In an effort to create a queernorm fantasy setting, one of the things I found myself doing was experimenting with ways to dislodge reproduction from gender and sexuality. Why? Because, collectively, we struggle with the idea of “non-reproductive” coupling. This manifests in different measures with childless couples and same-sex couples. While the former has their own struggles in this regard, it’s the latter that contributes to the complex vectors of queer oppression. Creating a setting where queerness is normalized, then, it felt like it was necessary to deconstruct these ideas.
It began with elves. I had briefly introduced the idea that elves had low fertility rates and built their social systems on this assumption. As I was working through a specific project, however, I found myself building out a perception of elves as being asexual by human standards. And that “by human standards” seemed the most important when trying to establish these baselines. Of course, different species would have biochemical reactions to things like sex and attraction, so finding a way to form an objective baseline is something that still eludes me.
But what if I combined these concepts? Imagine a species that struggled to reproduce at a population scale while also not feeling a strong natural drive to participate in reproductive activity at a individual scale. What would the social consequences be for this combination of variables? What then if I also see these elements through the lens of a species that practices self-eugenics, something else I established in the writing? I’m left with a species where it’s not kin-groups…it’s breeding. It’s people pairing up (or being allowed to pair up) based on genetic profiles. Also being pressured to engage in intercourse for the sake of reproduction completely independent of sexual preference. How does that affect perceptions of sexuality? Which is something I’m still working on.
With another species, the ariesians, the idea came together all at once. Here I invented a species where there were no visible indicators of reproductive sex other than horn color. There’s simply no difference in things like fat distribution or frame shape. Females don’t have breasts except for the short time they spend breastfeeding (wherein they stay small); males don’t grow facial hair. But then I had to decide what causes this variation in horn color from a bio-chemical perspective, particularly if I want to tie it to reproductive sex. The obvious answer was something like hormones. In humans, increased testosterone leads to increased body hair growth, so variations in the species equivalent chemical could very easily cause variance in the amount of melanin in an anatomical structure.
This, of course, is followed by the understanding that hormones don’t exist in discrete amounts. They’re different from person to person within a given range. They are also the driving factor in the presentation of secondary sexual characteristics. If a species doesn’t have those strong secondary characteristics, then hormones connect to physical expression in a looser way. Therefore, horn color could end up being a spectrum between two extremes of pale and dark that would not necessarily be one-to-one correlative with reproductive sex.
This would create a culture that has a musch more complex relationship with horn color in the middle of the gradient versus the edges of it. And when the only visible indicator of reproductive sex is singular thing with such a wide breadth for interpretation, I feel like there would be a lot fewer hard lines about what reproductive sex “looks” like. This then has knock-on effects on the external perception of gender that is going to interact with internal feelings of gender based on non-visible anatomy and the bio-chemical effects of hormones. So a much grayer version of gender emerges at a societal level compared to a highly dimorphic species.
Then I invented trenglates, a species featuring anatomical elements of pangolins, ferrets, echidnas, and a number of other animals with the height of a tallish human. Now I did design this species with a more “earthly” higher level mammal style of dimorphism. Males are bigger, more muscular, fatter faces on average. Nothing as dramatic as say the colors of a bird or the size differential of some species of seal, and certainly nothing someone of another species would be able to pick out easily. But intra-species, the signs would be more obvious.
I made a decision early, however, that they don’t carry their own young. Instead they make use of surrogates later in life and don’t raise children until middle age. And, of course, good worldbuilding means when you randomly come up with an idea, you have to reason it out. Why did things turn out this way? Working back through the trenglate history I had designed so far, I found a place to evolve that practice from.
While I’d be remiss to call them a “warring species,” historically the trenglates have had to do a lot of fighting for limited resources and lands. This leads to conflict and risky decisions. Young people are the ones who tend to be the warriors and the hunters and the scouts across new territories, so they’re the ones who die first. Leaving orphans to be raised by older members of these pre-historic clans. This evolves into a modern practice of purposefully creating kin groups where young female trenglates consider it a great honor to carry a child for a older family member.
But what else? What other thing could be a factor in keeping such a practice alive? In both normalizing and supporting a system where this mechanic is seen to work in the best interest of everyone involved?
What about an extremely high prevalence of non-reproducing couples who would benefit from voluntary surrogacy to create their own familial unit? Perhaps this isn’t through infertility, but rather same-sex couples? Thus trenglates became pansexual by default, and the pieces started to fall into place. It’s not so much that this is a causal relationship, but rather there’s something inherent to the way trenglates process relationship structures that allows both these things to bloom.
With all three of these species, I saw separating reproduction from kinship groups from sexuality as a way to examine the connection between those three in the real world. And how that drives our biases and prejudices for what a “family” looks like.
Pixels and Pins Studio 