You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.
You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?
You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”
He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”
It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up. She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out. First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.
Clark’s introducing her around. “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”
You blink, and take a step back in fear. You’ve never seen an 11 before.
The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane, you can’t help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.
Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”
You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.
That’s it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation. Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.
At this point, you’ve seen it all. Miled manner reporters and billionaires at a 10 and a model-like woman at 11. You were really starting to doubt your power. The day you really stopped believeing in it was when Bruce Wayne came for another visit, and this time with a kid. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 years old, a bit on the short side.
The day you started believing in it again was when you saw on tv the formation of something called the justice league.
There were those same numbers over superman, batman, wonder woman and robin. That’s when you put two and two together. You wonder how nobody at the daily planet noticed that Clarke was Superman with glasses. You wonder why you didn’t notice. You wonder why nobody put two and two together that Diana Prince and Wonder Woman looked exactly the same. You look in the mirror as the realization hit you and you see your own number change from a 3 to a 9.
Your confidence in your gift restored, you stroll outside for a walk. Going the other way is a young woman, chipper to the point of being manic, blond but with one ponytail dyed blue and the other pink. For the first time ever, you don’t see a number hovering over someone’s head. Instead you see:
NaN DIVIDE BY ZERO ERROR
You turn around and go back to your apartment, locking the deadbolt behind you.
Seeker tradition would be A’____ Razh. Keeper tradition would be ____ Shadi’ra. But for an actual name? Hmm... I’m not sure.
Gender
Female; it’s by far the most likely for Miqo’te after all.
General Appearance
Hmm... a tanned complexion like Razh, but dark blue hair and eyes like Parva! And an adorable button nose.
Personality
Mischievous, truthful, and clever. Outwardly confident but secretly insecure. Coy and enigmatic. Guarded, but fiercely loyal once befriended. Free-spirited.
Special Talents
Surprisingly adept at math. Takes after her mother with aetheric attunement and talent.
Who they like better
A close call, but Razh gets the edge for being the one who appeals to her roguish nature a bit more, also she’s daddy’s little girl and has him wrapped around her finger, so she can get away with things that she wouldn’t around Parva.
Who they take after more
Parva. See above!
Personal Headcanon
Inspired by both parents, she sells her skills to defend and stand up for the weak like Razh does, using the magical talents inherited from Parva. In doing so, she begins to go a little bit the way Razh once did in becoming cocky and troublesome, but Razh recognizes it and manages to teach her an important life lesson by intervening and curbing the behaviour before it gets someone killed.
adgklKLDGKL;ADGK;LAG;ld;lag;l;LDFG;LAAGD;FLA
THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO MUCH IT’S SO PERFECT ;__; my sweet lionboy looks so amazing, the water looks amazing, just… everything. thank you!!
“Hay guyz, racism is bad so let’s ban a book that is a cautionary tale against the evils of racism because it contains racism.”
Face. Palm.
And that’s not even addressing how egregious so many of the other titles on that ban list are for being there... maybe it should be called the “let’s make sure our children grow up as ignorant as possible list”.
If it sparkles, if it sparkles
I’ve got my eye on it
If it shines, if it shines
I gotta get my hands on it
The Nuhn was flanked by three sons who he guessed to be between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five summers, yet he knew there was another that they yet waited for while seated at opposing ends of the low table. As a man of trade, he was treated to coffee while they spoke lightly.
T’opaz the Golden. Of many summers, he was an accomplished man of a large caravan and successful merchant, by his own words. There was little reason to doubt if one were to see him. Fine silks and cotton, metallic threads woven in rich colours. Red, white, black, gold, twisted in fair designs…but perhaps a bit too much gold.
And too much red.
J’Lalit Tia was younger, and much, but possessed of great ambition and respect for those who came before him. He was blessed with a lovely shock of gold hair but was too gentle, too trusting, even if he was gifted in negotiation. The sash about his waist -finest Hannish silk- was a testament to that.
“J’Lalit Tia, this is T’ohzhan, my eldest,” the Nuhn gestured to an older-looking Tia who was likely no younger than twenty-seven. About the age at which he could begin to challenge the current leader of the caravan- or start his own.
T’ohzhan gave a nod but was possessed of a severe expression and a shrewd eye that he turned on the stranger without the slightest hesitation, causing the fellow to laugh awkwardly, and hide in his cup.
“The pleasure is mine,” he peered through a cage of lashes, chin dipped low. The subtle gesture seemed to please the eldest son enough that he nodded to himself and took a seat at his father’s side.
In an hours’ time, he was scooping spices out of jars and into paper sacks for the Nuhn, all while chatting idly about this and that. They’d visited topics such as the political climate in Ul’dah -ever changing-, the trends in demand for merchandise -dictated largely by the upper-class-, and even the weather patterns -J’Lalit told them of the storm on his heels, the reason he’d sought to shelter here.-
Trade for shelter seemed fair enough. T’opaz was interested in his Thavnairian-grown spices, in the story behind his silk sash, in the blue colour of his chocobo.
Stories he gave willingly. The spices were common for him to trade for in Limsa Lominsa -a truth easy to part with- while the sash was the mark of his skill amongst the guilds of Radz-at-Han -a simple, believable lie-.
“The chocobo was my sister’s, she came to Eorzea with me and bought the bird to help us travel. Sadly, she perished in an ambush led upon us by displaced Ala Mhigans.”
“Good that she could give you something of value, even in death.”
J’Lalit blinked slowly, and offered a curious quirk of one golden brow to the Nuhn. “What an odd thing to say, how do you mean?” His hand paused on the spice scoop, T’ohzhan shifted next to his father, ears splayed.
“I mean short of offering herself to another tribe’s Nuhn, she was useless to you, deadweight. Were it that she had lived, perhaps she would’ve made a fitting– why are you laughing?” The shrouded merchant let out clear, chiming laughter, his hands splayed over the piled trade goods atop the table. The Nuhn’s expression darkened while his younger sons shifted uneasily behind him.
“Oh, oh by the Twin Faces, I’d almost thought I’d found the wrong man. So welcoming and generous you were, I was sure I’d made a mistake.” J’Lalit stretched a wide smile that showed teeth, a helpless shrug following. “You cannot blame me for my laughter, you’re utterly ridiculous, no wonder someone wants your head!”
Every blade and spear in the room was, in a heartbeat, pointed at J’Lalit’s throat.
No better way to fight for the cause of tolerance and open-mindedness than to try and forcefully silence people and opinions you disagree with, amirite?
I am a (mostly) straight, cisgender white male. Many people on Tumblr would have you believe that I am a racist, chauvinist, misogynistic pig by virtue of the way that I am. Because I have privilege.
I’m not offended that other people in my demographic are called out for being shitty human beings. But it’s pretty damn offensive to be considered a shitty human being simply because of my demographic.
Here’s the truth:
I don’t see skin colour as indicative of a person’s quality or character. I think people of all ethnicities have the right to thrive and be treated equally and with respect.
I don’t see sexual orientation as anybody’s business except the individual in question, and I don’t believe that anyone has the right to provide differential treatment to anyone else because of their orientation.
I don’t see sex or gender as grounds for discrimination, and I don’t think of women as anything less than the human beings they are, who should be afforded all the same rights and dignities as men. And where there are legitimate differences between the sexes, I believe that women’s issues should not be marginalized or seen as optional or less important - for example, I find it disgusting that some American employers deny their female employees birth control on spurious religious or moral grounds.
I will readily admit that I’m not sold on the concept of genders outside male/female/agender. But nor will I object to anybody’s right to express themselves and identify themselves as they see fit. I’m aware of body dismorphic disorders and support the rights of people to become trans or undergo gender reassignment surgeries and hormone therapy. Do what you need to do to be comfortable in your own skin. I’m cool with it.
As long as you are accommodating and respectful of other people, I’m behind you 100%.
And this is where I really wish certain people would descend from their high horse and meet me in the middle here.
Let’s not pretend that people can’t be racist against white people. The idea that “racism” by definition has to be perpetrated by someone in a position of power is false and it muddies the waters of the argument. It actively discourages white people from becoming allies of POC because they feel they’re being racially discriminated against. Which is, of course, the true and simple definition of “racism”. I don’t believe that anyone should ever discriminate against anyone else based on the colour of their skin or their ethnic background. Full stop. I don’t think of black people or first nations or Asian people or Middle Eastern people or anyone else as inherently lesser than me. I would thank the advocates for marginalized groups not to ascribe prejudice to me hypocritically and assume that I do simply because I am caucasian.
I can’t believe this even bears saying, but I have no issues with LGBTQ etc. simply because I’m straight. Love who you wanna love, people. It’s cool.
Let’s not pretend that men need to be “taken down” in order for women to achieve true equality. Making women superior to men is not the solution to women’s oppression. The solution is equality, and we are closer to this than many radical feminists will ever admit. There is the wage gap, for example. An earnings gap does exist in broad strokes, but if you compare wages for people working the same job with the same experience, it all but vanishes. The real issue is that women are less represented in high-paying fields. So let’s not do women a disservice by trying to fix a non-existent problem - let’s focus on the real problem instead. Let’s advocate for getting more women into lucrative career paths. Happily, these gears are already in motion. We’re seeing more women in executive positions than ever before. University enrollment is actually now biased toward female students across most of North America. Are things perfect? No, not yet. But major societal changes take time, and we’re on the right path. So let’s keep walking.
To follow up on that, broadening the scope to privilege of all sorts: the solution to a problem of disproportionate privilege is not to tear down the privileged. The solution is to raise up the unprivileged, so that everyone is better off. This is how society changes for the better. Yes, hold people accountable for abusing their privilege. Absolutely do that. The #metoo movement is a great example of a positive force for change taking people to task for abusing their power and influence to get away with reprehensible acts. But at the same time, we should be celebrating people who use their privilege in a positive way.
I try not to be ignorant. I try to understand the standpoints of others. And I try not to dismiss anyone else’s position for reasons of identity. Yes, I am a straight cisgender white male. And from this position of privilege I do my best to understand, sympathize with, and advocate for marginalized people. But when representatives of those marginalized groups hate me for what I am when I am legitimately attempting to respect them? That’s frustrating. When representatives of marginalized groups heap fault on me for societal problems I disagree with and had no personal hand in, while refusing to accept the flaws and problems in their own approaches? (BLM hijacking Bernie Sanders’ podium and shouting him down, despite him being the kind of politician who supports racial equality, comes to mind.) That’s frustrating.
I will not dismiss anyone’s rationale out of hand. I will only dismiss your rationale if you prove yourself irrational. Let’s shake hands, sit down, have a coffee, and talk about things. If I come off as ignorant about something? Tell me your point of view. You just might change my mind.
But if you assume that I’m an ignorant white male whose only worth is to shed cisgender tears for you to drink, we’re not going to get very far. Let me support you and I will. Demonize me and you’re on your own.
Narissis in Nexus @narissis - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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