#so I just need to bite the bullet and do radical acceptance

[opiotes-thoughtvomit]

My life feels like a dream rn but I still low key wanna kill myself lol

[viltrumitesuperboy]

A Promise (Bucky Barnes x Male Reader)

Not so much angst as I would have liked, and the reader learns to live outside of HYDRA by himself. This feels more like an origin story than anything.

Requested by: anon Can I request a Bucky Barnes x Male reader? Maybe starts out angsty but becomes fluffy? Reader could be tasked by HYDRA to kill Bucky but remembers him from when Bucky worked for HYDRA and that he loved Bucky, and Bucky helps him get used to life outside of HYDRA?

Word count: 4105

The few times you were placed under cryostasis, your last thought was always "I will not forget..." Then you'd wake up, only with the memories of being placed under and that final thought. You remembered when you mentioned it once to one of the people in your group, and they said it was just a memory hiccup. A defect. Because as far as you knew, you were a weapon for HYDRA and had always been one. Then you were back in the chair that made you want to fight more than anything. You never repeated the same mistake again.

You weren't allowed to make mistakes on missions either, and that was how you learned. To never do anything wrong if you were on a mission. There were no feelings involved in killing, as taking a life was merely a necessity, according to your handlers.

You did, however, have some feeling for one of your fellow soldiers. The difference was that he was the Winter Soldier. You usually worked on missions together, and rarely spoke, but when you did, something about you felt less like the soldier you were trained to be. He seemed to feel the same way, if the softening of his features was anything to go by. The few moments you had with each other weren't always erased, but sometimes you'd open your eyes and find yourself remembering the tiniest mischievous grin on the Soldier's lips.

You met a young girl with fiery hair with such potential, and her skills were beyond anyone her age. It took years to get to where she was. When you found out the Winter Soldier had been training her, you felt a sense of pride, and maybe something too much for the Soldier. That was not acceptable.

Little Natalia seemed to fight differently. Unlike you and the Soldier, she felt. She was more human than you both would ever be. You realised she was fighting for her survival. She didn't want to die. Her peers would not make it if she was the one to excel, because they were the weak ones. She did not fight with passion, but she fought for something else. But her heart while fighting was just as cold as yours.

"I hope I'm the first to be dismissed from training tomorrow. I hurt myself but I couldn't tell anyone," she said once.

Hope. Perhaps that was what she was fighting for. Your train of thought broke as you saw her shifting her arm. You took Natalia to a room that wasn't being used and sat her down on a chair. As you moved to inspect the misplaced bone, the Soldier opened the door to the room.

"Soldier. I heard something in this room. Report," he said.

Damn his serum. Yours wasn't as powerful.

"Natalia is wounded."

He looked behind him into the hallway and shut the door behind him, taking long strides to where you both were. He wasn't wearing his usual clothing, but a sweater over a shirt and more comfortable pants instead. He pulled his sweater over his head and bundled it up, putting it in front of Natalia's face.

"Bite into it," he ordered.

"It's fine, my pain tolerance is high," she said.

"You're a child. You can grab my arm if needed."

He held it up to her face, and she grumbled as she did as he told. You held her arm, looking to at the Soldier for approval. When he nodded, you pushed her arm back into place. As expected, Natalia screamed into the Soldier's sweater and held tight onto his metal arm with her other hand. It took a few moments for her to calm down after he pulled his sweater away.

"Natalia, how is it now?" you asked.

"The truth," the Soldier added.

"It's a bit sore but nothing sleep can't fix," she promised.

You held your arm out for her to grab and pulled her up from her seated position. The Soldier's metal arm pulled away from Natalia's grip and the other arm pressed into her shoulder to check it.

"We're counting on you. Survive," the Soldier said, and left.

Of course you were both hoping for Natalia to make it. The fact that he knew what you were thinking almost threw you off, but you were a trained soldier, and surprise was not supposed to be something you experienced. The smallest bit of compassion from the Soldier made you wonder if there was more of that from him. He was the only person consistent to your life, and he was the one thing you could rely on to be there even when you forgot things. The next wipe couldn't erase the memory of helping Natalia with the Winter Soldier. At least that was something you remembered.

The new century brought more radical ideas. HYDRA hated them, claiming that they were the supreme leaders of the world, and no one should be thinking such ideas. You only understood that it was your duty to follow. The Winter Soldier started to behave unpredictably, escaping from his handlers during missions and sometimes taking you with him. He'd have moments of muttering to himself and headaches where he just clutched his head and whispered to himself. It wasn't unlike your own, where you would constantly ask, "What did I forget? How could I forget?" You once overheard someone dressed in a lab coat say that it was the result of wiping memories. It was normal.

On one mission, he asked, "Who the hell is Bucky?" You had no answer. That was the last time you saw him in HYDRA.

Your handlers told you that HYDRA was destroyed by the Avengers. They'd have to build again, but now without any foundation. They said that the Asset was their greatest weapon, and, if their enemies had him, there would be no more HYDRA. So they gave you a mission that gave you only one chance: kill the Winter Soldier.

You were a good soldier. You had trained for years and you had trained with him. No matter what you went through over the years with the Soldier, you had to complete your mission. His death did not matter to you. Or, at least, it shouldn't have.

You kept track of him for a long time. One of his first actions was going to a museum that held a memorial for one of the Avengers. You went inside yourself one day, finding a man from the 1940's who looked just like him alongside the Avenger. He looked more carefree in the older photos, and looked less haunted like the Soldier did now. It was a handsome face, and one that you could not care for.

Every time you were on a rooftop pointing a sniper straight at his head, you found yourself unable to pull the trigger. After two weeks, HYDRA pulled you back, saying he was too well-known, and HYDRA did not have the resources to hide a death like his. Everyone was looking for him, and if he died by HYDRA's hands, it would no longer exist.

It took more than a year for the next time he was mentioned again. He had made contact with Captain America, both of whom were now refugees on the run from the nation itself. You wondered if you would have been like one of them if HYDRA had been truly destroyed.

Its foundations were weak and constantly falling apart. Someone was always dying, and no one knew who was doing the killing. You suspected Natalia had been doing it, but said nothing. After all, she was a grown woman now. Somewhere deep down, you were impressed that she had made such a big name for herself but still managed to kill under the radar. The Soldier likely would have thought the same.

At this point, him being a refugee was the perfect time for him to die, according to HYDRA. Giving the world control over these "superheroes" would align with HYDRA's ideas. For once, some of the Avengers were in agreement. Removing the Captain's main driving factor, his "James Buchanan Barnes," would further push the Sokovia Accords. You returned to your previous unfinished mission.

It was another few weeks of following the Soldier. He seemed less like you. He was different from the Soldier you knew, and emotions tore him apart sometimes. You saw him having more of his fits, but he had Steve Rogers to depend on. They were frequently close together, and you were angry seeing them like that. You were once on the Soldier's side, the person he was meant to depend on. What changed? Why did you have to kill him now?

When you had your first chance, you finally pulled the trigger. Dread suddenly took over part of you, but a metal arm flung up to stop the bullet, and the Soldier glared through the hole in the glass. You knew he could probably see your silhouette, but you were too far to catch. He knew you were trying to kill him now. Leaving now meant that he could escape, and maybe even far enough that you couldn't follow. You supposed you'd have to meet him in the middle. A packed sniper on your back and running across the roofs of the European city had you facing him, your gun pointed at his head and his metal arm at the ready.

"Look, we don't need to fight. Whoever sent you to kill me, tell them I won't kill another innocent again," he pleaded.

"I think that's the problem," you muttered, and a shot rang out.

Something else knocked the bullet off course this time, the accuracy and strength too much to be human.

"Steve Rogers," you stated. "This is not your fight."

"No, this is no one's fight," the Soldier said. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

Your mask was similar to his before he escaped HYDRA. You reached up with the hand not holding the gun and pulled it off. His eyes widened in recognition.

"They said you need to die. I'm supposed to be the one to do it," you said.

Your gun was no longer useful, so you dropped it and charged at the Captain, knocking him off balance so you could get to the Soldier. You threw punches and your entire torso into it, but the Soldier was on the defensive and blocked every single thing you threw at him.

"(Y/N)!" the Captain shouted behind you.

You whipped around glaring at him.

"Who the hell is (Y/N)?" you asked.

You felt a throbbing in your head and dropped to your knees as you clutched your temples.

Who the hell is Bucky?

"Who... who is Bucky?!" you growled, then turned on the Soldier. "You are a traitor! You need to die!"

"(Y/N), I'm Bucky. I'm your friend. We did missions together but we were forced to. You're being brainwashed by HYDRA. It's not you," the Soldier said.

His words sounded like a promise. It felt like you sat there for an hour, his hand on your back in comfort. Your head was still throbbing, but you managed to open your mouth again.

"I wasn't in the museum," you said.

"No, you weren't," Bucky quietly replied. "Do you know why?"

"We had to hide, right? There was something I felt, right here, whenever we were together, before you left."

Your hand patted your chest, and you looked up at him through watery eyes.

"Who am I?"

———

The Second World War

Bucky was dead.

That was what they told his family. You had to hear from his mother, who was the only one who knew about your relationship. You bonded with the rest of his family, mourning together when they learned that you both had loved each other. Then Captain America died, and everything got worse. Two of your closest friends had died in close succession, and one was a supersoldier. He wasn't supposed to die. You vowed to take down those who had killed them.

You sent a letter to Dr. Erskine, who Bucky once mentioned in one of his letters. You asked to help him in the war, telling him that both heroes who died were your friends and you would take their place in fighting for the war effort. Instead, Margaret Carter responded, telling you that Dr. Erskine had been in an accident a few months prior, and sent someone to bring you to a bunker where she was currently working.

Together you found places where HYDRA was hiding, different areas all around the world. You quickly learned the strategies needed to fight them on the battlefield and behind the scenes out of necessity. The first time you were on the field, you had no idea it would be your last. The rest of your group had been killed. You were captured and brought down deep into the quieter, darker confines of the bunker. Because you were already wounded, fighting would have done little for your situation. It was clear they wanted you alive.

"So nice to finally meet you. Your... friend has spoken of you," said the stranger you were placed in front of. "We have heard that you are the best in strategy. Hopefully your removal will prevent more of our branches being taken apart. You work for us now."

"What friend?"

"Your boyfriend."

His tone was hateful and goading you to become angry. You said nothing. They wouldn't give you information. If he was alive and in HYDRA's hands, you couldn't save him anymore.

"You will be moved soon for... recalibration. Take our newest recruit to experimentation."

You fought, but to no avail.

———

You found yourself in the room that you had just shot a bullet into. The sun was already up, and the Captain and the Winter Soldier stood next to each other in the very small kitchen area. The Soldier leaned with his back to the wall as he spoke with the Captain quietly, though it sounded like a disagreement.

"So are we supposed to go to Wakanda now? If they have anything to help me, how do we know if (Y/N) wants that help too?"

"All I'm saying is that it's our best chance. And if he doesn't want the help, at least we're here if he needs us. And I know how much he meant to you before... everything. I know he still means something to you now."

They looked over as you sat up, leaning against the wall behind you. The Soldier walked over and held out a hand to steady you. You nodded to give him permission.

"You're burning up. I don't think your body is agreeing with remembering things. It wasn't as bad for me but I think the serum did more for me than you."

"Just like alcohol," you muttered. "Watered down."

The Captain smiled, "Glad to see you still have a sense of humour. And it's just as bad."

You were too weak to stand up, much less throw a punch at his stupid insulting face. The Soldier laid you back down.

"We're leaving soon. You'll be resting the whole way, but we'll keep an eye on you."

It sounded like a promise, and you believed him.

When you woke again, it was in a small jet. Bucky sat next to you, his hand grasping yours. Your first instinct was to fight, but Bucky's hand seemed to ground you.

"Take it easy. We're in the quinjet and flying to Wakanda. It was a hidden society in Africa with technology beyond anything else in the world. We're hoping they can help Bucky from reacting to the trigger words that HYDRA brainwashed him with," Steve said. "Same with you."

He helped you sit up when you didn't seem to want to fight anymore. For the first time, you felt like you were relaxed. No handlers were keeping an eye on you, and you were alone with two people you could barely remember, but they just seemed like people you didn't need to fight for once.

"I'm Bucky, and that's Steve. We were born decades ago, and the world war separated us all from each other. You and I were controlled by Nazis, and Steve was found a few years ago. You weren't supposed to be in the war."

He looked solemn, and Steve gave him a reassuring smile. You watched both of them carefully.

"Keep talking, Buck. Is there anything else you remember?" Steve asked.

"When we were seeing Stark's demonstration of his flying car, I took you and (Y/N) with me. We'd gone with some girls, and two were a couple, so we could all be on a date without getting in trouble for it. Well, except for you. No offence, Steve. Didn't mean to make you a third wheel."

"None taken. I don't think any of us were really third wheels. We were best friends, and you and (Y/N) were together. And I became friends with him after."

"Aw, we're not best friends anymore?"

"You'll always be my best friend, Buck. 'Till the end of the line."

"End of the line."

You muttered, "That's so cheesy."

"Yeah, and you know what weird thing you'd say with Bucky?" Steve teased.

"I'd punch a Nazi before admitting that I love you," you recited.

"And you've punched ten," Bucky said with a fond smile. "Probably more by now."

"I'm not the same person I was before, Bucky," you said. "You're not either, but you've remembered more than I have. I don't feel like a blank slate, but I don't feel like I need to... kill you. And I don't want to."

"Everything feels like it's closing in on you all the time, right?" Bucky asked. "Like you don't know where to go, and the people you think you can trust are going to be your next enemy?"

You nodded.

"That's how I felt, too. But you trusted me before HYDRA, and you trusted me during it. If we both can get through that together, we can get through this too."

You lightly squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, maybe."

———

They couldn't help, so Bucky wanted to go under cryostasis. He felt that it was dangerous for him to be conscious. You almost thought that it was a good idea for yourself too, but you took one look at the goat currently nibbling at your shirt and felt that you still needed some time to yourself being out of HYDRA's control. Bucky gave you a hug before he stepped into the chamber, and you stayed in each other's embrace for a long time. It was the safest you remembered feeling. Steve looked at the chamber, troubled. He turned away when Bucky was inside, and you placed your hand on his shoulder in understanding. Steve didn't like the cold, and seeing his friend in the same position was painful.

The Wakandans provided for you. You worked on a farm in near solitude, the occasional patrol guards making sure that you were safe and the goats giving you a friendship you didn't know existed. Shuri worked hard on finding a cure for the both of you, and she and her brother came to see you a few times. They were both good friends to you, but T'Challa liked the goats more than Shuri did. She was too busy talking about her new inventions to spend too much time with the goats. She'd come to you with ideas about Bucky's new metal arm, asking about your own experience with the serum to get an idea of his strength and abilities.

Their technology was groundbreaking, and they managed to find a way to remove the effects of brainwashing from the mind. By the time Bucky was out of cryostasis, they'd already finished the procedure on you. You had offered to be their first in case they made a mistake, hoping that if you didn't make it, Bucky would. As all things in Wakanda worked, it was flawless. Bucky found out about what you had said when Shuri had mentioned it in passing. He was angry at first, but cooled down once he saw you. He said that it was so much like you to do something like that for the people you cared most about.

You didn't feel much different from before, but you were remembering things with less effort. Your experience in HYDRA, though terrifying, was one that you saw from your own eyes. It felt like somebody else's. Shuri assured you that it was not you, and everything that you could do under your own control was who you were. You stayed by Bucky's side until he needed to have the procedure as well. He came back to you looking relaxed, even without an arm, as if the world was revolving around him. Then you spent about an hour listening to Shuri rant about her technology, which T'Challa had to cut in to explain issues regarding the nations outside of Wakanda and the politics surrounding your situation. He finished with letting you both know that Wakanda was always open to you.

Shuri said that she still had a "broken white boy's arm" to fix, and that if either of you left, she'd hunt you down herself.

For the first time since Bucky was out of the chamber, he spoke: "Do you remember Natalia? She's Natasha now."

"Yes, and I think she's grown up well. When we fixed her arm, that was when I knew that you were just a little bit human."

He was quiet for a bit, and his hand reached out for yours. You met in the middle.

"I think we need to learn about each other again," he said, his hand clenching yours.

"Well, I think you should meet the goats first."

He loved the goats.

He loved the farm you worked on. It was big, but worked for you as someone with super serum. Bucky enjoyed working on it too, saying it was a good way to get out his energy. But mostly he played with the goats.

Bucky was better now than how you remembered him in the past. He was understanding of what you both had gone through and it was easy to communicate with him, even when neither of you wanted to speak. There was no disconnect from the Bucky then and Bucky now. It was just him. He was exactly what you needed in the past and he was what you needed in the present.

You finished pulling out weeds from the last area of the farm, checking for any diseased plants as you went. You looked up, and found Bucky feeding some of the weeds to the goats that had run up to him. They nibbled at his fingers, and he laughed as he sat on the ground to pet every single one of their heads. His hair was pulled back in a bun and the cloth he wore was saturated in the sun's glare. You picked up the weeds you had pulled, which weren't many because you worked on the farm all the time, and headed over to him. He smiled as you pulled him up from the pile of goats.

"Are we going to the market now?" he asked.

"I think I'm ready to admit that I love you," you said.

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed, then his face lit into a bright smile.

"How many Nazis have you punched?" he joked.

"Depends on how many we meet," you replied. "Did you know there are people called 'neo-Nazis'? For every single one of them we meet that I don't punch is a day that I don't love you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Of course."

"Then I promise that I'll always love you. And I'll tell you for as long as you need me to."

You both headed to the road that led into the more populated towns, hand in hand as you walked up the hill.

"I never believed in soulmates," Bucky began as he shifted to intertwine his fingers with yours, "but I think this is the closest I'll ever find. We've been there for each other when we needed each other most, and I want our future to be the same."

You didn't answer, stopping to pull him into a kiss instead. He returned it with just as much enthusiasm. When you were called to fight a world-threatening event, you were finally ready, and you did it together.

[bohdisanders]

No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it will always be a snake. Remember that when you think about allowing someone back into your life! Bohdi Sanders All the great religions, the new age gurus, and spiritual teachers throughout the world, teach the importance of forgiveness. They teach that we should not hold grudges because those grudges, and the negative emotions and energy which goes along with those grudges, only hurt the one who is holding the grudge, not the offending person. Buddha put it this way, “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of harming another; you end up getting burned.” While this is all true, there is a part of this concept which people seem to get confused about – FORGIVENESS DOES NOT MEAN ACCEPTING THAT PERSON BACK INTO YOUR LIFE! Just because you are willing, and have taken the steps to forgive someone for their malicious actions, that doesn’t mean that you must allow that person back into your life. I believe that this misconception has a lot to do with making forgiveness so hard for most people. You can forgive someone without ever having anything to do with that person ever again. You can forgive their actions without wishing them well or caring about what happens to them. Let’s get something perfectly clear – forgiveness is for your benefit, not for their benefit! You are under no obligation to allow that person back into your life or to even be friendly to that person. Forgiveness means that you have let go of all of the negative emotions and energy surrounding the incident, that’s all. It is an act of freeing yourself and moving on. It is for YOU, period! Many people like to throw around the phrase, “Forgive and forget.” I totally disagree with this concept. I think that it is much better to forgive, but never forget. By all means, forgive what happened, forgive their behavior, but don’t forget the lesson that this person has taught you. This person taught you exactly who and what he is. Forgive him and move on, but remember the information which he freely gave you. Let’s look at it like this, if you were totally naïve about snakes, and while out hiking, you reached down to pet a rattlesnake, got bit, ended up in intensive care at the hospital for a week, and almost died. You wouldn’t hold a grudge against that snake forever. After all, that is what snakes do; they bite and inject venom into their victims. But, at the same time, you would not go seek out that same rattlesnake and try to be friendly with it ever again. That would be idiotic. This same concept applies to the human snakes which are unfortunately found in abundance throughout the world. When you naively have dealings with one of these human snakes, get “bit” or attacked in some way, don’t continually hold a grudge forever. Forgive them and move on. Don’t give them free rent in your mind! Block them from your life and don’t even think about them again, unless they cross your path or the path of someone under your protection. Do not seek them out or allow them back into your life again so they can have another opportunity to attempt to maliciously attack you. There is an old saying which teaches this concept, “Sometimes giving someone a second chance is like giving them an extra bullet for their gun because they missed you the first time.” This is simply naïve and unwise! If someone takes a shot at you, they meant to do damage to you in one way or another. That is a deal breaker! Have nothing more to do with that person. Just like with the rattlesnake, you must learn your lesson. A rattlesnake may shed its skin, but it will always be a rattlesnake. The venom inside is still there. It remains a dangerous predator. The brighter, prettier, new skin is cosmetic only; it does not change the true nature of the snake. If the snake didn’t kill you the first time it bit you, it would be idiotic to allow it an opportunity for a second bite. Be finished with it once and for all. The human snake may give the illusion of shedding his skin, but unless that “snake” has completely changed deep in his spirit, heart, and mind, there has been no true change. He is the same toxic, venomous snake that he was before. He simply changed his tactics and his colors, much like the chameleon. Can such people change for real and become a better person? Of course! The world is full of people who have radically turned their lives around, but it is usually not the norm. A rattlesnake doesn’t always strike and inject its venom, but it is foolish to take the chance that you might get lucky and not get bit again. Just because the snake seems peaceful and does not strike at you this time, that is no indication that the snake has changed his true nature. This same principle applies to the human snakes. The bottom line is that once you have been attacked by a snake, whether it is a human snake or a venomous snake, you have learned something about that creature. It is foolish to continue to have anything to do with that “snake” and give him another chance to attack you. Likewise, if that snake attacked you in your backyard, you get rid of it. You certainly don’t invite it back when you see it again because it now seems friendly! When someone maliciously attacks you, whether it is verbally, physically, or in some other way, remove him from your life, period. Don’t invite him back simply because he claims that he has changed and is no longer that same person. Forgive, but never forget! File this information away, as you never know when it may come in handy again. This is not the same thing as dwelling on the “snake” with thoughts of anger, hatred, or malice. Just file what you know in your mental filing cabinet, just as you would keep an important document filed away in your file cabinet in your office. You don’t go and pull out that file and read it several times a week or every day; simply keep it safely stored away in case you ever need it again. Forgive and move on, but never forget the true nature of that “snake.” No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it will always be a snake. Remember that when you think about allowing someone back into your life! Bohdi Sanders ~ author of the #1 Bestsellers, MODERN BUSHIDO and MEN of the CODE, both available on Amazon and on TheWisdomWarrior. com.

[floatingcatacombs]

Why Tomoyo’s Mom is a Political Lesbian

12 Days of Aniblogging, Day 1

In my Cardcaptor Sakura gushpiece last year, I made an offhanded promise to write about why Tomoyo’s mom is a political lesbian once I finished my watchthrough. With all 70 episodes under my belt, it’s time to investigate what I was grasping at there.

I will never be over Sakura’s poncho in episode 2

We hear about Tomoyo’s mom as early as the second episode of the show. After Sakura and Tomoyo make plans to break into their school at night, Tomoyo arrives with a full security escort in a tinted vehicle, with an armored van full of costumes for Sakura right behind her. You see, her mother is the president of a very large toy company, which means that she’s ridiculously rich and able to assign bodyguards to her kid like it’s nothing. The two observations that instantly come to one’s mind are that a) all of the bodyguards are women, and b) they all have the gayest haircuts imaginable.

“And here are my conspicuously butch and femme bodyguards”

The rest of Tomoyo’s family situation really only shows up in Episode 10 and 11. We are properly introduced to her mom (Sonomi), and the chip on her shoulder. She’s out to spite Sakura’s father in increasingly lavish ways, and we learn that this stems from a long-standing grudge – Sakura’s dad married the girl that Sonomi was also helplessly in love with. So that’s the ‘lesbian’ box checked off of my argument.

That haircut..sure is asymmetric

But what about the ‘political’ part of ‘political lesbian’? I probably should have started with that rather than Cardcaptor wiki synopses. Political lesbianism is a combination of second-wave feminist ideals with the notion that sexuality is a choice. Rather than dumping a manifesto onto you, I’ll sum up the underlying philosophical argument at play here:

1. Sexual orientation is a choice, as is choosing to act on sexual orientation. 2. Heterosexuality is inherently patriarchal and oppressive. 3. Women have an obligation to avoid and fight patriarchy wherever they can.

___________

Conclusion 1: All women should avoid heterosexuality. Conclusion 2: All women who continue participating in heterosexuality are abandoning their obligations.

This is a seriously weighty argument. If we accept all three premises, we are left with the conclusion that not only is heterosexuality harmful to women, but women must abandon straight relationships, otherwise they are actively collaborating with the enemy.

What does the world even look like if one follows this argument to its conclusion? Most political lesbians also believe in lesbian separatism – the notion that women’s liberation cannot be achieved by collaborating with men. Women ought to give up marriage, families, and sex with men, otherwise they will never be able to overcome institutional sexism. As an alternative to sex with men, women could consider…sex with women! But whether they have sex with women or none at all isn’t a big deal in the scheme of things. What really matters is the political action of refusing heterosexuality.

political lesbian praxis

The Daidouji family’s living situation all but confirms Sonomi’s commitment to separatism. She lives in a modernist mansion where all of her maids, guards, and other servants are women. Most notably, she has no husband or male partner to be seen whatsoever. Sakura even makes the observation that Tomoyo never talks about her father. Other than whatever happened for Sonomi to have Tomoyo, she appears to have completely cut the concept of men and patriarchy out of her life. If her goal was to create a lesbian separatist dynasty, she appears to have succeeded (Tomoyo is, of course, a baby lesbian in the making).

Me gaining class consciousness

There is a certain allure to political lesbianism. The idea that men are the root of all suffering and cutting ties to men provides a fairy-tale escape for some women. For anyone who has ever felt threatened or imbalanced in heterosexual relationships, it offers an explanation on top of the way out. Of course, choosing to be a political lesbian still requires swallowing some pretty big pills. Should we try?

The most challenging premise at first is the idea that sexual orientation is a choice that can and should be changed on a whim. The social construction of sexuality is definitely not a mindset that has won out. In fact, the modern gay rights movements in the United States has specifically been spearheaded with the idea that gay people are “born this way”, a purely biological challenge to the idea that someone can just decide to like women once they hear about the evils of men. Indeed, the political lesbians of old were somewhat split on whether sexuality is socially constructed or a biological impulse. However, they can just take the middle ground and argue that it doesn’t really matter – lesbian relationships may or may not be able to provide an alternative to heterosexual relationships for historically straight women, but what really matters is the political act of refusing heterosexuality. If a woman cannot bring herself to love other woman, she can simply take a vow of celibacy or otherwise avoid men. This brings us straight to the second and third arguments – that heterosexuality itself is oppressive and must be actively resisted.

Sure, patriarchy and oppression are bad, but the routes chosen to argue against them are important. Although they believe in flexible and constructed sexuality, political lesbian’s arguments against heterosexuality are extremely biological. The seminal pamphlet “Love your Enemy?” argues that “there is a very special importance attached to sexuality under male supremacy when every sexual reference, every sexual joke, every sexual image serves to remind a woman of her invaded centre...” Penetration, specifically, carries strong symbolic significance in reinforcing the power of men on top of its physically invasive component. Even non-penetrative heterosexual sex still contains that roleplay of power and powerlessness to a political lesbian. There is no loophole that will allow women to keep loving men ethically – the demands of political lesbianism are Kantian maxims.

Sonomi loved Sakura’s mom to the point of viewing her pairing off with a man as a betrayal. It’s very easy to see it as an ideological betrayal on top of the personal one.

The elephant in the room is, of course, the third-wave notion that femaleness and maleness are not inherently tied to genitalia. After all, to the shock and chagrin of many a radical feminist, some women have penises. Is their sex inherently heteropatriarchal? What about men who don’t have penises? Do they have a get-out-of-jail-free card from this whole mess? What about nonbinary people, who have been completely ruled out of this conversation so far? In arguing a biological model of oppression, political lesbians will need to be able to answer for all of this.

Most of them respond by biting the bullet and doubling down on their original positions. They claim that trans women are just scheming men in dresses, that trans men are gender traitors who want to abandon their fellow women in pursuit of male privilege, and that nonbinary people are simply confused. It is through this reasoning that so many political lesbians grew up to be trans-exclusionary radical feminists. Many former members of the Leeds Revolutionary Feminist Group, such as Julie Bindel, have gradually pivoted from arguing for women’s rights on all fronts to single-mindedly becoming obsessed with making sure that trans people are forcibly excluded from all gendered spaces. Not only is it depressing to see so many radical feminists fall down this pathway, it’s terrifying to watch as TERFs gain more and more of a media foothold as they start to team up with their enemies, the religious right, over their shared hatred of transgender existence.  

shut the fuck up, terf

It’s a depressing turn of events! Still, even knowing that the movement is rooted in transphobia, can political lesbianism be salvaged? The idea of women’s-only-spaces as a place for comfort, safety, and liberation still feels powerful and immediately understandable and implementable. Though the mainstream LGBT+ movement gained widespread acceptance through advocating that there was nothing they could do about their sexuality, compulsory heterosexuality is still a real thing for many women and spaces to help recognize that would be very useful. Of course, the definition of a woman is going to have to broaden to be trans-inclusive, and as recent efforts to amend the Gender Recognition Act in the UK have shown, this is very difficult in the current TERFy political climate. But I don’t think that every bit of political lesbian ideology needs to be shelved or trashed. As future waves of feminism start reigniting and reconciling various second-wave and third-wave conflicts, I’d estimate that political lesbianism is going to get a fair reevaluation amongst mainstream feminists sometime within the next decade, with the bad parts hopefully cut and the strong parts returned to public consciousness.

pretend kero-chan is giving this lecture ok

So where does this leave Tomoyo’s mom? uhhhhhhhhhhh

Tomoyo’s mom manages to achieve the lesbian separatist ideal of a life lived without men, but she only manages to do so by taking advantage of her vast wealth to set up her own miniature state of sorts. However, this totally goes against the radical feminist principles of grassroots organizing and class consciousness. In achieving the physical goals of political lesbianism, Sonomi has completely missed the symbolic goals of the ideology and is actually reinforcing heteropatriarchal power structures. With her vast concentrated wealth and vertical power hierarchy over her guards and maids, Sonomi is reproducing the very male supremacy power structures that radical feminists work to fight against. Though she may fancy herself a political lesbian, she probably would not be welcomed by any of them.

Also her hairstyle is still kind of bad. terf bangs, lol

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 12

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary:  As Ienzo sleeps, Even ponders over his next steps, and forms an unexpected friendship with Demyx.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Even returns to his quarters. He knows he needs sleep, but he feels too wired, and he doesn’t want to take something lest they need him in the middle of the night. He’s soaking his lab coat in bleach, but he’s not optimistic. Instead, he sits darning a hole in an old one he found.

He seems Demyx poke his face in the cracked door. “Something the matter?”

“That depends.” Demyx sighs. “Do you think it’s possible for me to regain my sitar? Or do you think it would hurt me like it did Ienzo?”

Already so much more resolved. Curious. “Truthfully? I think that you will likely be fine. Lea can wield two weapons simultaneously--though why that miscreant needs to be doubly dangerous I have no idea.”

“How do I do it?”

He blinks. It still feels so odd to see the different color. “I’m afraid in that case I’m out of my depths. You might try giving one of them a call. I’m sure Ienzo would not mind if you used his gummiphone in his absence.”

“Sure. Thanks.” He turns to leave.

He bites the bullet. “Demyx? Could I perchance… take a look at it?”

“At what?”

What else? “The Keyblade,” he says slowly. He never really got to study Roxas’s--or Xion’s, for that matter, despite creating it in a roundabout way. Funny. Demyx was once a thorn in his side; now he’s a living relic.

He raises an eyebrow. “I mean I haven’t consciously summoned it in literally hundreds of years.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be able to.” Now that the boy is human… and feeling remorse… he may very well be worthy again.

The boy holds out his hands. With a flash… there it is.

It’s a slight, delicate blade; the hilt an inverse sort of heart. Even notices the coloring, light and dark blue. “...Fascinating,” Even mumbles. “Lea’s chakrams were incorporated into his blade as well.” He leans forward a little to get a better look.

Demyx draws it away. “Don’t! I’m not going to risk passing this on.”

...And how would that be done? “It’s not a virus.”

“It sorta is,” he says, frustratingly vaguely.

“As if I would ever be worthy . Very well. If it soothes your neuroses.”

The boy holds it protectively, and, Even notes, with something like disgust; he looks like he’s smelled something bad.

“Have you had it long?”

“Literally?”

Even crosses his arms. “You do realize that you simply  traveled through time, yes? You’re still only twenty-two. A babe.”

He shrugs. “Since I was five. More or less. That’s just how it was then.”

Paydirt. “How what was?”

He sighs. The weapon vanishes. “I hope you got time.”

“For this, I will make the time.”

He sits the boy down, starts a recording. Demyx bristles a little when Even does this, but says nothing. “I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands.”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“Can you state your name and age in its entirety?”

He nods, and then as though embarrassed, gives Even his old name.

“That’s your name? That’s not what I thought.”

“Yeah, well. It seems like I’m full of surprises. I don’t care who knows it, but it doesn’t seem to fit right anymore. You know?”

“I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?”

“I’ll try.”

When Even looks back at the recording later, it’s only about half an hour; but it seems like he and Demyx were in that room for much longer. Demyx tells him the story slowly, about his own impoverished beginnings, about a time when Keyblade wielding was almost guaranteed, about complex family dynamics and Foretellers, about child warriors being exploited. They were throwing these kids in and out of time ( how ?) on missions to destroy Heartless, collect light. Not too much unlike the Organization, Even notes. Xehanort must have known all this. But if they were letting these kids time travel somehow, far enough into the future where they would naturally be dead… it defies logic. But it allows Demyx to be sitting here, now.

Doesn’t everything?

But rather than how darkness corrupted the apprentices, light seemed to corrupt these children; they fought over it, began killing each other, as well as one another’s pets (Chirithys?). Even remembers the old fairy tales--people used to fight over the light, and it’s this fight that begat darkness, which begat the World’s fracture.

Demyx has lived through all that.

He seems unaware of all this, of the implications of it. He tells Even instead about unions, Keyblade groups, a specialized sect called Dandelions. He tells him about a war.

It’s around then the gravity of everything seems to be setting in. Demyx’s voice becomes more and more halting as he describes the war, people (children) dying. Finally he breaks down. Even can’t offer him much comfort other than a glass of water, something to dry his eyes, a hand to hold.

Their history was so much more human than he could’ve thought, more than the sing-songy fairy tales they’d all been taught. They had repercussions.

But if it were the second set of Foretellers, and not Xehanort, who wiped the boy’s memory, how on earth did it return? Was just the trigger enough? Is it all sheer coincidence?

Xemnas found Demyx, wounded, reeling, and dying in this graveyard. Of course the boy begat a Nobody--but the Nobody, without memories or a Keyblade, was essentially useless, trauma warping his personality radically.

“Goodness gracious,” he mutters, wanting a stronger word. “This is a window to our history.”

Cried out, he’s exhausted. “Yours, maybe.”

“You simply must tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader--did they have a leader?”

“It's a lot to talk about." Flat. Lifeless. Even remembers the boy is human, not some kind of walking encyclopedia.

He pauses the recording. “I suppose you’re right. Of course you must be very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Even says. “I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship.”

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nods. But how has Even earned Demyx's forgiveness? “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

He’s not sure what else to say, so he tries for humor. “Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx purses his lips. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he says. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

He watches the boy go. He’s trembling all over himself, weak. He thought hearing about the past would be illuminating; instead he feels something of a voyeur. This oral history is probably one of the only truths they have. But knowing he’s the one who’s taken it does not give him a sense of pride. Rather, he feels keenly the weight of responsibility. Demyx likely does not want to live being gawked at, questioned. But he’s never had such insight before to the past.

For some reason Even thought that, prior to the Fracture, the World was something utopian. But people starving in the streets? Greed and exploitation running rampant? Maybe they did not yet have literal darkness, but it still lived in the hearts of men. Waiting.

Forever polluting.

He falls asleep for a few hours, restlessly. He bathes, forces himself to eat. He checks in on Ienzo, finds everything still steady and vital. He knows one thing he may be able to do.

Even finds the EEG machine broken and bashed in inside of a closet. He carries it back upstairs, seeking Dilan--the man was always better with his hands. He runs instead into Ansem. He’s in no mood. “Have you seen Dilan?” he asks instead.

“He’s keeping Demyx preoccupied. For the best, I suppose. What are you doing with that?”

“Well--it would be prudent to try to monitor Ienzo’s neural activity,” he says. “But like everything else in this godforsaken castle, it too needs repairs.”

Ansem appraises the machine in Even’s arms. “I may be able to help you,” he says. “Come with me.”

The lab is colder than everywhere else, despite the computer. Even shudders.

“I admit I did not miss these winters,” Ansem says. He takes the screen and coil of wires and sets it down, then plugs it into the console. “I’ll do a diagnostic. It’ll only take a moment.”

They both wait, saying nothing, refusing to make eye contact.

“This… does not surprise me a whit,” Ansem admits.

“What? That everything’s broken?”

“That the boy would do this,” he says. “I’m afraid he gets that from you.”

Even scoffs.

“It’s true. You were always… in your own way… putting everything else above yourself--especially those you cared for. Once Ienzo arrived--I cannot recall one single touchpoint where the boy was not a priority.”

“Children have no power here,” he says softly. “I… now this must be kept in confidence.”

“Always,” Ansem says.

“Demyx told me the story of his past. I said I would not share the details--and I won’t, without his permission. But… I’m afraid to say the past was no different. The people in charge, such as they were, were merely using them to gather light.”

“Sounds familiar,” Ansem says, with a shake of his head.

“...Quite. Naively, I hoped… that the darkness of man was artificial. But it seems that it was not, that we as humans… were always dreadful to one another. It’s so dismal. I thought I would feel good, making these discoveries, but I…” He trails off and crosses his arms.

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Regardless of darkness.”

“So it seems.”

“And there’s always light in the darkness, Even.”

He scowls. “Can’t you say something more than a mere platitude?”

“It’s truth.” He tilts his head. “If anything… this convoluted suffering of these two boys… has brought back out this tender part of you I feared gone.”

“...I struggle, to be Even,” he admits. “I feel a helpless wretch. Seeing Ienzo in such danger, I could not lift a finger. I could not do anything aside from watch.”

“But you were there. Which is more than I can say.” He taps a few things on the screen. “This actually appears to be in good shape. Needs a new motherboard. That’s all. Those are easy to come by, in the market. We can go together.”

“...But shouldn’t someone be here in case--?”

“Everyone here has a gummiphone, and they also know how to use it. It’d do you some good to get outside. I don’t think any of us will leave Ienzo without company.”

They walk, slowly. Even realizes, almost for the first time, that he’s taller than Ansem; the man always seemed larger than him. How odd. “Do you… know what happened?”

“I’ve been briefed by nearly everyone, yes.”

Their walk to town is nearly completely silent. They wade through the snow. “I thought I would know what to do, once I began my pitiful attempt at atonement,” Even admits. “But all I’ve done to help so far--results in nothing.”

“I’m not much better. I tried to assist Ienzo, but all I did was allow the boy to destroy himself. I wasn’t… a good father. I never allowed him to even call me “dad.”” He shakes his head. “I never prioritized him. He was… something of a pet, looking back on it.”

“Yet when I suggested that you became extremely defensive.”

“Because I’m a stubborn idiot, Even.”

The frankness with which he says this makes Even look up.

“Does it make you feel good to hear you were right?” he asks. There’s no sharpness to it; he really wants the answer.

“No,” he says. “Not at all.”

For a while all that is audible is the sound of their boots crunching the snow. “I should’ve listened,” Ansem continues. “We could’ve placed the boy in a good home. He could’ve grown up safe, loved--more than the desiccated love of researchers. Xehanort might not have used him, might not have held him as a chip over you. Because I’m sure he did.”

“And none of this would have happened?” Even asks dryly.

“I’m not sure about that. But we could’ve spared one life.” He sighs. “I admit I’m… glad for Demyx, in some ways. He’s giving him a support we couldn’t--and still can’t.”

“I feel the same,” Even says dully. “All along I thought he was--that he would--”

“Physically use the boy and cast him aside?”

Even shrugs. “But has anyone in Ienzo’s life done anything more?” His eyes ache, from exhaustion and the whiteness of snow. “Demyx was there when it happened… his devastation told me his feelings are genuine.”

"...Perhaps we should get used to him, then."

"It could be worse." He frowns. "I'm… trying not to consider what might happen if--"

"Ienzo will not give up if he has a say in the matter. Have faith in the boy."

"I do," Even says haltingly. "But I wish… we had been on better terms prior to… I have so much to make up to that boy. The least I can do is ensure he has a long and happy life."

"Is that not atonement enough?" Ansem asks softly.

"It never will be. Never. It’s all become so dreadfully human to me, what we did. I wrote an impact statement for the committee. These people were more than just hearts, they were…”

“Dreams? Memories?”

Even nods.

“I understand,” Ansem says. “I turn back towards what I’ve done, my abuse of those Nobodies. They may not be human, but they are still living, they still have their own wants and needs. And now… because of you they have a second chance to really live as they were meant to.”

He shakes his head a little.

“I’ve been much too harsh with you,” Ansem says.

Even stops in his tracks. “What?”

“Being cruel to you will not fix things. It will not change what’s been done.”

Is that all? “Oh.”

“But I find your humility promising.”

He can’t stop it. “I’m not an irredeemable wretch after all?”

“You were never. I’m afraid I… stumble more with my words than I used to.”

Even drops his eyes. They’re almost back at the castle. “I did try,” he admits. “Just not hard enough.”

“Try what?”

“To get him out.”

Ansem stares at him. “When was this?”

“The night they threw you into darkness.” Even’s heart seems to itch. “I was going to run. But they… guessed.” He swallows. “Xehanort threatened to--”

Ansem touches his shoulder. “Peace.”

“I could’ve tried harder. I could’ve. Yet more painful that the boy forgives me for all of it.”

“You can do better now. You already are.”

“...You needn’t tell me sweet lies.”

“It’s not a lie. You’re changing. I wish I could follow.”

Even blinks. “Can’t you?”

Ansem chuckles. “This city is in shambles,” he says. “The ones picking up the pieces are children, inexperienced but hopeful. Rather than return here, to assist this resistance, I… tried to do everything myself. I let the people suffer. I let someone clean up my mess. Sound familiar?”

“Do you believe it’s too late to change?”

Ansem doesn’t answer. “Come,” he says instead. “We should check on the boy.”

---

The days pass. Even finds himself again becoming numb, but he tries to take care of himself. He needs to keep it together for Ienzo.

The boy sleeps and sleeps.

For the first few weeks, Ienzo has next to no neural activity, essentially reading as braindead; which would track if his will is not rebounding. He fears for the worst. How long should they wait before…

No. He will not go there.

He tries to research the subject further, but all there is are fragments, scraps of similar things in ancient, moldering texts. There truly is no precedence for any of this. There’s nothing any of them can do aside from take care of him and wait.

If Even or Ansem isn’t with him, Demyx is. Somehow in all this he’s regained the ability to summon his sitar, but Even finds he doesn’t mind the noise. It fills the utter silence.  It keeps the boy company.

Perhaps for this reason, Ienzo begins to manifest some activity. It’s incredibly limited--barely noticeable--but to Even’s sharp eyes, it’s there.

“You surely are taking your time,” Even mutters.

Seeing it is a relief. It means this all isn’t for nothing.

One of these days, he’s in checking Ienzo’s vitals when he sees Demyx sitting by the window, reading, oddly enough. He consults the monitor. “EEG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

Demyx looks up. “About what?”

“I’ve no idea. ...What is that ?” He thought that the book in front of the boy was one is Ienzo’s fantasy stories, but taking a closer look at it… Why on earth is Demyx reading something like that ? “Are you quite alright?” He checks the boy’s temperature. It’s the only explanation.

Demyx scowls and shuts the book. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?” He already has the boy, no need to impress him further.

A sheepishness replaces the anger. “You’re just going to make fun of me,” he says.

“I will not .”

He gives Even a doubtful look.

“I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement.”

But the last thing he expects out of the boy’s mouth is, “I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.”

The last thing Even expected to hear.“Really? Why is that?”

“I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do.” He sighs. “I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it’d be nice. You know.”

He does know. All too well. It’s still jarring to hear Demyx talk about this, when he once couldn’t be trusted to do what he was told, or really follow anything other than his own whims. But knowing all he’s gone through… he can understand that itch, that need to ease suffering.

(And, somewhat gallingly, Demyx’s bedside manner is better than his own, degree or no.)

“I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I’m starting to change my mind.”

There’s an earnestness in his newly-green eyes when he asks, “Do you think I can do it?”

Demyx might not be booksmart, but if Even remembers anything of the Organization days, he knows Demyx’s magic was powerful. “You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t think I’m too stupid?”

He’s getting aggravated, but for a completely new reason. Since when does anything Even says mean anything to him? ( You’re his in law.)

(Do not think about that. )

“I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem. As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He reaches for the tome. “I’d be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren’t exactly light reading. It’d be convenient to have another pair of hands.” He picks up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He shows Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals; he watches with interest. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” He pats Ienzo’s head.

Demyx is tearing up. “I miss him.”

His emotions are always so clear, so close to the surface. Even is vaguely jealous. “As do I. Come. Are you hungry?”

---

They actually end up spending quite a lot of time together, in the upcoming weeks; Even has a feeling Demyx is lonely, and if he’s being honest with himself, so is he. Sometimes the boy will sit near him, as he writes or works in the lab, nose buried in a book (the sight is so bizarre; Even feels half delirious), only looking up to ask questions about anatomy or for a definition of a word. It reminds him of his days teaching. He used to find that work paltry, annoying, something to get through so he could go back to the worthwhile. But he finds he doesn’t mind it. Demyx is sharp, perceptive; he must’ve been, to have gathered such good intelligence in the Organization, but only now is Even seeing it. And finds himself wondering how much of his ill will towards the boy was baseless.

“...Sorry,” Demyx says one day. “But do you mind if I play something? I… I can’t focus otherwise.” With a soft laugh.

He sighs. But to answer in the negative would just discourage the boy. “If you must.”

The boy hefts the instrument into his arms, tunes the strings, begins absently playing a quiet melody to himself. Even glances up, observing him calmly; he pauses every now and again to flip a page, but his gaze is focused.

“Are you glad, to be back here?” Demyx asks suddenly.

He blinks. “In this lab? I should think not--it’s a disaster.”

“No.” He chuckles. “Here, here. In Radiant Garden. As Even.”

He swivels his stool to face the boy. “If I’m to be honest--it hasn’t been easy.”

“...No,” Demyx admits.

“But I…” He doesn’t know what to say.

“Where else do you go?” he asks wryly.

“Yes… and… I may still be able to… be of use, here.” He curses his inelegance.

“But what do you want?”

The earnestness of it makes him laugh. “When you get older you’ll realize you can’t just live for yourself.”

“I mean I know that already.” He shakes his head. “Even. What would make you happy?”

He blinks. “Do we deserve happiness, after what we did?”

“Is suffering any better?”

Even feels vaguely shaken.

Demyx lets the sitar disappear and comes over to him. He leans on his elbow. “No reason for you to be one of your own victims,” he says. “So you might as well lighten up a little. I’m going to go do laundry. ...I’m on my last pair of underwear.” He wrinkles his nose and disappears.

“I did not wish to have that information,” Even says to his retreating form.

But once he’s gone… Even ponders what he said. Turning it over.

Wondering if the boy might actually be right for once.

[bambamramfan]

What is capitalism?

This is a long explanation of capitalist ideology, in response to threads like these.

And direct asks for clarification by @jadagul, @silver-and-ivory, @not-a-lizard, and @kenny-evitt

(And a nice coda here )

Okay so what is capitalism.

Well sometimes people are just talking about the economic system. Goods are distributed according to markets, people have control of their private property, and we manage a global financial network by means of far-flung capital deciding what seems like a wise investment. This can be described in the positive sense with no value judgments - although it’s a very complicated system that is usually drastically simplified by anyone without a degree in economics or relevant profession.

But, much more relevantly for discourse, capitalism refers to the thinking that this is for the best. As @jadagul proposes:

Like, if you asked me to define “capitalism”, I would point to the idea that the means of production should be owned privately, and most economic activity should be privately contracted and transacted. And secondarily, I might talk about the ideological underpinnings of divorcing personal, private views from public, economic considerations, which I wrote about here. (Though properly speaking that’s liberalism rather than capitalism, the two synergize).

Emphasis on the word “should.” Which is why we can talk about capitalism in America, and Sweden, and Singapore, all countries with every different economic models and results. In all of them the dominant ideological strain is that a complex system of private exchange is for the best.

Like any belief, there’s a lot of luggage that goes with it.

There are two fundamental arguments for capitalism:

People’s stuff is their stuff. They should be allowed to do whatever they want with it, which includes selling it to other people who want it for whatever price they can get. We’ll call this deontic reason.

Markets are the most efficient distribution mechanism for our current stuff, and encouraging more production of it. We’ll call this the consequentialist reason.

These are both compelling reasons, and many tumblrs have made persuasive arguments based on them. But putting them both up there next to each other, we notice something.

...they don’t play nicely together. Like you can’t accept both of these arguments. Either people deserve true control over what they own and it’s okay people starve in order to support this principle -- or goods should be distributed based on who will benefit the most from them, and your own claim over them is ethically irrelevant.

(You can try to explain that in our world it just so happens that both of these things are true. That would be very convenient -- especially, as noted, this is the dominant belief of those in power. This is extremely unlikely, and in general you should practice skepticism towards claims that sacred values also are practically optimal.)

It’s true that some iconoclasts will bite the bullet, and pick only one of these arguments. Rationalists are pretty good about putting primacy on argument #2, and there are principled libertarians who put #1 above all. But by and large, what do most ideologues say, including “every Republican politician and most of the Democratic ones?” They claim both arguments are true at once.

And when you think of this, especially in the context of “Republican politicians justifying something” you realize that it’s really… just fatuous rhetoric in defense of something. They don’t really care if it’s the most effective system, not enough to test that claim in a falsifiable setting. And they aren’t really committed to deontic property rights. It’s just these are two powerful arguments throw out to win the debate and defend something.

So, to defend what? The naive radical here says that they’re just making these spurious arguments to defend the rich and powerful, but I don’t buy it. No one can buy toadies that passionate, that ubiquitous. They’re defending capitalism the same way you’d expect them to defend American actions in the Vietnam War - ignorantly, but with innocent faith.

So that’s what capitalism is. Capitalist ideology is the thing that people are defending when they make bad, contradictory arguments for capitalism.

The market is not always the worst way of deciding things. But it’s not always the best either. And we need to be able to make reality-based decisions about whether it’s the right principle to follow in any particular policy -- but the intellectual forces made to defend capitalism in general, will rear their head to argue that “taxation is theft” and “there’s no such thing as a free lunch” no matter how pragmatic and necessary the left-wing proposal under discussion is. You have to resist that.

You have to ask yourself “okay, but in this area, is mandatory licensing a useful idea? What does the evidence really say?”

***

This concern is not limited to the policy realm, which is why we (who have so little influence over policy) end up discussing capitalism so much.

The biggest area where this comes up is the value of people.

Under capitalism, we believe that the value of a person is based on how much money they have. Oh, sure we don’t say this straight out. Every life is equal, etc etc. But whose judgment do we trust?

Who are we more impressed by: our unemployed friend, or the one on a hot track career that affords her a house and fancy vacations, and always buys everyone dinner? What’s the common demand of Republicans: get successful business people into office so they can run government like a business? And when you see someone, how good are you at resisting making assumptions about them based on the niceness of their clothes, their general health and hygiene, and other signifiers associated with class?

Even our judgment of our own productive activities is dominated by this. Here’s an increasing scale we are all familiar with:

Oh you’re an artist. That’s cool.

Where you hired by someone to make your art?

Does it pay?

Does it offer benefits?

Is it enough to raise a family on?

… and on and on into even higher scales. The central question of your art (or whatever you do) should be “is it good?” But instead we establish sources of external validation. And capitalism manages to subsume all those definitions of validation, boiling them down to “will someone give you money for them.”

Now, there is often some logic behind these conclusions. The friend who treats everyone to dinner is at least benefiting you. And people paying for your work sometimes means it’s popular which we think sometimes signifies whether it’s good. But these are often short-cuts our mind makes, without thinking about whether that chain of logic really is supported by evidence.

The person who inherited a lot of money, and parlayed that into CEO jobs in their 20’s, and then used that experience as the basis for future claims of expertise, has an opportunity no one else did. And a lot of the companies trying to create media these days are throwing darts in the dark, hoping something hits. There’s a lot of luck, personal connections, and outright immorality that can go into making money, but we still have that shortcut “gets money = valuable.”

So usually what I am getting at when I rail against capitalism, is that I firmly believe unemployed people are valuable too. Not just in some utilitarian calculus, but that their work is interesting, their effort is meaningful, and I enjoy their ideas and think they have a real contribution to society. The fact that at the moment the market won’t pay for it, does not concern me as to the value of their work.

***

Obviously central planning and government can also fuck up. Stalinism and Chavezism can convince people to judge everything based on what the dictator thinks, and that is just as wrong. And statistical evidence shows that a minimum wage boosts income at some levels, and reduces take home pay at higher levels, and efforts to ignore either result are sticking your head in the sand.

But we don’t live under Stalin or another communist dictator. We live in a world where the richest are the most powerful and highest status, and they determine the class ladder. So the ideology we have to be on the watch for is “this that justify the existing capitalist system.”

Regardless, in all such cases - judging policies, or people - we can’t delegate our decisions to ideological short cuts. We must do the hard work ourselves of reading situations and forming our own reactions to them.

[angstbotfic]

also, this idea that straight women are desperate for marriage and straight men don’t want it? i can’t find the study again now, but married men are happier and live longer than unmarried men--but unmarried women are happier.. 

Protip for men: if marriage is a horrifying concept for you and you think it is an evil trap, do not buy a ring and ask a woman to marry you