 

She tugs their hands to their destination again, the swinging in her arms, the upbeat humming, and the bounce in her step all indicating her happy mood. Happy for what, Mako doesn’t know. He wouldn’t understand why a stranger would be willing to bring them somewhere to eat unless she had some sort of intentions. Her mood was effective in lowering his guard a bit, though, if it meant that the handholding wasn’t as unpleasant as he thought it would be when it was for something other than life threatening. Even Bolin had gotten over his initial dilemma to ask, “So, how are you paying?” 

“How else would I buy the bread?” 

“Well, sometimes we steal apples to save money.” 

Just when the girl opens her mouth to respond, Mako quips in. “Money that we don’t have!” The weird look she gives prompts him further, “Because… We’re homeless, and we don’t have any…” Right, because any idiot would be dumb enough to say they have money unprotected while they’re away from it.

At her nodding, she stares ahead, expression saddening as she starts to speak, “I’m not going to force you to come and pay, if that’s what you’re worried about… If you guys don’t have any money, how have you been eating when you can’t steal?” 

Mako’s shoulders begin to relax at the thought of not paying for food, having hardly noticed that they were tense the entire time, while Bolin faces the ground, as if what he was saying next would bring him shame. “Sometimes we don’t eat at all.” 

And they advance to their destination quicker, if her sudden change in pace were any indication of her giving these two food faster would make the dampened mood lighten up. Her grip tightens as if telling them it’ll be okay, and for a moment, Mako believes in the nonverbal reassurance. For the past 3 weeks, Mako has grown accustomed to the nasty looks he’s given when he’s trying to scour for free food, and only knew of a hand that was used to put him in his place, to bring more pain into his life than he needed, to point fingers, and he hated any hand motion other than being motionless by the side of its owner. Now… maybe he can count on this hand as the one that leads him towards the dimming fire that he tried to put out during his time on the streets. 

She lets go of their hands to face them. Both brothers look to their right as the crisp aroma drifts into their noses, the scent filling their bodies with the familiar warmth they haven’t felt since before their parent’s death. “Okay, before we eat! You guys stink,” she announces to bring their attention back to her. 

Nevermind. I take it all back. Mako’s brows scrunch the same moment her nose does when he opens his mouth. “What do you expect from two homeless kids?” 

“We don’t even have washed clothes,” Bolin adds. 

“Okay!” Her eyes were as bright as the bulb that lit her ideas. “Because I’m paying, you two have to take a bath. Or shower. Whichever you prefer.” 

“And you suggest we do that…” At her confused look, Mako continues, “where?” 

“My house, dummies!” Their rigid nodding making her nod along excitedly at the idea of doing good. She opens the door to the bakery, the bell above chiming and the faint aroma from before now assaulting the party’s noses as they take in all the bread on display.

--

a/n: thank you for reading!! also yeah, you’d think after reading for so long, writing would come to you haha no so make sure you appreciate the writing blogs you follow and read from!! I do plan on fleshing this story out all the way to book 4 but I have no idea how long that’ll take or if it will be done at all. also sorry this ended weirdly but i’m tired and i just wanted to get it out there and the way i planned it would’ve been SO long so I’m splitting this bit into another part! it’s a slow burn like I mentioned in warnings but yeah, be prepared. it’s a LONG time before there’s any romance going on hehe

pt. ii | pt. iii

[diegolabhont]

The beginning

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe) 

Pairing: Zoey Wade x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes) & Poppy Mid-Sinclair  x Trans!Male MC  (Beck Hughes)

(Keep reading please, I have an explanation)

Genre: None (in this post, al least)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really.

Tags: @nevermindme-justreading

SO... here´s the thing:

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes) Beck is a trans latin guy, but you´ll see about that as the story takes off. This is just the presentation for the MC. Sorry

Now, about the PAIRING... I, as a writter, didn´t want to loose the opportunity to writte for my Queen Zoey and my other Queen Fic!Poppy (I SWEAR THAT´S NOT BECAUSE SHE´S ASIAN) so I will be using the same character to both, kinda like choices style, kinda. If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i´m sorry fo the grammar errors. Also, I don´t live in the US so sorry if it´s a little bit weird.

CHAPTERS

Chapter one 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Belvoire University. That´s where they were. During all of those years of hard work and hidden passion for music after heavy and demanding tasks back in the family farm, the last thing Beck Hughes thought would happen to them were getting a full scholarship for a music and composition major in one of the most prestigious institutions all over New York and they were truly, truly grateful. If you ask them, the view in here was too flashy for their simple taste, but they couldn´t complain, after all, they did have one of the best music programs at their disposition.

In the meantime, they were walking through campus feeling oh so in home. The gazes of the students around fixed on them as if Beck was some kind of alien in this glamorous and wealthy world. Beck didn´t care honestly. Too long ago they got used to teasing, to comments behind Beck´s back, to be judged for banal and superficial things. At least nobody was being dangerous. That´s why they walked with confidence and upright posture, feeling the strap of their guitar case dangle across their shoulder through his leather jacket. Maybe that bored and unimpressed expression they put up to pretend was the one to blame for the ruckus, especially when they clearly didn´t belong there, or maybe it was Beck´s second hand clothes, they didn´t know, but all that stopped mattering when their fear to be inside of a school drama came true the moment in which a noisy blonde bumped into their way.

At first they didn´t understand the magnitude of the problem, why was a simple coffee such a big deal? All the blonde girl had to do was move her lazy ass and ask for another one to herself instead of yelling to this poor girl just like a Karen. Yes, it was naïve of Beck to believe that they could interfere to peace the waters; the only thing he got was to bring all the fury from the banshee imitator right at them. Well, at least the first victim looked a bit more relaxed.          

“Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that?!” She yelled “Do you have any idea of who am I?”

No, who cares?

“I´m…”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about who she is. But you should worry about who I am”

Beck heard a voice talking right next to them, but again… Who. Cares? People was staring still; can we all just forget everything or doing a raincheck? Beck snorted with annoyance while turn around to face the new combat player logging in.

“Come on, tag along, shall we? Let’s acknowledge everybody’s name! The guy in the back, who are you? Who are everyone? I totally care!”, he thought for a split second, but their brain stopped working completely to the sight of a stunning and beautiful strawberry blonde standing right in front of them. He didn’t even notice how everyone was deadly quiet.

“Shit, she´s gorgeous…”

“And I’m about to become your first and last memory of Belvoire University”

Aaaand… she ruined it. Beck let out a chuckle, a challenging, mocking smile on his face.

“Is that a threat?”

Please, there was no possible way she could do anything to make them back down. Nothing. It took two steps from Beck to close the distance between them and the strawberry blonde, leaning gracefully to poke fun at the noticeable height difference. The girl didn´t back down neither, accepting the challenge with a murderous, threating look.

“You won’t last a day here”

Oh, that how it´s going to be, I see…

“I'm a trans person in a conservative, religious town… Try me”

Blonde´s face was a poem. The surprise so clearly drawn on her face that they could see exactly how her brain stopped, looking up and down Beck, astonish, processing the information, … “Ow, I broke her” They thought, amused. People were completely eating all up the show, Beck could feel every eye on the interaction, what was going on in this school? Fuck, where did they got into?

“Look, I gotta go. If you find something clever to say, just text me, a ‘right?” Said Beck, very willing to leave.

“Rude!”

Squawked Young Karen.

“Oh, snap. New Dude´s not backing down!” said someone.

They didn´t even care, Beck kept walking without looking back and they would be considerably far if not to a hand clawing back their free shoulder.

“How you dare—!“

“Hey, Beck! Look at the time, we gotta go!”

A girl shows up from nowhere, took his arm and pulled them out of the commotion, running away as if a bear were behind them. Seriously, what the hell? The girl, that finally looked like the danger was gone, stopped right in front of a large and fancy door and slammed her keycard against some kind of sensor.

“Wish the circumstances were different, but welcome to de Winfrey dorm complex, AKA your new home!

She was agitated, naturally, but was until that moment that Beck had the chance to look at her with more detail… Gosh, are really all the ladies here that pretty? What´s in the water? Her hair, her eyes, those lips... She was completely flawless, a breath taking beauty.

Feeling confused and intrigued, Beck stumbled inside looking around in awe. Just a fraction of that room looked even more expensive than their own home!

“So… you are my… counselor or something?” they asked, the gorgeous girl looking too young to be one, though. She then cracked up a smile and a little chuckle.

“Beautiful”

“Starting with the wrong foot here and there, don´t you?” She grinned back to they and all the things Beck could feel was embarrassment and a beating heart making heat on their face. “You got out of that one alive. Barely.” She said, looking concerned once again, the laughing disappeared from those cute eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly… You´re gorgeous” A slight blush appeared on her cheeks, alarming Beck.

“Did I just…”

“…Is what I was thinking, but did I just say it out loud?” I hate me, I hate me, I hate me…

“You did, and you´re absolutely, positively right. I´m Zoey Wade, your roomie…”

Oh, so she has a name… wait a minute…

“You´re my roomie?” Beck asked taken aback, what does this means? They felt restless, kind of anxious. It´s this even allowed or the school was acting based on...

Zoey seemed to understand the internal fight in their mind because she immediately clarified.

“You don´t have to worry, this kind of dorms tend to be mixed so it´s kinda normal. Besides I check your info on The T and I saw you were LGBT+ so I´m not feeling…”

“My what?” That´s where she realized.

“Oh! Right… Ok, I´ll make it simple. Here there is a whole system here based on reputation.” Zoey took her phone and showed Beck a long numbered list.  Number one and on the top were the same girl they encounter earlier: Poppy Min-Sinclair was there, showing a radiant and flashy perfect smile, next was the banshee named Chloe St James, people, people, people, and low, low into the very bottom, was Beck Hughes… Or we most say “Newbie” Hughes. 

“Y´see... you are the new addition and The T´s been all over you. Specially because… well…” She looked reluctant to say it, but it wasn´t actually bad to Beck. They were used to.

“I don´t belong. Got it”

Beck let the guitar case on the floor, right next to the couch, walking around to see their new place, feeling Zoey´s eyes on them all the time.

“I don’t really care, I came here to have a good time and enjoying my music” and to save my life, basically. “So… mind if you show me some fun?” Said Beck, a little flirty. They were a little insecure, taking their chances… New town, new life, right? The seductive smirk they got back relaxed them a little bit more.

“Oh, Beck… I think we will be getting along just fine.”

[newstfionline]

Has Political Correctness Gone off the Rails in America?

By Philipp Oehmke, Der Spiegel, Jan. 5, 2017

It’s a Friday afternoon in Oberlin, Ohio, around one month before the country heads to the polls to elect Donald Trump as its next president. The final classes and lectures of the week have just ended, and a young woman comes walking by in bare feet with a hula hoop gyrating around her waist while others are performing what seems to be a rhythmic dance to the African music that’s playing. Two black students are rapping.

It’s the kind of scene that could easily play out on a beach full of backpack tourists, but this is unfolding at one of the country’s most expensive universities.

Many female students here have dyed their hair green or blue, they have piercings and their fashion sense seems inspired by “Girls” creator and millennial star Lena Dunham, who, of course, also studied here.

In such a setting, it seems almost inconceivable that this country could go on to elect Donald Trump as its president only a few weeks later. Yet pro-Trump country is just a few miles away. Oberlin is located in Ohio, one of the swing states that made Trump’s election possible. Drive five miles down College Road toward town, and you start seeing blue “Trump Pence 2016” signs on people’s lawns.

Places like Oberlin are the breeding grounds of the leftist elite Trump’s people spoke so disparagingly of during the election campaign.

Only a few months earlier, a handful of students claimed they had been traumatized after someone used chalk to scrawl “Trump 2016” on the walls of buildings and on sidewalks at Oberlin and at other liberal universities. It triggered protests on some campuses, with students demanding “safe spaces” where they would be spared from hearing or seeing the name of this “fascist, racist candidate.”

In the months prior to the election, “safe spaces” had been one of the most widely discussed terms at Oberlin. The concept has its roots in feminism and describes a physically and intellectually sheltered space that protects one from potentially insulting, injurious or traumatizing ideas or comments--a place, in short, that protects one from the world. When conservative philosopher and feminism critic Christina Hoff Sommers was scheduled to give a speech at Oberlin last year, some students did not approve and claimed that Sommer’s views on feminism represented “microaggressions.”

When Sommers appeared anyway, leading some Oberlin students to create a “safe space” during the speech where, as one professor reported, “New Age music” was played to calm their nerves and ease their trauma. They could also “get massages and console themselves with stuffed animals.”

“Microaggressions” are the conceptual cousins of “safe spaces”--small remarks perceived by the victims to be objectionable. In addition, there are also “trigger warnings”--brief indicators placed before a text, image, film or work of art alerting the viewer or listener of the possibility that it could “trigger” memories of a traumatic experience or the recurrence of post-traumatic stress disorder. Such a warning surely makes sense for people who have experienced war, who have fled their home country or who have otherwise been exposed to cruelty and violence.

But at Oberlin, one student complained to the university administration and requested a trigger warning for Sophocles’ “Antigone.” The student argued that the suicide scene in the play had triggered strong emotions in him and that he, as someone who had himself long been on suicide watch, should have been warned. In an article he wrote for the Oberlin Review, the student, Cyrus Eosphoros, compared a trigger warning to the list of ingredients on food items. “People should have the right to know and consent to what they’re putting into their minds,” he wrote. Eosphoros has since dropped out of the school.

The call for safe spaces and trigger warnings in addition to complaints about microaggressions all fall under the term “political correctness” in the United States.

Few other expressions are as ideologically charged and contested as this one. It is most widely used as an invective: Coming from the mouths of the right-wing, including Donald Trump and his millions of followers, the term is used to describe self-censorship. They consider it an expression of a victim culture, within which the hypersensitive “leftist mainstream” (also used as an epithet) seeks to isolate itself from every deviation from its own worldview. Opponents of political correctness consider it to be an overwrought fixation on the needs of minorities and one’s individual identity, on skin color and gender.

Now, two months after the election, those looking for clues as to how Trump’s victory became possible quickly arrive at the refusal of many Trump detractors--including members of Hillary Clinton’s own campaign team--to confront the uncomfortable fact that there are legions of Trump fans all across the country. It’s almost as if, in the face of Trump, liberal America collectively retreated to a “safe space.” And when they finally resurfaced after the election, Trump had won.

There was a time when political correctness wasn’t yet synonymous with hypersensitivity, feel-good oases or censorship. Originally, it was associated with the counterculture, not as a project of the academic elite and the establishment as it is today. Initially, it was an attempt to free the public debate from prejudices based on race, gender and background--from the apparently casual yet hate-filled and disparaging comments that frequently caused suffering, particularly among minorities and the weaker members of society. It was intended as an effort to get the voices of these minorities heard in the first place.

One of the primary assumptions of political correctness is that thinking starts with language. Those who use disparaging language must think that way as well. Another assumption is that of constant progress. That people evolve over time, that discrimination and inequality diminish over the centuries, from the elimination of slavery to women’s suffrage to same-sex marriage and the growing acceptance of transgender people. Progress was seen as the integration of the formerly suppressed and of minorities. At least in theory.

In the last decade, however, the obsession with minorities and their victimhood may have gone overboard. In a much-discussed opinion piece for the New York Times last month, Mark Lilla, a professor at Columbia University, argued that American liberalism in recent years has been seized by hysteria regarding race, gender and sexual identity. Lilla says it was a strategic error on the part of Hillary Clinton to focus her campaign so heavily on African-Americans, Latinos, the LGBT community and women. “The fixation on diversity in our schools and in the press has produced a generation of liberals and progressives narcissistically unaware of conditions outside their self-defined groups,” he wrote.

Even as the white working class and lower class flocked to Trump in droves, students at Oberlin were busy organizing a protest against the food served at the Afrikan Heritage House. A few students had pointed out that the dishes there were at most Westernized interpretations of the original recipes, a state of affairs which showed a lack of respect toward African traditions. This offense, too, has a term: “cultural appropriation.”

Meanwhile, Asian students complained that the cafeteria served b��nh mì using inauthentic ingredients, prompting accusations of cultural imperialism.

The college took the complaints seriously, as it does with all grievances lodged by students. It has a reputation to protect--and must also protect itself from the lawsuits that many of its students’ parents can easily afford.

The cafeteria had to issue a public apology. But it shouldn’t have been only the Vietnamese students who felt insulted--it should have been everyone. After all, another term often used at Oberlin is “allyship.” The theory basically goes like this: Someone who has spent his life as a heterosexual white male will never be able to understand how an incorrectly-made sandwich could trigger a trauma. Nor would he ever truly be able to comprehend the systemic microaggressions that a black woman might be exposed to. But he could make himself her “ally,” by taking her experiences seriously and accepting them at face value, whether or not he is able to comprehend them personally.

For some professors, it has gone too far. One of those is Roger Copeland. On a recent Friday afternoon, he made his way to the Slow Train Café, the only place at Oberlin where everybody meets up during the day--professors, students and activists. He has come to talk about everything he believes has destroyed his profession. He has recently accepted an early-retirement severance package and will be leaving the school in a few weeks. Professor Copeland has taught for over 40 years at Oberlin. He is a theater professor and he looks the part. He arrives wearing a Hawaiian shirt and speaks, even in normal discussion, as if he were reciting Shakespeare from the stage.

Copeland himself took to the streets in protest in the 1970s: against the Vietnam War, against Watergate--the big things. On two occasions, he was arrested.

Today, though, it’s personal pronouns that his students are squabbling over and Copeland has little understanding. He says students no longer want to be addressed as “he” or “she,” but as “X” or “they” or newly created personal pronouns. At Oberlin, terms like “Latina” or “Latino” for people with Central or South American backgrounds have been replaced with the gender-neutral “Latinx.”

Two years ago, Copeland asked a young student who was editing a video during rehearsals for a stage production if she would manage to finish editing the footage by the end of the week. He didn’t get the immediate response and things were hectic. “Yes or no?” he called out in his exalted way. “Yes or no?”

The student, who Copeland says is an Asian-American lesbian woman, stormed out of the rehearsal, not that uncommon of an occurrence in theater. Later, the dean ordered Copeland to his office and accused him of having berated a student and of creating a “hostile and unsafe learning environment.” There was that term again: “unsafe learning environment.” The dean handed him a document and asked him to sign it. Copeland refused and provided the names of others who had been present and who could attest that he hadn’t berated the student. The dean said it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the “student felt unsafe.”

The matter led to a formal Title IX investigation for sexual misconduct. Copeland hired a lawyer and the probe was dropped after a year. The whole thing cost Copeland thousands of dollars. Worse yet, he says, he lost his ideological compass.

What was going on? Where, if not here, did young men and women have the opportunity to mature into citizens, into people who could also confront unpleasant views?

Copeland self-identifies as a leftist. He’s a man who has fought for social justice, for the rights of the weak, for freedom and for free speech. Now students were dismissing him as some old, reactionary grandpa who knew nothing about the vulnerabilities created by identity, skin color and gender, whether it be male, female, gay, lesbian or transgender, the full spectrum of LGBTQ, as people call it today--or “cisgender.”

Cisgender is a relatively new word and Copeland only recently became aware of it. He also learned that it is often used as an insult. It describes pretty much to a “T” what he is: a white, heterosexual man who is certain that he doesn’t want to be a woman and isn’t even a little bit bi-sexual.

Copeland isn’t the only victim. Across the country, “social justice warriors,” as they are disparagingly called, are leaving a trail of destruction in their wake, attacking professors, artists, authors and even DJs along the way.

At a bar at the University of North Carolina, a student named Liz Hawryluk complained to the DJ on a Saturday night in 2014 when he played Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines.” The song was a major summer hit, played at nightclubs around the world, but Hawryluk demanded the DJ immediately stop playing it.

The song includes the line, “Good girl? I know you want it.” Allegedly words a rapist would speak.

When the DJ refused and the girl continued insisting, she was asked to leave the bar. She then wrote about her experience on Facebook, arguing that line in the song is a “trigger” for victims of sexual assault that can reawaken their trauma. After her post got shared a number of times, the bar publicly apologized and fired the DJ.

In 2015, feminist film researcher Laura Kipnis, a professor at Chicago’s Northwestern University, became the subject of an investigation after she published an essay in the Chronicle of Higher Education about sexual paranoia in academia. The subject of the article had been a new ban on sex or relationships between students and professors at the university. Kipnis also criticized what she described as obsessive discussion among female students about traumas and sensitivity. She described it as a fallback to traditional behavioral patterns--the vulnerable woman, the helpless victim and the man as the perpetrator.

But the supposedly defenseless female students struck back--first on Facebook and later in the form of a protest. Two students then lodged a complaint against Kipnis for alleged sexual misconduct, arguing that Kipnis’ essay had a “chilling effect” on female students who wanted to file sexual harassment complaints. Kipnis had to hire a lawyer and the charges were dropped after a 72-day investigation. In a later article, she described the proceedings as an absurd drama reminiscent of a Kafka novel.

Roger Copeland spent a long time contemplating where these vulnerabilities and sensitivities might have come from. “The relationship my students have with the world is constantly mediated. They only have access to it through their iPhone screens and through the social networks they have joined. What we would call the virtual is the real for them.”

It’s only when they are in the lecture halls, when someone like Copeland is speaking to them, that this filtered reality is suddenly suspended. This suspension can evoke a defensive reaction in those who are only used to receiving select news from a politically correct world in which everything has been furnished with warning labels and freed of any microaggressions. Internet activist Eli Pariser calls the serving of information to users using algorithms that predict what they think the reader will want to see the “filter bubble.”

Socio-cultural advancement has become something of a fetish for many students--and many have lost sight of everything else in the process.

Professor Marc Blecher, who teaches political science at Oberlin and enjoys lecturing on Marxism, had warned at a meeting one month prior to the election, likewise at the Slow Train Café, that the millennial students of today’s generation may talk a lot about social transformation, but they have lost sight of one truly decisive issue: class.

With their focus on skin color, gender and sexual orientation and the microaggressions associated with them, he argued, students were overlooking what Trump was able to recognize: Most people in the United States aren’t unhappy or angry because of their gender, their personal pronoun or the lack of a trigger warning in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” (due to misogyny). They’re angry because they aren’t able to pay their rents, and they have the feeling that nobody cares--that the liberal-progressive public is more concerned about whether the bathrooms used by transsexuals should be those of their biological or perceived gender. Shouldn’t the discussion be about the fight for wealth redistribution rather than definitions and identities?

Sidestepping such issues often underscores just how helpless many of these students have become, Blecher says. Still, he doesn’t want to create any misunderstandings. “They are not spoiled sons and daughters. Oberlin’s brand is social progressivism. The school wants to admit students from financially weaker families, students from Hispanic or African-American families, some are kids from the streets. Some have spent the last five years trying to get in and then their guidance counselor at high school gets them into a place like Oberlin. They were the most promising students we could find. And you know what? They arrive here and it is hell for them!”

Academic expectations are high, which he says makes the students feel like they don’t belong here--and, in a way, they don’t. “At its core, Oberlin is a highly exclusive place that wants to be inclusive. It’s an unavoidable contradiction. So some lash out.” And how do they do that? They look for a discourse, for a language. What they find is language like “microaggressions,” “safe space” and “intersectionality,” meaning the traits that some minorities have in common. “Their frustration keeps growing to the point that they start attacking the food in the cafeteria!”

The interesting thing, says Blecher, is that the students’ feelings of outrage are correct--they are just misplaced. “What’s really keeping them down are class dynamics and racial segregation. But we don’t talk about that.”

In places where microaggressions lurk and trigger warnings become necessary, certain things can simply no longer be discussed. The children of the 1968 student protest generation took for granted the freedoms that their parents fought to obtain, holding them to be self-evident. The grandchildren of the 1968 generation now want to retract some of those freedoms. Free speech--once the highest achievement the leftist student generation had fought for--is now largely and paradoxically being invoked by populists and the right-wing.

When Donald Trump calls Mexicans who cross the borders rapists, when he cracks jokes about women, and when, at gatherings in his honor, people lift their arms in Hitler greetings and fans of his top adviser Steve Bannon tweet “Sieg Heil”--that all falls under “freedom of speech.”

The roles have been completely reversed. Whereas today’s leftist student movement is willing to sacrifice the freedom of speech--fought for by their political predecessors--on the altar of trigger warnings and “safe spaces,” this right is now being defended by the very same right-wing whose political antecedents sought to prevent it back in the day.

This new right can be seen every day on Fox News. The cable network interprets freedom of speech to mean the right to insult. And that freedom of expression also provides a license to spread untruths. That’s also a problem with Trump’s new America: One part of the population is growing increasingly sensitive and no longer wants to read “Antigone,” while the other is growing increasingly brazen, calling Mexicans rapists and seeing all Muslims as terrorists. In Donald Trump, they will soon have a president who emboldens them.

Their narrative holds that they would love to say what is actually on their minds, but the “social justice warriors,” the guardians of political correctness, led by the “liberal media,” won’t let them. They too feel they are victims--at least they act like it, complaining that you can’t say anything in this country anymore. Indeed, they feel much as the leftist students did in the early 1960s. The only difference being that there really were things that you couldn’t say back then.

On the day after the vote, Oberlin College held a symposium called, “Making Sense of the 2016 Election.” A few days later, 2,400 students, staff and former employees called for Oberlin to be made a “Sanctuary Campus,” a kind of “safe space” for the illegal immigrants that the incoming Trump administration has said it wants to deport.

A few days after that, news of the vote breakdown in Oberlin came in: 4,575 votes for Hillary Clinton against 412 for Donald Trump. They now want to find those Trump voters. And confront them.

[nelrunari]

❖ AND THE DREAM CALLS: Byte.

Character Name: Byte

Real Name: Bennett Vitale, but he prefers Byte. Just Byte. Whether this was a safety measure to keep his identity secret to the general public or just a fun little jab at his own abilities has yet to be disclosed. Maybe it never will be. Either way; it’s one of the few things he’s particularly insistent about.

Pronouns: He/They/It

Age: Around 23-24 ish. He doesn’t keep track of his birthday.

His birthday is January 11. He’s a Capricorn and the rest of his natal chart is...out there.

Trigger Warnings: amputation/prosthetics, animal experimentation, government surveillance

Appearance:  In a sea of city lights that seem to blot out the sky, it doesn’t come as much surprise that Byte is fairly pale; almost sickly so. Any signs of life are seen in the regular bruise or red-tint coloring in his fingertips and bright green eyes, starkly contrasted by the dark circles that lay underneath no thanks to many restless nights. He cuts his own hair, usually in one go if he can help it, and as a result it often comes out looking choppy and uneven. He does keep good care of it though, and the dark purple coloring shines as brightly as ever. 

As far as clothing is concerned, it’s comfort over practicality--which is something he’s frequently advised to reconsider given his skillset. Most of it is in dark blacks, silver, or browns, even down to his mechanics. The only part that isn’t is a pair of neon yellow high-tops; yes, they light up. He loves them.

His left arm is fully mechanical. Previously only a job done halfway, he figured there was no harm done in replacing it entirely. For what it’s worth, it’s high-quality metal, and a good example of his own capabilities in crafting. It sometimes glows an iridescent yellow, particularly when his magic is in use.

Personality: A walking enigma; he hates the idea of socializing, but handles it easily and without much stress at all if in the position where he has to. More ambition than you could imagine a human could have paired alongside an unwillingness to pry himself from his bed in the would-be mornings. He greets the world with an optimism he doesn’t believe in and he has more than enough confidence to override any doubt or fear that snuck its way into his system. 

He wants to be more, so much more, but when faced with the hard facts of life his dreams seem to drift further and further away into the same cyberspace they were born from, the same space he can’t help sticking his fingers into to find out more. 

Despite all this, though, living in Asphodel has made him wary, and he tends to keep even those he considers “close” at a safe distance, unwilling to open his heart out to anyone. What are they going to do if they reach past every wall? It’s too much of a risk, like everything else. It just isn’t worth it. He’ll be fine; this is...not fine, but fine enough.

He just won’t think about it.

More positive traits: adventurous, alert, brilliant, confident, curious, efficient, flexible, hardworking, imaginative, loyal, observant, resourceful, self-sufficient.

More negative traits: amoral, apathetic, cocky, deceptive, greedy, impulsive, lazy, messy, paranoid, selfish, tactless.

MBTI: istp.

TEMPERAMENT: choleric.

ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral.

Background: 

C:\system\override\access.exe

{ 

SEARCHING (access_point);

...correcting PATH.

...loading WORLD.

...correcting…

{

(access_point); FOUND.

ENTER PASSWORD ?

> █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █

ACCESS: GRANTED

> hey. can you hear me? is this reaching you?

…

> cool. okay. we can keep going then. don’t worry; im not up to any tricks

…

> yet :]

AN ERROR HAS OCCURRED. 

> shit

TROUBLESHOOT? 

> hold on. i can fix this.

…

> or maybe not. :\

> listen. i just really, really, need your help.

Times have changed. There are stories of things that may have once been seen, but now are lucky to be heard, passed on from one generation to the next. 

Here’s what’s commonplace: technology, and lots of it. Magic, brought back from the dead by some wannabe hero lost to time. Advertisements. So many fucking ads. There’s no blocker in existence that hasn’t already been shot down or coded over or...whatever, the point is, they’re everywhere. The ads. The all-seeing eyes. They’re inescapable.

Here’s what isn’t: trees, the sun, most plant-life in general. Getting a bouquet for Valentine’s Day is basically the same as being proposed to, nowadays. Also the wedding should be the day of or the day after, considering access to said flora shouldn’t even be possible. There hasn’t been a floristry open in years. So They probably know about it, and that lovebot’s days are numbered.

There are gardens. Conservations, really, that’s what They call them, but gardens sound much nicer. Sneaking to the edges of the city, you might be able to catch a glimpse of one. It’s not a wise idea though. You’ll probably get caught. Maybe you’ll be lucky, let off with just a warning and a slap on the wrist.

…

Probably not though.

Asphodel’s great, really, if you can ignore the lingering feeling of eyes boring into the back of your likely-jacked head. Byte’s learned to do this by never going outside. Easy. He’s rigged a good few security measures into his own personal devices, and tossed out a handful of hosts to take the blow for him if someone tried to dig a little deeper. He’s grateful for the fact he has more than enough magic to spare that this isn’t a strain at all, and it just becomes part of a daily routine.

...Oh, right, the magic. Byte has a lot of it. It’s both a boon and a bane.

He’s a technomancer, if you want to be specific, but he prefers the term tech warlock, or wizard, or something that seems just a little more fantastical. It suits his dreams more. The idea of moving past technology and magic altogether to become something stronger, someone more powerful that even the big guys up top couldn’t stop him if they tried to. 

The lights of passing trains speed by, lighting up a darkened room. The decker curses to himself as he raises from his chair and pulls the curtains closed. Maybe another day, then. He’ll try a little harder.

…

The faint glow brings back a memory, fluorescent whites and reds speeding by. It makes him dizzy, and his grip on the curtains tightens. What he remembers doesn’t make sense; he’s never been outside of Asphodel, there never were fields of green or ice-coated mountaintops--not here, never here. There hadn’t been life like that in centuries. Maybe it was a dream he had, some time ago. That’s a little more reasonable.

God, he’s exhausted.

Memento: His companion, Gig! It was a normal rabbit, at one point; then time took its toll and...he made some adjustments. Now it’s more metal than blood, and functions just about as well. To keep its cognitive function, he implanted an AI that connects directly to his magic; so he can understand it perfectly. The AI allows Gig to understand others, too, but without the same magic connection, most of what is returned comes out in the form of angry thumps. If nothing else, he’s a good traveling partner!

The antennae attached is just for show, and has no effect on Gig’s functionality.

Natural Abilities: Byte’s family line is known to have a decent grasp on technomancy, and Byte isn’t any different in this regard. It’s a natural gift, and he took to it quickly. 

CYBERNETICS. He made his enhancements himself! His left arm is fully mechanical. Extra measures were taken to ensure it could handle small to moderate amounts of water, including a period of trial and error after submerging it when it was unattached to test its resistance. It’s a pain to replace, so he often spends time making adjustments and keeping it in working order. In addition to this, he tried an experiment on himself: applying internal cybernetics to his eyes. The goal was to make it so he could simultaneously work more and sleep less, to cut out the middle man, and although it only half-way worked, he thankfully didn’t lose his vision. It appears as twin piercings above each brow, and in a line under his eye. The addition allows him to map out his present surroundings and pinpoint any “obscurities,” though this is limited to a small vicinity and has to recalculate whenever he enters into a new area, as well as seeing more clearly in low-light. On Aergia 003, he was able to access databases through it as well and manipulate the data discovered hands-free. He still needs sleep though, that sucks.

CYBERKINESIS. The ability to manipulate technology. A majority of his own abilities are hands-off, such as reconstructing broken models without ever touching the pieces. If given the time to study something new, he could probably bring it back to working order. Includes the basic function of digital/data magic and its properties.( NOTE: Requires already existing resources to work properly. )

SPELLCASTING. A basic skill for every mancer! Byte’s abilities are limited to small blasts of electricity, considering he hasn’t put much work into strengthening them. As a result, he’s also prone to shocking himself. And he has. Many times.

ELECTROKINESIS. It’s rather weak due to a lack of practice and proper use, but it’s possible to be honed. Minor applications include an electric aura--the ability to surround himself with an electric charge, leading to a nasty shock (though often this is a subconscious defense), and electric infusion. The latter allows him to imbue objects or people with electricity, though he only used it to give a few faulty electronics a “jump start.”

ENERGY RESISTANCE. While he still takes moderate damage to large bursts of energy, he’s able to withstand it a little better than someone who isn’t tied so closely to it.

Power History:  

TECHNOMAGICAL CONSTRUCTS. On Aergia 003, he could create multiple constructs at at time; usually small robots to complete day-to-day tasks he didn’t feel like doing. However, if he put in the work, he’s just as capable of creating weaponry, drones, devices, or other stronger crafts. 

IMAGINATIVE TECHNOMAGIC. While limited to small constructs, he could create any technomagical device by simply imagining it. It could’ve been stronger, but he likes having materials to experiment with, so it wasn’t as honed as it could’ve been.

HACKING. As straightforward as it sounds, given the world he’s from is almost strictly-cyber, this was an important skill to develop. And he was good at it. Mostly stole information, rather than changed it, but it hasn’t stopped him from the latter.

Extra: 

Bastard-adjacent.

Technically speaking, he doesn’t have a job; he’s never really needed one. He gets paid for the odd job here or there, but he’s never taken something on as a career.

He’s from Asphodel, a city on Aergia 003, which is a planet in the Eucleia galaxy. The city itself is a mess of skyscrapers, advertisements, and hardware, and most people tend to favor going place-to-place either by foot or speed-train. The city is oxygenated by gardens in the outskirts, kept under watch by an assortment of carefully-chosen government workers. Civilians such as Byte aren’t allowed access to them, and it’s the only place surrounding the city that has the slightest implication of sunlight.  As a result, he hasn’t really seen most plant-life. Or the sun. Or anything that isn’t a city seemingly stuck in a permanent state of “night”.

Technomagic is common in Asphodel, as it's how most people function from day-to-day. Byte just has a slightly better grasp of it than most. He will brag about this.

This stronger understanding is also why he goes by Byte, he’d prefer to stay under the radar. He isn’t big on those in power, and he doesn’t want to work for or potentially be hunted by them. He regularly deletes files he finds on his existence if he uncovers them. The worst thing is being known.

On a lighter note. Those Sour Patch-themed videos Markiplier did? Very big Byte energy.

PINTEREST BOARD: HERE.

PLAYLIST: HERE.