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explainyourstory · 1 year ago

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~ Abyss Anon, back with Part 3

What is it like to live in America, Canada, the United Kingdom, Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, anywhere? I'm going to be honest, America is pretty decent. Sure, it's not perfect, everything has places to improve in. But I don't think I'm kept down by my gender. I don't think I'll be illegally locked up by the government, and hell, America's free speech is so well-protected that you can safely cuss out Police without being legally in trouble. (silently looks at China's Hong Kong Protestors, at North Korea, at Russia, at the Middle East that kills those who are LGBTQ, at Africa that still engages in genitalia mutilation). I'm not saying that we necessarily have the right to get involved in another culture, but I'll leave this comparison. A mere what 50 years ago, America thought Racism was still okay, and what like 150 years ago or 100 years or whatever ago we still thought slavery was okay. What is okay in one culture at one point in time is accepted as wrong in another point in time. Why are we allowed to nitpick America, which is a pretty good place all things considered, but we don't call for cultures which are consistently denying human rights and lives to examine and change their behavior when it comes to such crimes against humans?

Why do you believe in your faith? Why are you Christian, Catholic, Mormon, Jewish, Buddhist, Athiest, or any belief? I'm in a complicated religious place. I believe there is some higher universal cosmic being, but I think they look at us like we look at ants. Funky, fun to light on fire with a magnifying glass, but barely worth any thought. I just don't agree with the idea that there is a god out there that gives a shit about us, but I also don't think there isn't a higher being out there who had some hand in the world as it is.

Why are you an optimist? A pessimist? A realist? I would call myself a realist with a dose of anxious pessimism. Again, Anxiety, and abuse has created in me a struggle to be 100% blindly optimistic about anything.

Why do you believe in the political party that you do? Why are you Republican? A Democrat? Neither? Hello, welcome to my new name, "It's complicated". I vote republican, mostly because the Radical Left has completely turned me away. The modern Feminist movement is more like a Misandrist movement. Less about raising women up, more about tearing men down. The "Strong Female Character has no flaws, makes no mistakes, and needs no man" makes me unironically immediately hate whatever story has the trope. Women have flaws, they make mistakes, and most women would say that even if they don't need men, they would like to have one in their life. Does the strong female character not need her father? what about a brother? Or a male friend? Is she truly self-sufficient enough that she doesn't need anyone? Or how about the fact that the Strong Female Character is only ever one type of Strong, which usually feels like the female "Stoic Hero with physical strength" archtype. All this to say, the Radical left has complicated my political position.

Why are you pro-choice? Pro-life? Radical left has completely ruined pro-choice for me, because they go after women who choose not to abort, to keep the baby. Pro-Choice implies you support people having the choice to choose either one without reprimand or scolding, and without undue harm. :/ Also, when I was younger, I wrote an essay about Abortion, and though I lost the essay, I remember two poignant things: The methods by which abortions are done (none are pretty, all are so unbelievably fucked up), and that too many abortions from one woman can leave her completely infertile. Any medical process that leaves you infertile and isn't known to have that side effect feels ick to me. What if it's the wrong time in her life but then she later wants kids and can't have any later? How fucked up is that. I do think abortions should be permitted, especially in cases of rape, incest, or where the baby/mother would die to go through childbirth. But if you just don't want to get pregnant, get the implant, use condoms, and practice safe, sane, and consensual sex. Don't put your reproductive organs at risk if you do want children later in life. And look up the methods of abortion. My information was from 2013, so it might be updated, but it might not have updated. It was some fucked up shit.

Why are you a feminist? An anti-feminist? I want equality between men and women, which I honestly think we got quite a bit of equality (the wage gap I think doesn't take into account that it's the average of all men v all women. Compare men to women in the same field. That will give you a more accurate account of wages and gaps). If a man is abused, he's ignored or ridiculed, if a woman is abused, she's supported and the man demonized. If a man rapes a woman, his life is torn down. If a woman lies about a man raping her and is found out, she gets a slap on the wrist for destroying his life. Google it, there's a bunch more fake rape accusations than you think there are. Women are just as nasty to fellow women as men are. If a man and woman divorce, a woman is almost always given 100% custody of any children, unless very extreme circumstances come into play, or it's a fair divorce like my dad and mom, where mom got my sibling and my dad got me, and we each visited the other house every other weekend. But I don't want those double standards. i want the arbitrary Male v Female standards to fade away and judge by facts, not what genitalia the people involved have.

Why do you love certain people, certain groups? What about them makes you so happy? Why? Why do you despise certain people, certain groups? What about them makes you so mad? Why? I assume this is pointing towards being for/against cops, anti-semitism, racism, or sexism. I don't generalize groups. I don't think all of X group is Y, because that is boiling everyone down to one label they have. I want to judge people by their actions and what I know of them. I don't want to assume all men are rapists, or all women are victimized, or all blacks are criminals. Those are all false, and when you make that narrative, you'll look around and see the narrative you craft. I don't judge you for whatever you believe, look, or dress like, though if you wear a shirt of a game/show I like, I'll happily comment on it, and if you behave in a way I find annoying/mean, I'll just avoid you, but it won't change my perception about the group of people, though I have strong thoughts about activist groups that have done more harm than good. (MeToo, with the Cancel Culture that assumes a tweet from a decade ago 100% represents your current beliefs, that jokes don't exist, and you can never change or be better and can only be confronted aggressively and cancelled; BLM, with their violent protests that destroyed so many cities across the country. Both cases had good intentions in their goals, but the way they went about achieving it, or even just in not restricting things [Cancel Culture] ended up causing more harm to the cause in question. Remember #BelieveWomen? You wonder why fake rape accusations are happening? It's because our society with MeToo was primed to just believe women without questioning their story, without properly investigating. And fake rape and abuse accusations only make it harder for real victims to come forward and be believed. Good intentioned, poorly executed.)

All this to say, I try to approach everyone I meet and everything I do with an understanding there is more nuance to the situation than a simple Black and White, a simple "you either are with us or against us" mentality. I never want to remove a seat for all people from the table just because history has had it that our seat was removed. My piece of advice for everyone is: Treat others how you want to be treated, and never assume you know exactly what a person went through. I told a lot of what I experienced, and I didn't expunge a very large amount of my story, as a lot of it is identifying for people who know me well/knew me at a particular point in my life. You, who have heard a lot of my story, do not know everything about me. Likewise, imagine all the people with stories like mine (this is to everyone, not just the owner of this tumblr) that haven't told you, or that you don't know. Better to err on the side of caution and treat others as you'd like to be treated than potentially negatively affecting people for no reason. And generalization is the death of nuance. By boiling people down to their unchangeable characteristics, like their gender, sexuality, or skin color, you're limiting that person to a caricature of what you think of those characteristics. Caricature's, even well meaning ones, are never a good basis on which to judge people. Better to treat every person with blinders on to their skin color, gender, and sexuality, yes? I'm not saying those characteristics don't affect their life (I have characteristics that can affect my life myself), I'm just saying that people shouldn't be judged by those characteristics.

Also, I applaud you, OP, for being willing to be so open to other stories, and I apologize for the heccin essay I just sent you, lol.

As always, ~ Abyss Anon

Part 3

—————

You make a lot of good points, and you've introduced me to a few things I didn't know about previously, thank you! And don't apologise for the essay, it was great to read! Mentioning Cancel Culture, I reccomend reading this post! I found it very enlightnening and it does a good job explaining how Cancel Culture is such a bad thing!

With number 7, you are right but it's also a bit more extensive than that. I stated at the beginning that I want to hear from everybody, I want to learn about as many people's stories as I can, and that includes people who aren't commonly liked or are seen as bad people. That includes; homophobes, racists, and/or people who think stuff like incest is okay, to name a few. I'm not saying I agree or will agree with anything and everything I hear, but I want to know why. It's good to hear from good people, but I want to know the wants and motives behind people society has deemed wrong and immoral as well. Or maybe that's just psychology nerd in me talking.

One thing I think is important though, is that the world isn't black and white, and neither are the people that live in it, everything is all in shades of grey. No one's perfect, but no one's entirely a monster either.

Thank you for sharing!

#share your story #tell your story #explain your story #a religious story #a political story #a morality story #thank you for sharing your story

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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if carlisle and dumbledore were put in each other's respective stories / dilemmas , how do you think they would react? how would a carlisle cullen have dealt with voldemort/grindelwald? and how dumbledore would have dealt with vampirism, etc? i almost view the two of them as a sort of foil to each other, not yet able to articulate why or how though

I mean, they'd live completely different lives, because they're completely different characters. It's very unlikely they'd end up in the same situations.

But alright.

Carlisle is Dumbledore

Carlisle's born in a working class family that quickly begins to fall apart. His father's sent to prison, his mother dies, his sister has a chronic illness that will never disappear, and it's just him and his brother left with very little chance of a future between them.

Handsome Gellert Grindelwald moves in next store with grand, new, ideas concerning the muggles.

Now, this particular Carlisle won't be Christian, he's a pureblood wizard and we can pretty safely assume that the Dumbledores were no more religious than any other wizarding family is.

It's a little up in the air whether Carlisle would be seduced by Gellert or not. Gellert is learned, foreign, and has all these radical, new, theories that weren't very prevalent at the time (well, anti muggleborn sentiment was, the facism was new). On the other hand though, Carlisle is also a man who once radically changed his own beliefs to something that went against nearly every edict of his previous religion. This is not a guy who takes things for granted and is not afraid to both confront himself and the true nature of the world he lives in.

And he has a deep respect for human life that, had it been any lesser, would have undoubtedly led to him eating humans as a vampire.

So, I'm going to say no, or if he does, it lasts up until Gellert says, "We should totally make the muggles our slaves." The muggles may have irreparably damaged Carlisle's sister, they may be hated by society, but they are free thinking beings who should be enslaved to no one. Carlsile raises his pacifism flag.

As a result, Gellert probably thinks he's a tool. Hot, of course, and intelligent, but a useless tool. Without somebody to bounce ideas off of/confirm his radicalization, Gellert has little to no interest in Carlisle or any of the Dumbledores. Gellert spends his time in Godric's Hollow then goes elsewhere, Ariana lives, at least for now, unclear how long her lifespan was going to be otherwise, Carlisle does not have the Gellert incident, and he and Abeforth remain on good terms.

Carlisle graduates Hogwarts and either is a) bullied into taking Flamel's apprenticeship opportunity by Abeforth who screams "DUDE, GET YOURSELF A FUTURE or b) immediately sets about trying to find a relatively high paying job so he can support the family. In the case of B, I imagine he goes to work for the goblins who seem to hire those straight out of Hogwarts with good enough grades. In the case of A, well, he goes to study alchemy.

Knowing Carlisle, he does a bastardization of both. He studies alchemy under Flamel and then works nights as a bartender in Paris or something to that effect. When he finishes, what career he does then is out in the air.

Given that, as a vampire, he had all the choices in the world open to him in terms of education (and tried many different things) before eventually settling on and sticking with human medicine despite the dangers, I think that's telling. Carlisle probably tries to get a job in something healing related.

However, that strays more into the "What if Carlisle was in the wizarding world" vs. "What if Carlisle was Dumbledore" so we'll say that the idea of teaching appeals to him and he returns to Hogwarts for the Transfiguration position.

This all goes well except then there's a first world war on, the muggle world goes completely insane, and no one understands why Carlisle's so upset.

And now we enter the world where Carlisle starts really making choices in Dumbledore's shoes.

First, Tom Riddle. Carlisle, I imagine, makes 100,000 times of a better impression than Dumbledore on the young Tom. He does not, for one, light his wardrobe on fire and threaten him. Carlisle might think this kid is weird, but he lives in poverty and an orphanage, much of his behavior can be explained from that. I imagine Carlisle becomes determined to take Tom under his wing.

I imagine at first Tom thinks this is excellent, LOOK HOW MUCH HE'S MANIPULATING THIS ADULT! And then he realizes that, no, Carlisle is perfectly aware he's a little shit. He just likes talking to Tom after classes about how to fit in with pureblood society/weird esoteric muggle philosophy.

Trouble is, Carlisle is so damn likeable (see his friends all over the world), that Tom can't help but like him. When the Blitz begins, and Carlisle undoubtedly offers Tom (and any other muggleborn who was not moved to the country) a place to stay, that seals the deal, the wizarding world might suck but Carlisle's a pretty cool guy.

Of course, Tom still thinks the government should be reformed or overthrown, but he and Carlisle actually sit down to talk about things like communism and facism (Carlisle's not a fan though the modern, muggle, form of democracy not practiced in the wizarding world is a weird concept to him).

My point being, it's unlikely this Tom Riddle becomes Voldemort or even really aspires to become him. You want more on that topic, check out these posts.

Grindelwald meanwhile, becomes a bigger and bigger deal, and things start looking... bad. However, it's not immediately obvious that Carlisle's the one who should do something about it. He's not a duelist, he's a professor, and his job is to teach the children. He may have been alright in school, but that was decades ago now. More, unlike Albus, he feels no personal responsibility, he knew Gellert, briefly, yes, but they had no real connection. Gellert spoke about insane things and Carlisle said, "Mm, don't like". Add to that that Carlisle's a pacifist, he's going to insist that someone trained for the position do the job.

Given canon, this means that Grindelwald likely invades and takes over wizarding England and, with a strong enough foothold, enacts his "enslave the muggles" plan. Which very well might result in a nuclear holocaust as Grindelwald was likely not keeping up with muggle technology and the muggle world war.

The muggle world collapses, which in turn causes society collapse, and the world may or may not be a nuclear wasteland that Tom and Carlisle get to wander around.

If Carlisle by some divine intervention has a prophetic dream of "YOU MUST DEFEAT GRINDELWALD OR DOOM DOOM DOOM" then he goes and tries to defeat Grindelwald. Considering Grindelwald has the elder wand, he probably needs Deus ex Phoenix to win, but if it worked for Dumbledore it might work for Carlisle.

Well. No one saw that coming.

Carlisle's an overnight sensation and a national hero, the hero of Western Europe even. He's suddenly being presented medals, honors, seats of power, and Carlisle desperately tries to refuse, feeling very squeamish that he's being given these things because he took it upon himself to murder another human being (yes, even a war lord).

Tom finds this funny and Abeforth is ureservedly proud and tells everybody.

All Carlisle wanted to do was teach children and now he has to reside over trials in the Wizengamot. This is terrible.

As for what happens to the wizarding world from there, well, inertia probably carries it along for a good while. However, antimuggleborn sentiment is still on the rise an even without Voldemort I imagine there's quite a bit of unrest.

I imagine Carlisle, not wanting in any way to be a political figure, is not nearly as outspoken as Dumbledore on anything. He just wants to be headmaster, guys, leave him alone.

Tom may or may not go into politics and do it for him. But he probably ends up teaching too and just laughs as the country collapses.

Harry Potter is an ordinary student who has no prophecy surrounding him. Carlisle did not recruit children to join an illegal resistance movement nor does he have a plethora of spies and moles in the ministry.

Harry Potter canon does not happen.

Dumbledore is Carlisle

Well, Dumbledore undoubtedly also burned witches and very much believed in their existence. An irony there. He may chase the vampire, probably isn't first in the mob, in which case he remains human or dies.

If he does survive being bitten, I imagine it pains him for a while, but I don't see Albus having the same willpower as Carlisle. Or at least, not as much, Albus probably ends up eating people. He at first probably tries to be picky and eats those who harm society in some way (pick your poison for what that means) and then over time becomes less picky.

They're just humans, after all.

Albus probably isn't invited to stay in Volterra, he's not all that interesting. He doesn't become a human doctor, he's just your ordinary vampire. He might hang around libraries as much as he can but that's about as far as that extends.

He probably turns a Gellert equivalent at some point as a mate and they have a grand time together.

Edward is never turned nor the rest of the Cullens and Bella dies in a parking lot.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #carlisle cullen #albus dumbledore #meta #headcanon #opinion #harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon

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vivacissimx · 3 years ago

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lyanna stark, a drop of the wolf-blood, & the pragmatism underneath

the youngest we see lyanna (in my estimation), is this vision from bran

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool

- Bran III, ADWD

but four books earlier, we see this quote from ned:

Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it

- Arya II, AGOT

so we know that that ned was close enough to lyanna to know that she enjoyed swordplay, close enough to know her desires and to know that rickard would never accept this (for whatever reason).

...but not close enough to be the one she practiced sworldplay with in secret. the picture this paints is telling. lyanna was explicitly banned from something, and chose to pursue it in a secret and harmless way, with someone she trusted.

but ned isn't privy to that information. whether because he wasn't around, or because lyanna thought he would disapprove, or because he just thought it was childish - either way, we see that lyanna is picky about who she trusts, bred out of having to be sneaky in achieving her goals under her strict father's nose. she even identifies old nan as a snitch (et tu brute?). clever kid.

lyanna has other hobbies, too. she loves flowers. she loves riding horses.

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember."

- Arya III, ASOS

[Brandon] loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two.

- The Turncloak, ADWD

Horses … [Domeric] was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.

- Reek III, ADWD

worth mentioning, imo, that even though lyanna was an excellent rider, she couldn't beat domeric. this is paralelled with arya, who is great on horseback, but not faster than harwin the son of winterfell's master of horse. this isn't a case of 'not like other girls' syndrome, of mary sues who are magically the best there ever was. conversely, adversity doesn't scare either of them off - lyanna was clearly competitive, with domeric and likely with brandon before him, and it all added up to her being remembered as a fantastic horserider despite effectively leaving the north at 14.

so lyanna is determined. she's willful, to hear ned say it.

then, of course, we have this

"Robert will never keep to one bed," Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm's End. "I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale." Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart.

Lyanna had only smiled. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature."

- Eddard IX, AGOT

this seems fairly clear cut, but let's break down this conversation:

lyanna (told the news by the authoritative father; being approached by ned, the sibling who is best friends with the guy in question; thirteen years old): he will never keep to one bed. he has a bastard already, on a common girl he cannot marry which speaks to his character

ned: it isn't robert's actions that matter, it's his feelings. *crickets on lyanna's feelings*

now lyanna is thirteen. but she already recognizes that this is a losing battle. why? because she can't change robert?

no. because she cannot change the minds of rickard, or of ned.

there is no doubt in my mind that both these men loved her. but do they listen to her? clearly not.

lyanna doesn't bother to fight this fight she cannot win. she just smiles, realizing that rickard/ned are not going to hear her out on this, and gets the last word with "love does not change a man's nature."

this isn't the divide between lyanna and robert - this is the moment of divide between lyanna and ned. they're siblings who love each other, and love is sweet, but none of that changes that ned is on rickard and robert's side. it's a rough moment for a teenage girl. she was right earlier, she must realize - benjen is the brother she can trust.

so lyanna is determined, but she is pragmatic.

the next time we see lyanna, she's kicking ass at harrenhal.

[...]they heard a roar. “That’s my father’s man you’re kicking!” howled the she-wolf…

The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen.

- Bran II, ASOS

here is where lyanna really shines.

she has a moral code all her own, we already know this from her assessment of robert's child that differed from how catelyn views bastards disconnected from the home.

she dislikes bullies, which is fairly common (jaime hated bullies growing up, for example) but for some reason at this very moment, she also has a tourney sword in hand - why? well, because lyanna stark takes her opportunities when she has them. barred from swordplay? that's fine, dad, but when you're not looking is another story.

she doesn't go rushing in, nor does she ignore the scene. she watches long enough to see if howland can fight them off (he can't), giving her time to identify him as a crannogman - possibly even as a highborn crannogman. and then what does she do? she weighs her options, decides that she can probably beat the bullies, and does so. then she takes care of howland reed, picking him up like she picked benjen out of the water in bran's vision.

[T]here was to be a feast in Harrenhal, to mark the opening of the tourney, and the she-wolf insisted that the lad attend. He was of high birth, with as much right to a place on the bench as any other man.

- Bran II, ASOS

she claims his rights as a highborn lord to attend. he doesn't have clothes, nor does howland insist that he can go, but lyanna makes a reasoned argument that howland has every right to attend and that surely benjen can find him some clothes!

so lyanna is determined, pragmatic, and a problem-solver.

[T]he Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying “Teach your squires honour, and that shall be ransom enough.” Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armour were returned.

- Bran II, ASOS

here, lyanna displays a trait that sets her apart. howland memorizes the face of his bullies. he wants to "revenge" himself on them. but lyanna does not go directly for the bullies, she challenges the lords to whom the bullies squire, and commands them to chastise their squires.

lyanna understands the chivalric system she lives in, and that she will not be listened to (how? her own father and brother don't listen to her!), so she figures out another way to get justice that plays on the very ideas of might & honor that exclude the weak. she is confident in her abilities (being experienced riding at rings), gathers up all the material she needs, and takes a calculated risk.

she manipulates the system, plainly. she plays the players at their own game and wins.

and she does it for a guy she met a few days ago.

lyanna is determined, pragmatic, a problem-solver, and ascribes to a moral code that is all her own, one that rejects societal hypocrisy.

You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch.

- Arya II, AGOT

so how do we square this away? lyanna was wolf-blooded. she was wild. she was untameable.

or was she?

any girl/woman with half a personality gets described as "spirited" or "willful" or "stubborn" in asoiaf. it's a polite of saying "hard to control." we see several times that lyanna takes a measured approach to matters. she is brave, yes, but she is also thoughtful and chooses her battles with the information she has. when she is denied something for no reason beyond her gender and status, she finds a way to pursue her interests regardless.

but robert is something lyanna can't avoid. and that had to rankle her, the betrothal she is determined to avoid, but pragmatically cannot due to her family's insistence. the marriage that goes against her moral code (i'm sure lyanna noted that robert gladly volunteered to capture the KOTLT, regardless of what punishment might be given down by a deranged aerys).

[i'm going to skip over her relationship with rhaegar, because there isn't enough/any text to analyze that explicitly deals with their dynamic post-harrenhal. speculation isn't the point of this post. suffice to say she saw in him something she did not in her family or robert.]

then aerys burns her father and brother.

could rhaegar have stopped aerys once he made up his mind? we as readers know the answer is no. grrm says so much himself, that it was aerys who kicked off the war in this interview:

The Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and violent and he was abusing his power... [Robert's Rebellion] was triggered by[...]the execution of Ned’s father and brother, it was the thing that radicalized, as we would have said in the 60s, Ned and it put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and it might affect that he’d lost his girlfriend.

the absolute power of kings is continuously critiqued in the series.

so how did lyanna react? of course she grieved deeply. even if she knew that she would likely not see her family again for several years at least, for them to die in such a terrible manner is horrifying.

but lyanna has been forged into pragmatism. she looked at the squires beating up howland and saw that the issue was not the bullies, but the corrupt, lazy lords they squired for.

why would she not be able to see that aerys's abuse of power was what had killed her own family? she's realistic and she's a moral actor and she understands the social system around her. whatever her opinion on feudal lordship before, abuse of power has now killed two people she loved. only extrapolation can say how she would react, but given that we see her in similar situations - it is safe to say that the she understands the removal of aerys from power is a necessity, and that a king who is ruled by his urges is unfit.

[lyanna doesn't have the highest opinion of robert, does she? would she think him fit to be a king? doubtful.]

however, she also wants her family to be safe - a family which is now going to include her unborn baby.

[Ned] could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black

- Eddard I, AGOT

the promise she solicited from ned is to care for baby jon, presumably.

more importantly, in this final conversation, lyanna is putting all her trust in ned.

this moment is a tragic one, but it is also a cathartic one. whatever has happened, and there is plenty of difficulty between ned and lya at this point, they are putting that to the side and affirming what matters most: their love and loyalty to one another, not in service to house stark, or to any king or cause, but to each other as lyanna and ned.

ned didn't listen before, but he promises her now. lyanna didn't confide in him before, but she does now. yes she's on her deathbed, but this is powerful anyway. it's a healing moment for them both, one lyanna held on for even though by all means she could have trusted the kingsguard to whisk baby jon away earlier and succumbed to the pain.

lyanna doesn't spend her last moments begging for forgiveness or explaining herself. she spends her last moments trying to solve the problem of jon's safety, of her son's life. even at the end, she is determined that he will live.

she dies fearless. she smiles, maybe the same way she smiled in winterfell when ned told her robert would be a good husband and she saw the love in ned's words but not the respect. a bittersweet smile, because jon will survive but she won't see it.

"She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father."

- Eddard I, AGOT

this is our actual introduction to lyanna, when robert and ned initially visit her in the crypts. given everything we know, it's so fitting - robert is displeased with her gravesite. he never got what he wanted (his manic pixie dream girl </3), and even in death he doesn't like her grave.

lyanna was never the person robert projected her to be. in her crypt, she's still defiant against him/what he symbolizes. her determination, her wishes, her home, they all shine through.

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind.

- Theon V, ACOK

in the end, lyanna's close to her family (even by their side in theon's dreams). she's close to brandon, rickard, ned, old nan, everyone she ever knew growing up, and most importantly: to jon. it's a romantic ending for a minor character, a character grrm clearly cherished when he wrote.

the point of this post is that i want to leave behind the idea of lyanna stark as this harbinger of tragedy. the woman who ruined every man who looked into her eyes (robert, ned, rhaegar) and is now turned to stone. lyanna stark isn't written as a cautionary tale, as a romanticized medusa - instead, her memory lives on in a son who doesn't know her but still loves her, in how the people she knew remember her for what she actually loved, and even in lyanna mormont (a fitting namesake). there's defiance and meaning in that.

i could never say it better, so have hélène cixous's banger to round out my thoughts on lyanna:

You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing.

#lyanna stark #asoiaf meta #valyrian scrolls #lyannaweek2021 #ned stark #long post #text #in this house we do not respect the idea that women are spoiled or wrong for choosing themselves <3

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persephoneyss · 4 years ago

Text

The Monster.

Pairing: park jimin x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish.

Summary: ❝You can be reborn like spring, but your nightmares will follow your footsteps at night.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, voyeurism, Jimin is a little delusional, implicit murder, death threats, a little violence, stalking, death of secondary characters, reader idolizes his mother, humiliation.

Number of words: 6000+

︙ Author's note: this is my first fic here, sorry if there are errors. My first language is not English and I don't speak it fluently either, so I used the translator. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, I am open to criticism. Thanks!

(Puedes leer este y más fics aquí en español.)

To block.

Your mind felt strangely familiar, like it was processing the same situation all over again. And then the same thing happened again.

Blocking.

You never noticed those little details, invisible to the eyes of others. Or maybe you took too seriously the message and advice that your mother always told you when you were afraid of being left alone in your room because of the obvious and silly repetitive story of the monster under the bed, you were crying looking for your mother's room in the middle of the night. You were looking for refuge in her arms. However, the only loving words she had for you were: "Ignore him and he will go away, darling."

It seemed very clever to you, you began to close your eyes ignoring your worst fears and in a short time you could do what most children could not at your age, sleep alone in the dark.

Your mother was wise, maybe that's why you never understood why your father left her overnight. She never commented on the subject and little by little it was forgotten in her daily lives. Your father never existed, you never saw him again.

In his small town no one was exceptionally well known, unless he had done something good or bad enough to be called a hero or, in the same way, a villain. You were barely seven years old when it happened, a family with a lot of money had chosen your town as a decent land, enough to build their luxurious house where their children who came from golden cradles would grow up. According to the gossip, they were foreigners coming to invade their town and rule it, when in reality the Parks never got more involved in politics than necessary.

They were just rich, spending money.

Young women from all over the world and even from other distant towns came every day to try to conquer the privileged children of the great mansion built finely and strategically in the middle of the main square. The young women were beautiful, many times you stood at the door of your house admiring their distinguished perfect faces and you wondered if the children of the Park family were really worth it so that young and beautiful women who had previously been rejected would come back again. in search of new opportunities.

Your mother sometimes stood next to you with a smile and released another phrase that ended up marking your style of thinking, her voice sounded so ethereal: "Money compensates for external beauty, plus the dignity that you lose to those who possess it, it will never have a price."

Your lost look made her smile beautifully badly, then that same sweet voice that taught you things that other women would see as irrelevant, she too moments later she orders you to come home to eat. You thought about it so much, your mother was beautiful, she could remarry if she wanted to. However, she never did, or at least until that day.

You were poor, you were never afraid to accept it. You noticed it almost immediately, when you saw other children playing with toys that seemed impossible that you will ever possess, your mother was friends with the one who was best friends with your father, a carpenter who seemed to be very kind. He always gave you toys that came out with small defects and he couldn't sell, he was a good man until he seemed to misinterpret the situations and her relationship with your mother, unexpectedly asking her to marry him. Obviously you had to stop seeing him after the rejection. However, you were stubborn like the woman who gave you life, almost every day after finishing school you walk two streets to her local.

"How is your mother? Any suitors who weren't rejected the first time?" You laughed, helping him finish his last job. You shook your head, Peter was always very nice and honestly funny, you still didn't understand how your mother could reject them, but you never got into adult affairs. You were just an eight-year-old girl.

"She still misses dad." You whisper trying to drive a nail into loose wood, before being interrupted by Peter.

You look curiously at his downcast face of hers, as if she was keeping something deep within himself. But he quickly changes his expression as well as the subject. "Very good girl, no more help for today" he says, removing the dangerous tools out of your reach, you let out a exhausted sigh wanting to help him. Deep down you felt guilty. "How are you doing in school? I heard that the Parks will start a new campaign to help more in the education of the children, maybe you can see someone from the family up close."

You move your head in distracting affirmation playing with a piece of wood, Peter watches you for a moment and then sighs. You really were special, and if I could tell what happened to your father, you would let go of that glow for sure.

The following days passed in the same way, there was only a radical change in your routine. Now they forced you to stay longer in school so that you could take art classes with the children of the Park family. You had heard many mothers talking to yours about how handsome they were, and since their daughters would undoubtedly have a chance with Jimin, who was the eldest son and of course the first-born heir, you thought for a long time about a tall man with more years than all those young women who hallucinated with the perfect millionaire husband. However, it was all an illusion. Jimin was not a man, he was a seventeen year old teenager.

Perhaps the young woman who did win him over would be very lucky to marry someone her own age and not a bitter old man who only had money. Jimin was everything, young, handsome and a millionaire, the best bet of any woman.

His first class was alongside his current teacher, introducing each child in the Park family. They were all very handsome, but Jimin seemed to shine brighter than the stars in the dark night. You wondered if his younger siblings would become jealous of him, it would be an interesting concept considering you had no siblings.

Your hands moved the clay very patiently, your classmates seemed to enjoy these classes and they were undoubtedly fun.

"What a beautiful flower ..." You smiled nodding, no one would ever think that someone like Jimin would be delighted with the common drawing of any girl. Her gaze traveled around your pure and innocent face, as if she couldn't get enough of you. She sat next to you, admiring how your hands continued to play with the dough creating new shapes and I certainly enjoyed every second.

She had never met someone who would attract so much attention from her, you were ethereal. Jimin was immediately drawn to you, your gaze clear as daylight and your soft features, maybe you were just a girl but you seemed to tempt his attention incredibly badly from him. He felt the strange sensation of making sure you were okay, safe, probably in his arms.

He followed you closely, always arriving at the same time. Her mother used to say that Jimin was very irresponsible, she never complied with the basic principles of being a Park: Discipline, order and punctuality. Jimin was different, his siblings may have fulfilled those three bases just to give what they wanted to their parents and receive more affection from him, but not him.

Jimin was obsessive. Impulsive, and he had self-control issues.

The biggest dangerous trait that his parents noticed since he was little, is that he suffered attacks of anger against anyone without caring about the consequences of this. More than three of his babysitters claimed that little Jimin had hit them, slapping and shoving them. But all of this was radically ignored by the Parks, who turned a deaf ear claiming that their son was simply too controlling, and in a way, he was. Jimin liked to have everything under control, at his disposal.

Jimin found himself fascinated with your little eyes looking at him without fear and, even though it was painful for him, without love. For you, he was nothing more than a stranger. He tried to change that, sitting next to you every day and talking to you a few times when he could get more than two sentences out of you. He liked art, I could tell by the way you focus too much on a small painting of an insignificant tree.

If you liked trees, Jimin could buy a forest for yourself.

You loved roses, he could plant thousands in every corner of town.

Or maybe, your obsession with the smell of vanilla. Jimin went wildly for the most expensive vanilla scented lotion, hoping for some praise from you and he really didn't fail.

No, when the next day he sat next to you and your gaze turned to him with a kind smile. "It smells great, Mr. Jimin." Your soft tone and your minimal compliment was enough to make his entire body shake, his hands began to sweat and his voice seemed to falter. It was amazing how you managed to make him so nervous, while he was still a child.

"Y-do you like it?" She asked even knowing the answer, your head bobbing in a quick nod and an even bigger smile adorns your features.

You put your painting aside for a moment to continue responding, Jimin feels elated to see that his plan worked. Now you're just looking at him, as it always should be. "It smells like vanilla, I like vanilla." You say honestly.

"I see, I also like vanilla." You seem shocked, Jimin increases the tension of him fearing that he said something wrong. He really wasn't lying, maybe vanilla wasn't something he used constantly but he didn't dislike it either, he was just disguising and embellishing a crude truth.

And before long, Jimin feels his life take an unexpected turn, people had started to notice his closeness to you. They called him an angel when in reality he was a devil, rumors and silly praise that he would be a good father were not lacking and the young women who came to his door every day to look for a date with him increased in an exorbitant way. You were oblivious to all that, clearly. However, you could not ignore all the looks that fell on you when you accompanied your mother to the market, as from one day to the next you became someone important just because you were the focus of attention of him Mr. Jimin, as you used to call him with respect. Peter also suffered the consequences of this, you had not stopped going to his store and the young women looking to conquer Jimin or at least get his attention began to follow you wanting to win your affection so that you will speak well of them with their desired man, no you were interested in what they could offer you but the biggest problem was that they did not like to receive a clear 'No.' as a reply.

They were insistent and often annoying. They followed you closely, even when you went to school or to visit Peter who now only went twice a week, you did not want to go out and have to face the pity that it gave you to see many beautiful young women begging for a vague love and that I was looking for more money arrangements than anything else. Also, not all of them had good intentions with you. Your mother made sure of your safety in the face of any incident, and with that came her last word, her strict order not to approach Park Jimin again until he found a wife.

The rest would be history.

He would surely forget you and start forming his own family, having his own children and likewise, looking for his own problems. Instead, that never happened. Jimin had discovered your plan, he was angry, he couldn't believe that you were ignoring his attempts to approach you in such a way. Your attitude was so pure but you were hurting her so much.

He was delusional, she knew he was. But he didn't want to stop. So, he did the only thing that would make you stay by his side.

You felt strangely calm, you had been to and from school with no one following closely in your footsteps. Until you noticed that the whole town seemed to look at you with superiority, with caution. Peter never stopped taking care of his store, however, that day it was closed. You gave little thought to that coincidence, walking home with slow steps. Deep down you were scared.

Maybe you thought you could feel it, in front of your house a crowd of people lay watching the most unexpected marriage request. Your mother was uncomfortable, you could tell by how her face was distorted, and how her hands seemed to shake for reasons not yet known to you. You watched in horror as Jimin knelt before her with a smile pulling a ring out of a small red box.

For a moment, you thought about your father. You felt strange, you always wanted to have a warm fatherly hug but it made you uncomfortable to imagine Jimin occupying that place, you did not want him, you did not love him as a daughter to his firstborn or as another similar relationship. He was a stranger.

Your body fell into the seat reserved especially for you, your eyes observed any place in the church trying to disperse your mind. Your little shoes brushed against each other, your hands rested on the wooden seat waiting for the wedding to end as soon as possible. You never wanted to oppose your thoughts to the idea of your mother falling in love or getting married again, you really didn't care much as long as that person was good for her.

However, he was Park Jimin. You felt disgusted when her mother looked at you from afar with despicable eyes, just as anger consumed you when Mrs. Park tried to embarrass your mother in front of everyone. You didn't ask for this, nobody asked for it.

Maybe you spent too much time thinking around you to notice that Jimin was unhappy. A little upset. He had done what he had to do, chained you to him in some twisted way, marrying your mother and he felt happy, at first. I could see you walking through the church, you were wearing a little white dress to match your mother's and for a sinister moment I imagine that you were the one walking towards him to be named his wife. But he quickly came back to reality, you weren't his fiancée. You wouldn't be his wife.

Deep inside him, he knew how gross it was to feel like this.

Your mother's eyes reflected how unhappy she was, her gaze was uncertain. Jimin smiled seeing how you kicked the decorations that fell to the ground, you were completely oblivious to everything and more to the look of her that she followed you closely. Many called him a good father. Seeing nothing but his protective attitudes, but under the circumstances there were only hints of what might come next. You weren't allowed to leave Jimin's house, his father had left the mansion where his whole family used to live.

Mrs. Park could find no better excuse to leave than the sudden tantrum of her first-born son for marrying an older woman, a widow, and a daughter. This is a mockery and disgrace to her family's last name. Jimin just let her go, he wasn't even there the day her mother boarded the first train to her grandmother's house.

Your mother flatly refused to leave her house at first, she did not want to leave the little cabin that your father had built with his own effort so that both of them would live there and in the future raise their children, you always lived there and you did not want to leave either. But you never had a solid vote, your mother ended up agreeing from one day to the next, you did not know how Jimin managed to change his word so suddenly. Maybe there was never one reason, but you became all of them.

You were painfully present at all times. You observed how little by little, the wispy and wise glow that your mother possessed was getting lost between her empty eyes and her bent body, her head was never raised as she taught you it should be. She was a stranger, you felt scared in her presence. You remembered very well how her face seemed to light up when she saw you coming home from school and how she taught you something new every day.

"Mommy..." You spoke, your hands were still busy with the picture that you hadn't finished painting. But curiosity began to attack your mind.

Your mother came out of the kitchen with a little gray apron, she smiled when she saw you sitting on the floor. "Yes, honey?"

"Why do people get married?" Your gaze lifted from the sheet of paper, wincing at her glowing eyes.

"It depends, it's not necessarily for love. Maybe for money, comfort or ..." her voice trailed off, she still staring at you she leaned down to take your face in her hands. "Because they found someone, as cute as you!"

"Mommy ... I want to marry you!" Your mother began to laugh, your gaze traveled all over her face, joyful of hers and for a moment, you swore that you would hate anyone who dared to take away the great happiness of a genuine smile.

You finished your drawing, just in time because the front door echoed through the entire cabin. Your father appeared with a small drawer in his hands, your mother seemed to be illuminated with an angel when she saw him enter with a kind smile. Both were such for which. They were, more than lovers and husbands, lifelong best friends. Your life seemed to have something that many do not get even after death.

An outer and inner peace. It was perfect.

Almost so perfect, it wasn't true. White roses were always your favorites. However, you began to detest its soft light petals when it seemed that all the townspeople bought the same bouquet of white roses for the funeral of your, now, deceased mother. You took a seat next to her grave, ignoring everyone's greetings and goodbyes, who apparently forgot how her criticism of her increased even as the days, months and years of her wedding with Jimin passed.

You couldn't blame anyone. Or you just didn't want to.

Because the rope around his neck was not placed by them. And the multiple scars on his wrists weren't his marks. A small part of you felt helpless, angry and respectively, disgusted with yourself. Could you help her? Yes. No. Maybe if you had ... And he had stayed in the past.

The little white rose in your hand fell to the floor, everyone had left the room to go to the large buffet served at the reception. You froze, then with the same rage you began to step on the already dead flower at your feet, the petals of it were no more than a pure color, now they were disgusting and dirty. Jimin appeared minutes later, your gaze fell on his hand that was holding a black and a red rose.

"We should go, honey." He whispered as if afraid to scare you even though you were already looking directly at him. Your immobile figure instinctively ran into his arms, which greeted you with an incredibly loving warmth. The roses were placed on top of the coffin, a smile spread across your face when you saw the color red stand out against so much white, and for a second you came to compare the beauty of an outstanding color with your mother.

She stood out in a world where everyone wanted to paint themselves pure white.

Jimin was even more welcoming to you now. He pretended to sleep waiting for 11:30 to arrive so that he could hear your footsteps on the way to his room, you had developed a great amount of fear of loneliness. Jimin knew you always did that, but before it was with her instead of him. You would walk for several seconds looking in the dark for his room, which was next to hers, then I would always hear her voice singing for you, making you rest in his arms. For a long time, I want to be her. But now he was gone and I knew it was a matter of time before your steps stopped at his door.

She loved the closeness of your body to hers, how your hands clung to her nightshirt when you were cold or a horrible nightmare was projected into your dreams. Jimin horribly wishes he could see beyond your dreams, although that would be disrespectful to your privacy, he wouldn't mind breaking your trust too much if he could be sure that you would never walk away from him, even in your dreams.

He managed to chain your life to his, your scared look was the most beautiful thing I have seen before. I want to touch your little face and kiss your soft lips that tempted him every time the word "dad" came out of it.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Your presentation was no better, your hands were trembling again while your feet moved from here to there restlessly. Jimin just watched silently, but the distance between you and him was gigantic, he just wished that the damn bitch that was presented before him would shut up and leave his house. It was remarkable how you seemed angry, maybe it's jealousy, she has feelings for me. He thought sickly, a smile spreading across his face discreetly at his incoherent thoughts of him. The young woman sitting on the sofa in front of him smiled thinking that her talk had caused some pleasure in the young and widowed man.

Jimin admired her face, she was very cute, also she seemed to have good manipulation technique in people. She noticed it quickly when she walked through the door, her smile that seemed uncontrollable and genuine lit up his childlike face. He took a few seconds, he knew he shouldn't do it but he couldn't help comparing the woman to you. You were shorter, you were obviously younger and your gaze was more pure. Jimin was proud of your firm stance, knowing that in the two years since your mother's death you had developed a closer connection with him, and likewise, you were a beautifully perfect copy of him. Your hard gaze and your legs crossed with each other showed your firmness, and your silent opinion.

You wanted the fucking bitch sitting across from your stepdad outside your house.

You laughed at the very idea of one day finding a really good replacement for your mother. You couldn't replace a rose with bad herbs. For you, as selfish as he was, Jimin was your father, and he was your mother's love from the day he married her. No one would replace his position.

It was all three of them, and a part of your mind conned that Jimin still wasn't over the love he had for her. Or he would have remarried long ago, when the young women stood in front of the door of his house asking for a date with him. In those moments you didn't care, Jimin was a stranger, but now he was your father and you were his only daughter. No one had the right to ruin their harmonious relationship, they were both alone and someday serious like him.

You will be successful, you will make a lot of money and you will be able to marry someone you love.

But for now, your gaze fell on the little worn and dirty shoes of the woman in front of you. A smile crossed your face, your gaze lifted surprising the woman. While Jimin waited with his arms crossed for your following action.

"Woman." Your voice seemed to cut her tranquility, her face lost total color of life and a small grimace of fear passed over her fragile face. "I can't allow shoes like that to step on the carpet in my house ..."

The woman looked at Jimin who seemed indifferent, distracted by the painting on the wall.

"I'm sorry miss" she whispered trying to remove her shoes, his hands seemed more clumsy than usual. Her face burned when your hand moved closer to hers to prevent any further movement.

"Go away." A tiny part of you felt sorry for his embarrassed face and flushed cheeks. But it quickly came to your mind that she thought she was good enough to believe she was your mother. When she couldn't even challenge a stupid girl who acted like a spoiled brat. "Get out of my house, or I'll have to ask you not to just take off your shoes."

"I-sorry, I'll go now-..." A sob interrupted her dialogue, her hands searched for the notebook she was carrying but she gave up making a quick bow to Jimin and running outside.

The garden was your favorite part of the big house, the walls constantly made you believe that you were going to be eaten by them. Every day you came out of your lair admiring the many roses of many different colors growing beautiful and healthy. Your school stage was about to begin and you did not want to neglect your garden, which was also a tribute to your late mother.

So you hired a gardener. You were seventeen years old and soon to be eighteen. To say that you managed to experience the best of all those years was ridiculous, and deep down inside you, you thought that all of that was possible because of all the things Jimin did for you.

You had a debt, which you planned to pay in the future. You thought about leaving and letting him have a quiet life from now on without having to run to solve your problems, even if you never asked him to.

Jimin had eyes watching your every move, he clearly remembers how he put security cameras throughout the house, observing how you slept, what you did in the comfort of your room and privacy. Even when you walked into the shower and your hands ran over your body covered in water. Sometimes he felt guilty, for how he seemed to enjoy those moments that seemed so short.

However, it was repeated that as long as you were safe.

Breaking your trust wasn't that important.

Your eighteenth birthday was moderately quiet, Jimin was not used to throwing parties, and honestly, you never asked for one. So you just stood at the door of your house receiving expensive and cheap gifts from people who when they gave you the gift had a forced smile that told you many things. Most were familiar faces, of women who had previously sought a date with your father, obviously being rejected.

The little birthday cake looked so monotonous, the candles were the only thing you could stand out for. You were never aware that you had started to be privileged and extremely ambitious since Jimin proposed to your mother and forced her to marry him, pointing a gun at her pathetic silly little head. You had it all, and in your previous years maybe you managed to get excited about the new toys and accessories that were brought to you from other countries, you had everything that others did not, and a strange epiphany collapsed over you.

It was you, it was déjà vu. You were them, and those who were before, were now you.

You had all of them, and they didn't. Now, by your side, they were all poor. Jimin showered you with gifts, causing you to gradually lose interest in money. You remember your thoughts when it all started and likewise, you still remember the woman with the dirty shoes. You will be successful, you will make a lot of money. It was what you thought in the future for yourself, but now that was it, in a nutshell. Completely boring. You stayed for a moment thinking about them under the watchful eye of your stepfather who tried not to smile when you saw you, you were an adult now and he could finally take you as his own. They would be husband and wife, as it should have been from the beginning of its history.

And you will be able to marry someone you love. You still had only one option left, you blew out the candles with a single sigh causing Jimin to clap his hands and approach you to hug you fondly. The maids behind you only blushed when his boss started showing all of his affection. They weren't used to seeing him so often, Jimin had a firm and tough stance with everyone but he seemed to become as soft as clay in your presence. You came to mold Jimin in your favor, making him a cold person in front of his own demons and then, you left yours.

"I want marriage proposals, father." A gasp came from the mouths of the maids who just immediately fell silent. Lowering their head as they were taught. "I am ready to get married."

Jimin hummed still keeping his arms around you, your body was trapped in theirs. Your skin burned when his fingers squeezed your skin, leaving permanent marks. There was no reaction from you, you were used to this kind of unexpected treatment and it just didn't hurt.

"Get married?" His arms pulled away from you in disgust, there was no other reaction either. Jimin taught you not to object unless you knew you should. Stay calm and you will win. "And can you tell who would want to marry you? Useless little girl."

"Useless?" Your low voice seemed to make him happy for a moment.

Quickly his hands took the utensils to cut the cake, with a soft and sweet voice he continued: "Honey, men do not look for a girl with a lot of money like you. They look for someone to tame, and you, you could easily crush everyone with a wave of your hands."

A piece of the cake perfectly positioned on the plate was placed in front of you, a sob escaping your lips. You were really pathetic, eh? You clearly wanted to live something that has been claimed many times. You weren't going to get married, not without having it all like Jimin said. Then, you would lose everything and go back up to crush the others with greater pleasure.

"Aren't you going to eat? It's your cum-..."

"I will go to a neighboring town, I will finish my studies there."

Jimin looked down at his plate, ignoring how you got up from the table and put your cake aside. Then, your sweet voice finished destroying his self control that he thought he mastered long ago.

"I never liked that cake taste."

And it was the end.

You went back to the start again. You were planning to leave tonight, your bags were ready. Everything you needed was never in that house, it was never him. They were those that never existed in your present continued.

Your shoes did not seem to contrast with the dirt on the town's floor, you were also aware that those would end up in the trash. You didn't care, they were just shoes Jimin bought for your birthday, insignificant.

People were observant, and often foul-mouthed. It was no different than they spoke far from you or close to you, yet their mouths moved in a fussy way exaggerating reactions and creating new lies.

"_____...?" Your posture was decreasing, you no longer had to pretend. A smile covered your face, framing many emotions in one. "Come in please, it's your house."

Peter stepped aside, leaving room for you to enter. Your hands trembled but this time from cold, you still did not get over the harsh winter that suddenly passed. You took your shoes off quickly, briefly forgetting that this was no longer your home. You had sold the little cabin at a minimal price, and you were even happier when it was Peter who chose that place as his future home to live with his wife and his future child. Now he had two more. The little children ran in the tiny room playing with each other, a feeling of nostalgia invaded you when you saw them. You used to do the same before, together with your parents.

Those moments.

"Glad to see you around here, daughter." Peter hadn't changed, he was still the same kind and understanding person as ever. The opposite of you, of course. "Do you want to have tea? I heard on the streets that you would go to study far from here."

"Coffee, please." You responded still reluctant to talk about your departure.

Peter just laughed at your exaggerated denial, nodding and leading into the kitchen. You took a seat at the small table looking around. "You didn't change the decoration."

"Uh? ...." He seemed surprised by your observation, but he quickly smiled. "No. Actually, I think I liked it from the beginning how your ... er ... your mother decorated it. Besides, my wife loved it too. For her, it's beautiful as spring."

"Spring?" You ask, avoiding looking at it. You look down looking for some reason not to feel sad, in a way, you had compared your mother to spring as well. However, Jimin said that you were his. You never liked being called a light, because you always tried to be in your mother's shadow. And you liked it. "She believed that she is very wise, my mother was like spring."

"Thanks." A voice whispered from behind, your gaze fell on her and her face very much like your mother's. But they were obviously completely different. "I never doubted that you were just as wise. Spring represents the new beginning, a new beginning. Did you manage to find yours?"

Peter tried to intervene, clearly noticing the way his wife was trying to make you talk about your life after your mother died.

"I did. That's why I'm leaving here tonight."

"I'm glad we all need to be born again at some point."

You affirm with a small movement of the head, concentrating your gaze on the coffee cup in your hands. The smoke fell directly on your face hiding your grimace of disgust. Nobody deserves to talk about her like that yet.

"Ok, honey." Peter began by sitting across from you, with a cup of green tea and a serene expression. "Are you planning to go alone or with someone? I heard that travel today is very dangerous."

"Actually, I am accompanied by an acquaintance. His name is Jungkook, he also planned to leave and started working for me as a gardener to get the necessary money. We became good friends." You spoke remembering the adorable smile of the young man, he used to accompany you everywhere you went as if his job was to protect you. At first it was cute, but then it was annoying. Even after all that, you preferred to travel with him rather than alone.

"Oh that's very nice. I'm glad you managed to meet your goals. Good luck."

Your goals?

"Thanks, Peter."

His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, then he seemed to remember something very important. She gave you a smile before getting up to leave the kitchen.

"I have something for you, you are old enough to know this."

It was an envelope. Common and ordinary, but its envelope was beginning to deteriorate, showing that it was an old and very reserved letter.

You questioned your decision but took it, not wanting to read it in front of anyone even more when you read who wrote the letter.

You sat on the small wall, the trees and the cool breeze boosted your adrenaline. Small pieces of paper fell to the ground. So, you weren't thinking correctly at those times.

"I only married a man that I loved in all my life, I was happy. I had a daughter. I lived years of solitude and then, I was chained to an empty love."

"I know what you're reading this now. You're weak, darling. Maybe that's what made us mother and daughter. Because from the beginning I never had the courage to tell you that Jimin put a ring on my finger and a gun to my head. Or maybe, I was weak when I didn't get in the way of his errand, I should have told him that I hated him and that he could put a bullet in my head before giving it to my daughter. And maybe, I should have told everyone who passed by me that He was the same one who murdered my husband, he never left. I made you believe that. You never asked. "

"I saw you so happy today, you were running between the garden and the wedding. I could see his gaze following your hurried steps, I was almost completely sure that he was trying to get closer to you at all times. I told the woman next to me, But she shut me up saying that I can't be jealous of a father and daughter relationship. You weren't her daughter. She also ordered me to let them create a closer relationship, because I already had Park Jimin's heart in my hands. Liars."

"I always loved your curious voice. You used to ask me everything, and why everything was like that. But lately, I don't know what to answer. Why am I crying? Why is there a dark stain under my eyes? Why is there blood in the bathroom? Why did I never ask for help? I see you worry and you don't let me give you affection, because you prefer to give it to me. I also see how I start to bother him, I am a hindrance. Now I understand, I knew it but I never wanted to accept that it happened. He was everywhere, and likewise, I was never part of the plan."

"There were only two things I didn't tell you. I love you and my last piece of advice. Honey, lock it up and fly to the start, whenever you feel lost. A fresh start and never forget spring."

You stifled a sob. Covering up your pain. You had not noticed that the night had covered the sky, a dark blue blanket arrived. It took you a long time to assimilate that all the fragments were torn papers, and it was not a letter. It was an envelope filled with, apparently, incomplete sheets torn from a notebook. There was a fragment that was not part of the leaves, but rather was written later.

"Lost parts of a sad widow's diary.

Peter."

They were from your mother's diary. So where was the rest? What actually happened? A message came to your phone, you read it quickly still drying your tears.

JUNGKOOK:

Our trip is in an hour, I hope you said goodbye to everyone.

Received at 7:05 p.m.

I still do not:(

Received at 7:06 p.m.

Along with both messages was an attached picture, a photo of him and his grandmother. Jungkook talked a lot about her, and hers, her brothers. You smile, still wiping the tears from your face.

Your feet moved, the leaves in your hands seemed too heavy. And yet it was something you needed to do.

"Are you at home." His monotonous voice invaded you, he was busy reading a book that rested in his hand. The maid came over leaving a cup of coffee beside him, greeting your presence politely. "I have some things to discuss with you, darling."

"Me too, Jimin." It was the first time you had said his name without due respect, he seemed surprised for a moment. But his expression changed to one of happiness, as if he had been waiting for it. "I couldn't say goodbye, I'm leaving today. I think you already know that, though."

"Actually, no. But it's nice to hear it from you."

"I ..." Your voice dried in your throat, a giant doubt fell over you. You didn't want to leave without telling him how much you hated everything about him. His attention, his affection, his smile, his gaze, his voice. Everything about him was disgustingly charming. "I think I'll go get my bags."

Jimin nodded, ignoring your presence. Still distracted with reading him.

"Before you go, can you give me that back, darling?" Your gaze followed where he pointed his finger. Your hand. The leaves were still there.

"It's something of mine-..."

"Oh I don't think so. It really is very easy to threaten someone, just suffice to say that you can put a bullet in their head to make them your obedient little puppets."

"I do not understand your..."

"Me? It was obviously me. I'm surprised you thought your mother would be smart enough to leave a confession letter to her ex-lovers, days before her death. You really had a lot of credit for her." His chatter was accompanied by a laugh. You were paralyzed, shaking in your useless state of shock. "But I will not say that I did not plan, I hoped that you would never have the courage to try to leave my side. And even if that were the case, I knew that you would say goodbye to the only person who reminded you of her. Peter, she has a family. lovely."

Nor did he expect you to have the courage to cheat on him with another man. Oh, the gardener. Poor Jungkook, his body now rested leaving behind your favorite flowers. Jimin bit his lip, another mocking smile peeking out with intensity remembering the cutthroat figure of the innocent but guilty young man.

You were his...

"How can you be so cruel?" The doubt in you seemed to want to keep growing, passing second by second through your head. You weren't sure you could understand that everything that happened in front of you was actually planned by the same person who swore never to leave you alone. The same man who disguised himself as a sheep so he could eat you like a wolf. "Did you kill my mother ?!" Jimin seemed surprised by your desperate tone, he did not expect to be able to unbalance your state so easily.

It was lovely. Certainly.

"No sweetie." He murmured closing the book in his hands, setting it on the table next to the steaming cup of American coffee. "But it would have been exquisite to be the reason for his pain. Unfortunately, it was your father who won that title."

"Where did you get this from? I know she wrote it, and I also know that she would never give it to you knowing what a monster you are." Tears were running down your cheeks like water, you knew you were a mess but Jimin seemed to look at you like you were a perfect work of art.

"I found it." He spoke casually, getting up from his seat. Walking slowly towards your trembling figure. "It was a coincidence, I like casual things. It was a coincidence that you studied at that school, that your mother was a widow, that your father died. That he will make me fall in love with you."

What is your goal now?

"I love you darling."

Escape from the monster.

#yandere bts #bts yandere #bts #yandere!bts #yandere bts au #yandere kpop #Yandere #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin x reader #yandere jimin x reader #jimin yandere #jimin x you #park jimin #yandere!jimin #jimin smut

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ninzied · 4 years ago

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i’ve been really feeling the energy surrounding the discourse on race re: the falcon and the winter soldier, and i think it is so crucial that the mcu has created space for this conversation. in that vein, and because i have genuinely enjoyed the show for many reasons that i wish not to detract from, i would like to expand on this space by discussing ways in which the show could have engaged more thoughtfully with its themes of racialized trauma.

for your consideration, a list of the show’s side characters who identity as bipoc, and how their arcs in fact work to reify certain stereotypic portrayals of race in tv/film/etc:

isaiah bradley: the military-sanctioned super soldier program that experimented on bradley for 30 years in jail is a clear allusion to the tuskegee study in the mid-1900s, which subjected black bodies with syphilis to decades of unethical experimentation, including the withholding of life-saving treatment, in order to study the natural progression of the disease. i actually think his conversations with sam were so important to have. it’s the first explicit mention of race that problematizes the shield as a symbol. sam comes to acknowledge that it also stands for a country that has built itself on the backs of black (and immigrant) bodies - and that is where they mean for these bodies to stay, through exploitation of labor, medicalized violence (tuskegee being only one example of many), police brutality, the segregation of schools, discriminatory housing and criminal justice systems, and so on. my issue is that these systems of oppression are so deeply rooted that to skim the bare surface - to present this one singular narrative - is reductive of a longstanding history that does not live externally to the mcu and is frankly not going to cut it. waiting until episode 5 to have this conversation was also a disservice to sam. maybe his own generational trauma was too internalized for him to have the language to express it. but if the show had addressed this better and sooner, it would come off less as sam trying to move through the world thinking he’s just like any other guy who also happens to be a superhero. when he goes to the bank with sarah, flaps his ‘wings’ and still doesn’t qualify for a loan; or when he chides a kid for referring to him as ‘black falcon’ rather than, simply ‘falcon’ - these moments reinforce the idea that the lived experience of his blackness is not fully realized until bradley forces this articulation upon him. it is as though sam could not already be aware of their collective racialized trauma without the ‘revelation’ of bradley’s personal trauma writ large that he endured as a super soldier. which is just weird and inconsistent given what sam has been through, including his own troubled relationship with the military. for sam to take up the shield is not a ‘solution’ to racism, any more than the shield is a symbol of heroism, when its legacy stems from a country of deeply imperialist and colonialist roots.

lemar hoskins: relegated to the black best friend stereotype aka sidekick to the main white character. his two most memorable scenes function mostly in service of john walker’s story - firstly in walker’s decision to take the serum, and secondly as the catalyst to walker’s grief, rage and vengeance that will utterly transform him. this development of walker’s character can only occur through the literal death of another black body.

literally every east asian character, but specifically leah, yori and yori’s son rj: these characters are the least fleshed out on their own, as they all exist solely to lend more depth to bucky’s trauma. i say this because though yori is grieving, his grief is all secondary to bucky’s guilt over being the cause of that grief. leah, who plays a love interest for her five seconds of screen time, becomes yet another of countless examples of the fetishization of asian female bodies. (all of this is particularly tone-deaf in the wake of rising anti-asian hate crimes, and the mass killing of asian female spa workers by a man who wished to eliminate ‘temptation’ for his sexual addiction.) also, it would be nice to see a show finally lean away from the asian food establishment setting for its asian characters. that is not the only place they eat and work and also go on dates after they work????

olivia walker: a great example of tokenism that checks multiple boxes (‘look how diverse our cast is - and we have an interracial couple!’) even though she speaks 0-2 lines throughout the whole show.

karli morgenthau and co: the actress who portrays karli is half-jamaican, and it is not hard to notice that the overwhelming majority of the radicalized flag-smashers group are bipoc as well. at surface level it might make sense for the show writers to choose this kind of representation - the ‘displaced’ are all members of marginalized communities, and racial diversity (i.e., diversity from the norm, i.e., not-white) is the easiest way to depict these communities. but for this reason, it also seems that the show could not be more careless with the parallels it has drawn to our current climate. during a global pandemic, which has disproportionately affected those already most disenfranchised; increased our obsession with border control; and galvanized movements against racialized violence, perhaps the last thing we need right now is a narrative that vilifies a marginalized group of people trying to combat structural oppression (operationalized in this case by the grc, which has a clear militaristic and political pedigree*). perhaps the last thing we need right now is a narrative in which marginalized people gain the power to enact change (i.e., serum), but only know how to use that power to cause more harm.

*please note: the senator who grants walker his other than honorable discharge is one and the same as the talking head of the grc. who gave this guy all the power, and what good is he using it for? this may be a hot take but the government + military washing their hands of walker and taking zero responsibility for their role in his making is not great for ‘optics’ either. but the show, for all its moralizing, doesn’t seem to be aware of the dissonance here?

#the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #tfatwsdaily #marveldaily #dailyavengers #race #racism #racial politics #thcrin #userbells #thank you for coming to my ted talk #a gentle reminder that #enjoying a thing #and engaging critically with the thing we enjoy #are not mutually exclusive!#curious to know other people's thoughts

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years ago

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Seven Minutes in Heaven

Author’s Note: Well hello my friends! Since hitting 1000 Followers in July (WHAT?! STILL UNBELIEVABLE!!!) I’ve been working on the requests sent in by my amazing troop of readers! This is another one of those stories which I’m pleased to share. As always, help my unending need for validation but re-blogging or liking the story! Also, you can send asks, make your own request, follow me, or be added to my tag-list! Last, @sammy-jo1977 is my beta... and my ride or die home girl! Thanks lady! Pairing: Loki x Female Reader, appearances from most of the Avengers

Summary/ Request: @queenofmischief asked for a story where “Loki and you guys are friends growing up and you realize you like him and try to hide it but somehow at a party or something or another, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven is involved, it comes out and really hot smut ensues?”

I used some of the ideas you gave me, dear reader, but made it a little more mature, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Lots of 80′s references... music, movies, clothes, etc. References of smut, heavy petting and kissing

ENJOY!

"But, like, I really don't want to go." Your cellphone, pinned between your ear and shoulder, pushed your earring into the tender flesh behind your lobe. It probably didn't help that the jewelry in question was a pair of huge hoops, fluorescent in color and hard plastic.

You heard Wanda sigh, "Yea… I know. It's just, we all are… and you know it'll be worse if you don't show up."

"I really hate it." Using a sing-song voice didn't change the feelings behind your words. Going up to the main floor of The Avengers Tower for a theme party was not a thrilling idea.

"I know you do-", pulling open the door between your room and hers, you palmed your phone, frowning at your friend, "-But you look great!"

"Radical… or wicked… or tubular would be more 80's appropriate." Still, her compliment made you smile. It really was a great outfit, totally encapsulating the MTV generation's vibe, complete with hot lime colored leg warmers.

Your cropped REO Speedwagon t-shirt was cut off at the neck, dripping low enough to expose one whole shoulder, and a wide stripe of the magenta colored tank top underneath. Having tucked the camisole into your acid washed denim micro miniskirt, you finished the ensemble with a pair of black pumps, and the obligatory scrunchie of cheap yellow satin. It pulled your hair into a low, side ponytail.

For makeup you'd painted your eye-shadow on, bright turquoise with pink under your brows. Lipstick in a shimmery rosy hue brought extra attention to your lips. And you stored your cell phone, lip gloss and keys in your iridescent fanny pack.

Wanda couldn't help giggling at the sight of you and your collection of clashing colors. For her look tonight she'd dawned a pair of skin tight leggings, an over-sized button down shirt with a stretchy black belt that was about four inches wide. Ballet flats, teased out hair and stark makeup had Wanda looking like a video vixen. It was impressive.

"See, you went sexy… and I went silly." Pouting now, you flopped onto your bed, "Can I just not?"

Sitting down next to you, patting your knee, "You don’t look silly, but you do look like you could be a hair band groupie! That’s sexy!” Shrugging your shoulders, unconvinced, Wanda added, “Besides, tonight… It may be fun. And, worse case? You get blitzed like a teenager on prom night."

"No… that's not the worst case. Worst case? He's there."

Sighing, Wanda shook her head, "He does still rub you the wrong way, huh? And, yes, he may be there… but-" standing, taking you with her, "-it would be a shame to waste all your wicked cool work!"

Hearing her use the dated vernacular made you grin. She was right. Tonight could be a blast, if you were able to get out of your head. Jumping off the bed, unsettling one of those fashionable leg warmers, you hugged your friend tightly. You could do this. You wouldn't be alone. And if Loki was there, he'd just have to get over it. You weren't going to pay him any attention.

---

"Mr. Loki… can we please go? We're already stupid late."

Bending to straighten his red suspenders, Loki smirked at himself, "Greed is good."

Sighing, exasperated and edging into anger, Peter pulled open the front door, "I don't know what that means, but you look… greasy."

"Like I could steal your company in a corporate take over? Maybe steal your woman too", Loki questioned, excited at the idea.

Crossing his arms over the red puffy vest he had bought specifically for tonight, Peter grunted, "Uh… I… I guess. I meant more like one of the assholes in Wolf of Wall Street."

God, you had better be there tonight. Loki was putting a lot of hope on Stark’s little shindig and he wanted to make sure that all of the little details were absolutely perfect, giving him every advantage. Standing now, slicking back his long dark hair, "That, my young spider friend, is exactly what I am going for… Evil 80′s CEO."

"Great."

Loki heard the frustration in the young man’s voice. Someday he would understand, Loki thought, turning to the youthful Avenger beside him, "You certainly make a dashing Marty McFly, Peter. Truly."

"Aw! Really, Mr. Loki? Ya mean it?" That made the Spider Boy preen, popping his collar, and standing a little straighter.

"I do! Now-" flashing a rakish smile to his reflection as he passed, "-let's get upstairs and see how everyone else is doing!"

---

Everyone else was ready to party. The last mission, a particularly difficult one, involved Hydra agents banging it out against our heroes along the rough terrain of the polar ice cap. Draining the physical and emotional resources of everyone, including you and Loki, Tony had planned a little party to kick off a period of rest and relaxation.

As soon as the elevator opened you knew it was going to be an insane night. Everything was brightly lit. Paper streamers were strung up haphazardly along the walls and ceiling. Big plastic buckets of chips and cheese curls were put out on the counter along with a huge punch bowl that reeked of rum and sugary fruit juice. On the floor in the kitchenette was a garbage can, freezing, full of ice, only the keg tap visible. A stack of red plastic cups was at the ready.

Someone had ordered pizza. Well, dozens of pizzas. The boxes were piled along the table already crammed with pretzel bags and Doritos.

Steve was being instructed on the basics of Beer Pong and, you decided, definitely being hustled by Sam. Bucky looked on with curiosity, quietly sneaking closer to the chips and dip, hoping no one would notice. Rhodey was watching them both through the reflective lenses of his aviator shades, doing a great job of looking like a Top Gun cadet, including the tight jeans and broken-in bomber jacket. Grinning as he drank down a bottle of beer, Rhodes shouted, "Hey Stank! Is all of this really necessary?"

"Don't come for me Rhodey!" Wearing a pair of neon leopard spotted knit pants, a green polo shirt and white sneakers, Tony was clutching a glass bowl filled with little slips of paper to his chest. No one had managed to figure out what they were or why he held them. Drinking two beers from his plastic, can holding helmet, Tony would answer only with a slightly slurred, "It's my trashy 80′s party and I do what I want!"

And Tony had thought of everything. Sounding like a mixed tape pulled from the radio, the tunes didn't let up! Ratt, Foreigner, Cindi Lauper, Madonna and Tom Petty all took turns blasting through the room. So many hits from the past pumped through the sound system, getting people on their feet and keeping them there. You were swinging and swaying along, having a blast, but when Bon Jovi hit the group of Intergalactic Warriors went wild.

Clint, rocking a mullet wig and a vest with no shirt, jumped onto a table making the motions of an air guitar champion. Singing into a beer bottle like it was his microphone, "Whoooooaaaa we're halfway there…"

Guffawing, you hid behind your Bud Light filled cup, already red cheeked from the non-stop laughing and alcohol in your system. At some point you had given up Wanda to Vision in a varsity jacket, doing his best jerk-off jock impression, and not quite pulling it off. It wasn't his fault that he was too polite to put people down in the way of Eighties movie bad guys. Alone, feeling flushed, but happy, you needed a break and some quiet. Flinging yourself onto the soft sofa, watching the frat house style antics unfold all around, you couldn’t help laughing. Tony always found a way to knock the group out of their post mission funk. Sometimes that meant week long Caribbean vacations and sometimes that meant dressing up in retro attire and scream singing with a cold beer in your hands. Either way, it seemed to bring everyone closer together, and the pictures were certainly worth framing. The couch dipped as someone joined you. Swiveling, not quite drunk but not quite sober, you couldn’t help the groan that left you. “Oh. It’s you.”

Not exactly the response Loki wanted, he was just grateful that you spoke to him at all. Lately you seemed to flee any room he entered, a hurt and heavy sigh escaping you before you'd make your exit, never looking back. Loki couldn't understand why.

After all, it had been two months since that night. The one where he'd stumbled on you, glowing blue in the light of the television set, alone and in the darkness. You asked him to join you, he had accepted.

The movie was called "Say Anything" and Loki had to admit, as far as romance on film went, this story was very moving. But that was an unexpected bonus to being so near to you. Before the credits rolled, you had burrowed against him, snuggled under his arm with your head on his chest.

Stroking your hair, Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, thoughtlessly, naturally. Pushing away, looking up at him through hooded lashes, "You… you kissed me?"

Words failed the silver tongued devil, something he still pondered all these weeks later, so a nod was all you got for a response. Kneeling, your sleep shirt riding over your thighs, Loki watched your small hand rising to cup his cheek. Feeling your lips against his own was the beginning of the best night of his life.

And then, nothing. It was like a switch had been thrown and no matter how many ways he tried to reach out for you, Loki wasn't able to connect. Not like that night.

So, he was going against his nature tonight. Joining the group, drinking a bit of his brother's mead, wearing a dated but pristine business suit. All done in the vain hope that something would shift in his favor.

He had already lost too many nights to memories of you. Soft, full skin under his broad palms. The tiny moan you exhaled when Loki’s tongue met your own. How your wet, willing body accepted him, without question or stipulation. And in the afterglow, when your head rested in the crook of his neck and your cherry cola scented breath circled him, you let Loki hold you close.

But he buried it all. Tonight he was the embodiment of all things slick. Nothing could stick to him; not when he had a goal in mind and this much gel in his hair. Loki Odinson would be taking you home tonight, come hell or high water. Wolfish, Loki’s grin was wicked, “Yes. Your dream has come true.” Sitting back, he crossed his designer suit covered knee at the ankle, exposing socks with little golfers on them. He let his right arm rest along the back of the sofa, not around you… not yet, but inching closer. “What is that cologne you’re wearing?” “Don’t you like it? I’m told Drakkar Noir was quite the scent of the 80′s. I did my research.” Twisting, you looked him over, impressed despite yourself. The suit was totally of its time. Black, pinstriped and you were sure the jacket that came with it was draped somewhere safe. His shirt was shiny but soft and bright, blinding white. Suspenders of red matched the tie that draped down the center of his chest. With his hair combed straight back and held in place with some kind of product, Loki looked like he was capable of eating a six course lunch at Sardi’s, complete with dirty martinis, then jetting back to the office in time to defraud a corporate spending account. The kind of executive that blackmails a co-worker with pictures of a mistress. The kind of douche bag that tries to take over a rec center to build a mall. In short, an avarice little asshole. So, why was it so hot? “It’s… overpowering.”, boy, was that an understatement. Loki’s whole aesthetic was overpowering right now. And, was he moving closer? His bent knee brushed against your own as he leaned near enough to be heard at a whisper, “You look adorable, you know that?” Scrunching into the corner of the couch, eyeing him suspiciously, “Oh? Really?” “Really.”, his hand brushed over your exposed shoulder, making you jump at his touch.

Uh uh. No way. You would not be so easy to seduce this time around. Even if those wide hands sent goosebumps growing all over your body, Loki would not charm his way into your panties again. Not like last time.

It had been spontaneous. Genuine, at least for you. And in the moment, it felt like Loki had given you a little piece of himself, a tenderness that no one else ever saw in the far flung Frost Giant.

Maybe that's why Clint's words hurt so much. He had told you so casually, holding up a spoonful of Cheerios, "Loki said his last girl was a drag. Basic bitch? Is that what the kids say?"

Thinking about it now made your heart hurt. You had given yourself to someone who thought you were beneath him. Loki couldn't want you. You would never be good enough.

But that night haunted you. His soulful kisses that stole your breath. The drag of Loki’s hands over the swell of your bottom as you straddled his hips. His solid chest under your own hands, dark head curved against the couch cushion, but those burning eyes never leaving your face. “I thought you said I was plain. Simple. Boring.”

Leveling his own words back at him made Loki straighten in his seat. How could you think that? Unbalanced, stammering, “Uh… I… I’d never…” “Never expected me to find out? I believe that. And, let me tell you this-” Pushing yourself up with the help of the couch’s arm, you rose on unsteady legs, “-I’m not nearly drunk enough to fall into your arms again.” Spinning away, you made a dash towards the people in the kitchen, without looking back. Watching you go, Loki could do nothing but stare after your retreating form, flummoxed.

“That was… painful.”

He knew that voice well enough, frustrated, confused and unfit for company, “Go away, Tony.”

“I don’t think I will. In fact-” sitting down in your empty spot, patting Loki’s knee, “-I’m going to make myself comfortable. Now, tell Uncle Tony all about it.”

Rolling his eyes, unable to find you in the crowd, Loki risked a sideways glance at his replacement companion. Was he really going to indulge in this? Tell his almost friend about you… about your one night together? Loki raked his hands through the pomade in his hair, growling low, “If you breathe a word of it Tony, I’ll-” Lowering his wrap around sunglasses, peering at Loki, Tony smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.” ---

Thinking less and less about Loki as the night went on should have been a relief but it seemed like the scent of him followed you everywhere. Unable to get free of him, you busied yourself with drinks, dancing, and munching like you were a kid again. Anything to keep your mind from wandering.

It's not like the party was boring. Not at all! There was plenty to distract you and you let it. Natasha made you her partner for beer pong and somehow you successfully won against Rhodey and Sam.

Next, Wanda needed you, which is how you wound up sitting on the bathroom sink listening to her go on about Vision in that wistful, loving way that made your own heart ache. Being a little drunk, you had to fight the urge to cry because you were lonely and hurting. “I saw you talking to Loki… what was that about?” She was reapplying ruby red lipstick, studying herself in the mirror, not looking directly at you.

Wanda's voice cut through your self doubt spiral though, something you were thankful for, and with a casual tone you countered, “He was trying to get something started, I think.” Eyebrows lifting, Wanda’s interested piqued, “Really? Loki was hitting on you?” “Yea… I mean, I think so. Was coming on awfully strong too. But… he’s been a jerk, right?”

Wanda cleaned up her eye make-up taking a minute, after washing her hands she looked at you, “I mean, he is here.” “So?” “So, you know he’s not really a joiner. More of a lone wolf. In fact, I think this may be the first of these little parties he’s come to. Maybe he’s changed… grown a bit? And, honestly, you never asked him about-”

Hopping off the counter, cutting her off, more than a little huffy at her good sense, “No, I didn’t and I don’t plan to. Loki thinks I’m a bore? Too basic for him? Fine. I have better things to do with my time.” Laying her hand on your shoulder, Wanda stopped you, eyeing you in the mirror once more, “I know his words hurt… but you’re going to have to clear the air eventually. Especially if we’re all going to work together.”

Shrugging, you offered your friend a small smile. There was truth in her sentiment, even if your slightly drunken brain rebelled against hearing it, “Yea, you're right… plus-” looking around the small washroom, just to make sure no one could hear the pair of you, “- he looks really hot tonight!”

Giggling, Wanda hugged you close, “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yea he does!” The pair of you were still laughing together, standing at the back of the crowd as Tony turned down the music, announcing, “Gather round children, Uncle Tony needs your attention!” There were a few groans, mostly from the beer pong table, as apparently Bucky was unhappy about forfeiting his winning match. Everyone else, in all their high haired glory, were congregating near their host, curious and more than a little drunk.

“Tony, what the hell, man? You killed the tunes!”, Clint shouted, spilling Bud Light foam as he joined the tightening circle. “Patience, my drunk friend. You all remember this?” From the table nearby, Tony picked up his glass bowl, triumphant, “Our Destiny!”

Pepper, sighing with a smile, “So dramatic!” Shaking the bowl in her direction Tony smirked, “Ok smarty, then you pick first. Go on… Pick!” There were oohs and ahhs from the assembled Avengers. Rolling her eyes, Pepper reached in, grabbing the first slip her fingers found. Pulling it free, she grinned, eyeing Tony, “It says ‘Loki’...” Hearing his name, Loki snapped his head up, surprise registering on his face, “Excuse me?” Holding it up for his examination, Pepper waved the slip under the regal nose of the junior Odinson, “See… your name.” “Yes, but why?”

Butting in, Tony snatched the scrap from the hand of his lovely fiance, practically dancing with glee. Turning to Loki, “Now you, Gordon Gecko, pull a slip.” Aware of all eyes locked on him, Loki reached into the jar, digging around a little more than necessary. Finally satisfied, the thin paper pinched between his fingers, Loki opened the folded note. When his fierce gaze met yours, you knew without a doubt. It was your name he had grabbed. Throwing a thick arm across Loki’s broad shoulders, Tony hugged him close, “Well? What’s it say?” It all made sense in that moment. The tacky costumes, flat beer and endless music. A drunken moment of clarity had descended. Tony, waving his arms, eating up the crowd’s reactions, heads turning to gauge your response. Swallowing hard, your hearing failing you, you just faked a smile. You and Loki were going into the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Only there was no way you were going to do that. Not after what he’d said. Not after your one night together, right? But you felt a gentle hand pushing your forward, into the center of your circle of friends and for some reason, your feet followed.

Refusing didn't enter your mind. With everyone ogling you and Loki, making a scene would only cause more speculation, something you weren't keen to do. Instead, you stepped next to Tony, outwardly eager to play along.

You just shouldn't have dared to look at your proposed make out partner. Laser focused, Loki’s lusty look hadn’t wavered. No, the light in those thundering blue eyes was carnal, darker than you had ever seen, matching your own. Against your better judgement, you wanted Loki, too.

Whatever Tony was saying was a blur, merely sounds, because you were utterly stunned by the nearness of Loki. The roaring laughs of the rest of the group were drowned out by your pounding heart. A door opened to a dim room, the pantry maybe? You didn’t know and in that moment you didn’t really care.

With a small smile, Loki ducked into the cupboard, lacing his fingers with yours, offering a bit of his strength. Dragging you inside, your body pinned between a shelf of snacks and the hard body of your frenemy, a whimper of want passed your lips. Loki still smelled so good and now he was so close. “Have fun you two!”, Tony’s words were accompanied by the door shutting you and Loki inside, in the dark. Surrounded by silence, Loki’s sharp pants were the only sound louder than your racing pulse, which was saying something. Afraid to move, afraid of spooking you, Loki struggled to search your stare in the low light. He had already experienced your angry dismissal of his attention tonight. It wasn't something he wanted to relive, not when you were so close with sweet and speedy breath, your chest brushing against his own at each exhale.

Lifting a hand, grazing over your uncovered shoulder, Loki's touch was electric. You moved towards it, towards him, needing more of his energy. Craving it.

Bold in the dark, you grabbed at Loki’s suspenders, tugging him closer. Rising on your toes, covering some of the distance between your mouth and his, you pressed a hot kiss to those soft, pink lips. Under your fluttering fingers Loki shivered, "Darling-"

"Shut up. I… I don't care."

"But I never…"

"I told you. I don't care. Now kiss me like you mean it, because we only have about six more minutes!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Loki found the flare of your hips in the shadows, molding your curves to the rigid planes of his body. Desperate, needy, you felt his tongue move against your own. Want, plain and simple, led your own fingers to the collar of Loki’s starched shirt and the tangle of his raven hair. Fisting it, tugging against those luscious locks, you couldn’t seem to get close enough to the tall God sharing your cupboard. Whining, his name on your lips, you drew Loki tight enough that the press of your breasts was edging towards pain. Demanding, true to your word, with every pass of Loki’s magical mouth over your own the last few weeks were forgotten. Hungry for more, Loki roughly squeezed the flesh of your ass, grinding you against his wool blend covered crotch. Stuttering, his arousal was so stiff, for a minute Loki worried about making a mess. But that feeling was replaced with unbridled ecstasy when your lips found the tender skin below his ear.

A nip, enough to make Loki hiss, was soon soothed by your sucking on the same spot. Resting your butt on the nearest shelf, you didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach the soft, sweet sections of Loki where you longed to lavish attention. He took advantage of your new position by sliding a free hand along the swell of your separated thighs. “I just need to feel you, dove. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.” It was a husky whisper, directly into your ear, and it sent an arc of icy fire to your core. When his long fingers skimmed over the silky slick of your panties you moaned in unison, bucking into Loki’s touch, lost in the moment. Stepping between your legs, Loki took one of your hands into each of his own, pinning you wide open against the boxes of cereal and granola bars that lined the pantry walls. Devouring you slowly, Loki kissed along the column of muscles at your throat, across the exposed line of your clavicle. You could do little more than take his delicious torment as more and more of your sweat dappled skin was serviced by his silver tongue. “Yes… Loki…”, tumbling out of you, just like the night when you first came together, you crooned his name in delight. Breathless, boneless and broken with need. CLICK! The sound made you both freeze. Snapping swiftly, Loki’s head swung towards the door where the bright light and noisy crowd of the party was intruding into your private pantry. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! What do we have here?” Swinging into the tight space, Tony’s shrewd look took in the scene in seconds, “What were you two doing in here? It was a very quiet seven minutes!” Straightening to standing, Loki stood, blocking you from sight as you readjusted your clothes. Smoothing down his tangled strands, sarcasm dripping, “Talking. Very quietly.” When he was sure you were decent, Loki offered you his hand, and blinking you stepped back into the wild and raucous party still in full swing. Tony, flashing a knowing grin your way, nodded, “I hope you didn’t smush the chips! We still need those!” Giggling, you locked onto Loki’s arm, letting him lead you towards the keg and away from the shouted questions of your friends. You knew there was no mystery about what happened in those seven minutes. Hair mused, makeup smudged, lips swollen and shirts twisted, the pair of you were walking neon signs for getting to third base.

Silently Loki poured you a beer, taking a small glass of Asgardian mead for himself, before raising his glass your way. Returning his gesture, you downed the frothy ale fast, feeling a little parched after your spit swapping time in the hall closet. Boring into you, his eyes followed each of your movements, searching for a sign of your feelings. Dropping your empty cup on the counter, you turned and jumped onto the marble ledge, feet dangling. “Loki?” Placing his own glass down gently, Loki took his position between your bent knees, looking down at your darling face, “Yes?” “Did you say those things? That I was… boring? Basic?” Shaking his dark waves no, Loki bit into his bottom lip, “Never. What I said was, my last girl, ages ago, was those things… but my new lady-” tracing along your jaw, tipping your chin his way, “-she is everything I could ever want.”

“Am I… am I your new lady, then?” With a fierce flicker of fire in his eyes, Loki nodded yes this time, “Absolutely.” Leaning into him, arms around his neck, you tugged him down to meet your waiting lips. “Good. Good to know. Because I think I’m going to watch a movie tonight.” “Really? I recall really enjoying the last one.” “Hmm… me too.” Sliding off the counter, ducking under Loki’s long arms, you turned back to face him, “My room… say, an hour?”

Snapping his suspenders, smirking, “I’ll be there.” Watching you skip away made Loki’s pulse pound in anticipation. Pouring himself another glass of clear liquor, he chuckled, amazed at the change seven minutes had created.

“You’re welcome.” “Ah! Yes, many thanks Tony.”

Leaning against the counter, Tony knocked into Loki’s shoulder, “You’re cute together, Rock of Ages, but don’t make me regret helping you tonight! Treat her right.”

“Of course. I... truly, thank you.”, sincerity seeped from Loki at the favor from Tony. “No worries! No worries!” Waving away any additional gratitude, Tony looked over the group of half cocked, and totally cocked heroes before him, “Of course the real bitch was getting Pepper to pull your name from the bowl…”

My Marvelous Minxes tag-list: @queenofmischief @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @sammy-jo1977 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco

#loki x reader #loki x you #hot loki #loki smut #loki love #1000followers #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #80's #80's loki #80's mcu

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oh-mother-of-darkness · 4 years ago

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Hello. I am, as you know, an American. I turned eighteen in 2014, voted in my first presidential election in 2016, and voted in my second presidential election last week via early voting in the state of Texas.

I’m reflecting right now on the difference between those experiences. This is going to be a very self-indulgent essay.

The 2016 election was in my third and final year of undergrad at Texas A&M University. At the time, I was living with a roommate who grew up in a town of 2,000, all of them members of her church. I loved her very much, but she was the most sheltered person I’ve ever met.

I was only a few years ahead of her. My home growing up was deeply liberal about many of the things that counted, but deeply conservative on equally important things. For me, leaving for college was a radicalization speed-run.

I, a good Memphis girl, moved to Texas and encountered for the first time in my life white homogeny and everything that comes with it. I made most of my friends at A&M through a Christian orientation camp that I attended, then worked at. I went to school at a history department that was overwhelmingly male and war-obsessed.

My second semester, I was randomly sorted into a writing seminar on the American Civil War and Reconstruction. There were eight other students in that class, all of them Texans. By day two I had gotten into a open fight with one of my classmates after he used the phrases “one of the humane parts of slavery” and “the secession declarations are moving and beautiful appeals, if you read them,” and “well I’m not going to criticize my own state.”

We got into at least one yelling match per week from that point forward. It was a formative experience for me-- not just him but the seven other students that took his side every time because they just couldn’t conceptualize anything outside of their own experiences, and frankly, I couldn’t either.

It rocked my world to be surrounded by people who told me, among other things, that their high schools flew the Confederate battle flag or Lee was their all time role-model (because he actually didn’t want to secede! He didn’t believe in it, but Virginia did, so he put his own qualms aside and served his country, and that’s what we all have to do). I ran a survey once by knocking on every door in a dorm hall and asking the two people inside why the Civil War happened.

I feel like you can guess the most common answer I got. Only two said slavery. Six didn’t know what the Civil War was.

The last week of the semester, my class read a collection of recorded oral accounts of freed slaves during Reconstruction. My nemesis told me that he “didn’t realize black people actually had it bad.” At the same time, I was struggling with my sexuality, my relationship to my religion, my relationship with my parents, and a handful of newly-diagnosed but long-existing mental illnesses. I wasn’t having fun.

Over the next three years, I tried my hardest to humanize the people that said disgusting things about minorities, poverty, and me personally. I barely won on that one, and I’m actually really proud that I did, even if it took me a few years. I can trace the biggest change in me directly to my nemesis from the history department, the kid that made me so mad that I started arguing back. I was too scared to do that before.

By 2016, I was in full existential spin-out-- a very suddenly liberal kid fighting my whole family, all of my classmates, and most of my friends in an explosive political climate, the first I had ever participated in.

I voted by Tennessee absentee ballot in 2016. On election night, I ordered takeout for me and my roommate, who I knew had voted red. Confident, like pretty much everybody, that Clinton would win, I was trying to show her that I didn’t hate her. She went to bed after dinner, also so certain that Clinton would win that she didn’t bother to stay up.

I sat in front of my laptop sewing a birthday present for a friend (Kenza, actually), while the votes came in. I wasn’t super alarmed when the map turned red. I just figured the blue states hadn’t finished counting yet.

The map didn’t get any bluer. By 1am, I knew what was about to happen. They called it an hour later, while I was sobbing on my floor. I threw up in the bathroom out of pure anxiety. I got two anonymous messages telling me the asker was going to commit suicide. Neither of them responded to my replies. I don’t actually know what happened to them.

I remember riding the bus to class the next morning and distinctly seeing that most of the racial minorities there had swollen eyes from crying. The girl with the pride stickers all over her laptop didn’t show up that day, and I’m kind of glad she didn’t, considering the way some of our classmates in the back were loudly talking about “the gays.” Hope she’s okay.

My roommate came home completely unaware that Clinton lost. I was crying in my room when that happened. I remember showing her a demographic map of who voted which way. She got visibly upset when she figured out what races how. I think she really did feel guilty.

That Thanksgiving, one of my cousins tweeted, “I can’t wait to go argue with my liberal cousin today. The wins. Keep. Coming,” an hour before he walked into my house. Inauguration day was January 20, 2017. I decided to go to law school a week later, the day the president signed the Muslim ban. That’s when I figured out for the first time just how much power the courts have. The last three years have only enforced that.

I got angrier and angrier during law school, egged on by a few friends but more than anything just... finally conscious of exactly how the American system works and exactly who’s behind it. I still live in Texas, farther west now, and I’m working my first legal job. I’m going to be a licensed attorney next week.

I went back and forth for months about how this election was going to shake out. I knew there wasn’t going to be an overwhelming red majority this time, but my big fear was an election close enough that the Supreme Court could take it. That fear doubled last month, at RBG’s death.

I was hoping for a blue enough victory on election night that there wouldn’t be a week of uncertainty, but that was unlikely, and it didn’t happen. I obsessively refreshed my election map all of Wednesday and Thursday, aware that at least some states would flip after mail-in ballots came in, but unsure which would.

Again, my great fear was a blue victory held down by only one state. Given (I would say “any” chance here, but I don’t mean “any” chance because genuinely jurisdiction or facts or legal merit don’t matter to the Supreme Court) an opportunity to make one (1) decision that hands over a red election, please know that a conservative supermajority would take it. I cannot emphasize enough how true that is and how important it is for all of us to grasp that.

Watching Georgia flip was one of the best experiences of my life, and it’s a little hard for me to articulate why, but I’m going to give it a shot here. I’m southern. I’m from the South, and for this conversation it’s really important that I’m from Memphis, a black city and a center of black music and culture.

When people think about the South, they think of the white South, and on some level, they should. It is absolutely essential to understand the white South in order to understand American history. Let me be 100% clear here. That is not a good thing. American majority history is not good. We are not a good country.

It’s near-impossible to understand why that’s true without knowing exactly what happened in the white South and exactly what is still happening there now. With that, however, is another truth that most folks don’t get.

The SouthTM is white and needs to die. The South as it actually exists is partially white yes, but it is also everyone else that lives here, particularly black folks. Southern culture is black, not white. Georgia flipped because the people that have always, always been there finally got to crack apart the conservative machine holding the South hostage.

That’s amazing. It’s fucking mind-blowing. I watched it happen at 3:30 in the morning days after Election Day, and holy shit holy shit, Georgia flipped. Atlanta won. Holy fucking shit.

I would be terrified right now if only Georgia flipped, because SCOTUS would have found a way to throw out a few thousand votes. Inevitable. Absolutely certain on that one.

With a few states of buffer, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I really do think it’s over.

I came home after work on Friday and immediately went to sleep because I hadn’t really done that since Tuesday. I woke up at noon today, checked the map, checked my messages, and saw what happened while I was gone. After that, I went back to bed until 5:30pm. I’m really just getting up now, after most of 24 hours asleep.

I don’t know if I would say that I’m happy right now, but I am overwhelmingly relieved. I’m under no illusions that a Biden victory will solve everything, but I also do think this is a real thing to celebrate. I’ll take suggestions on how to celebrate right now, actually, since I’m finally awake.

I’ll be angry forever, I think, but this is a good thing, and I’d like to enjoy it. If you’re happy right now, hey, tell me about it. I’ll be thrilled with you. I want to hear it. Congrats to all of us. Love y’all.

#that's me rambling thanks and gig em #there are some things to tag here huh #uspol #politics #suicide #this would be a good time to remind everybody that i am white #so take that into account re: Georgia #personal i guess #not comics sorry

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timac-extraversal · 4 years ago

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Four Racial Futures

(TIMAC #003, ~3,800 words, 16 minutes)

Summary: Four alternative paths to the current dominant left/liberal racial vision for future America are discussed, including an underestimate of the size of the white population, Castizo Futurism, Landian Hyper-Racism, and changes in society's understanding of developmental psychology.

Epistemic Status: Political speculation.

-☆☆☆-

‘Majority Minority’ America? Don’t Bet on It John J. Miller, Wall Street Journal (2021/02) [paywall]

“The surge in mixing across ethno-racial lines is one of the most important and unheralded developments of our time,” says Mr. Alba, a professor at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. He rattles off facts and figures: Today, more than 10% of U.S.-born babies have one parent who is nonwhite or Hispanic and one who is white and not Hispanic. That proportion is larger than the number of babies born to two Asian parents and not far behind the number of babies born to two black parents. “We’re entering a new era of mixed backgrounds,” Mr. Alba says.

The census apparently counts those who identify as both white and non-white as 'non-white,' which may be undercounting the number of people who are likely to identify as 'white' in the United States. Sociologist Richard Alba argues that assimilation is bidirectional, but proceeding apace.

The infamous Razib Khan chimes in on Twitter:

The Great Demographic Illusion: Majority, Minority, and the Expanding American Mainstream [link] haven't read this book but summary supports my exp./priors in 21st century.

"When they marry, 72% of Asian-white women and 64% of Asian-white men take white spouses. The government nevertheless counts them and their progeny as nonwhite." i have a blue-eyed blonde-haired 1/4th japanese friend. she probably doesn't realize she's counted as nonwhite

fwiw, my half brown kids 'identify' as tan. but if they were forced to pick a race and others were forced would choose white more than anything else

On the one hand, we have the largely implicit left-wing theory that if there is no majority race, there can be no organized oppression by a majority race. On the other, the implicitly-left-wing theory that if there are many mixed-race people, it will become too difficult to organize by race - identifying people on the basis of race will be harder and people will have split loyalties.

Either might fail on its own. If people are naturally prone to politics by race and ethnicity, then a lack of a clear supermajority in a majority-minority country may lead to shifting ethnic coalitions, with no group feeling that it's in a comfortable position of power. Even within a mixed group, there might be selection in some specific direction, such as colorism, which is currently its own category of discourse.

On the other hand, it's apparently possible that some form of unironic 'Multiracial Whiteness' could "win," either from widespread adoption of 'white' as a norm even if whites were a minority, or by a supermajority ending up 7/8ths 'white' and the definition of 'white' expanding to match...

[Quora] What is Castizo Futurism? Renatto Belerofonte (2020)

Among the right-wingers, there is also a joke that "the Alt Right is a hispanic movement." And just as there is Afro-Pessimism, there is a 'White Optimism' in the form of "Castizo Futurism," as Quora user Renatto Belerofonte describes better than I could:

Castizo Futurism comes from the idea that the future of whites in the United States and Latin America is not as dire as white supremacists that believe in white genocide think it is. White Identitarians traditionally organize their societies through Hypodescent (the idea that the offspring of an union between two conflicting classes adopts the social standing of the lower class involved) [...] An example of hypodescent would be the One Drop Rule.

[...]

Castizo Futurism is basically the adoption of Hyperdescent by American White Supremacists, the idea that whiteness is a malleable condition that can morph according to the material and historical conjuncture of society. If Hispanics in the US suddenly stop being “non-whites” and start to be perceived as “mostly mestizos and castizos that are already predominantly European with various degrees of native blood” then you can conceive the prospect of “whitening” them overtime. If Mestizos can become Castizos (which according to White Supremacists is the cut-off at which you start to manifest European behavior and appearance) then there is the possibility that White Genocide can be reversed.

As Renatto writes, "if you look at non-anglo societies this paradigm is not the case [...] Spanish, Portuguese and French societies in America believed that you could 'become' white through generations of intermarriage..."

Human beings grow old and wish to create a legacy in their environments. For some people, this is children. For others, it is activism. Suppose you tie your self-identity to a great confrontation to overcome "whiteness," and then just as you saw the traditions of your ancestors as something outdated to be overturned, most of an entire generation simply ignore you and decide that they are now white.

Who, exactly, is going to stop them?

Of course, there is no guarantee that this will happen, but at the same time, there is no requirement that it won't.

One of the great advantages to adopting relatively liberal methods and tactics is that you aren't obligated to pin your hopes on demographic triumphalism - if the future goes a bit off-script, that isn't necessarily a problem. And it may well go off-script; one of the characteristics of the future that I have tried to express in my blogging is that, for most of us, it will be unexpected.

Why does the old conventional racism use hypodescent? Old conventional racism might claim to be based on thinking in terms of evolution, but it isn't necessarily. Often it proceeds as if race is primordial, trailing back into the mists of time. Why embrace hyperdescent now? In part, because 'white' was something that emerged once through evolution and selection, and it's implemented as a statistical distribution of heritable traits (even if those heritable traits are solely appearance). As long as those traits exist, it can simply be recreated if the appropriate conditions arise.

[Landian] Hyper-Racism Nick Land, Xenosystems.net (2014/09, arch. 2015)

Speaking of statistical distributions of traits, there are some pessimists that argue that intra-European political preferences are heritable and conserved.

But even those 'within-white' preferences, should they exist, may end up scrambled...

Assortative mating tends to genetic diversification. This is neither the preserved diversity of ordinary racism, still less the idealized genetic pooling of the anti-racists, but a class-structured mechanism for population diremption, on a vector towards neo-speciation. It implies the disintegration of the human species, along largely unprecedented lines, with intrinsic hierarchical consequence. The genetically self-filtering elite is not merely different — and becoming ever more different — it is explicitly superior according to the established criteria that allocate social status. Analogical fusion with Cochran’s space colonists is scarcely avoidable. If SES-based assortative mating is taking place, humanity (and not only society) is coming apart, on an axis whose inferior pole is refuse. This is not anything that ordinary racism is remotely able to process. That it is a consummate nightmare for anti-racism goes without question, but it is also trans-racial, infra-racial, and hyper-racial in ways that leave ‘race politics’ as a gibbering ruin in its wake.

"The problem with ordinary racism," Nick Land writes, "is its utter incomprehension of the near future."

If the conventional racists view race as primordial, as something that can only be either preserved or lost, and the would-be Castizo Futurists view race as something that can change over generations, then the Transhumanists are the most radical. Transhumanists tend to view the body mechanically, as a system of parts, each of which could potentially be replaced. This is the view on the macro level - they would support growing new organs in vats and transplanting them - but it's also true on the micro level. To a Transhumanist, a gene is not the same thing as a person who has it, and a gene is not in itself sacred any more than the radiator on your car is sacred. (Alter someone's genetics unwillingly, however, and you might find far more stern disagreement - not unlike the violent disagreement you might get if you broke into someone's car and stole their radiator.)

Someone once described Americans as 'temporarily-embarassed millionaires.' For temporarily-embarassed cyborgs, much of contemporary race discourse is just not very impressive. For Liberal Transhumanists, a man who has inherited frail leg bone genes is not an inherently unworthy being, but is merely someone who has not yet received robot legs - just as they are human beings who have not yet received anti-aging pills. And if some men have sturdy leg bone genes instead? Rather than a threat of enduring hierarchy, those genes represent potential untapped capital that could be used to raise the standard of living (from the typical subjective perspective).

In the famous animated franchise Ghost in the Shell, the lead character has an entirely synthetic body, except for her brain. If this were possible (and at this point, we don't know that it is, though we're continuing to experiment in fields like tissue engineering), one might describe a society capable of it as "also trans-racial, infra-racial, and hyper-racial in ways that leave ‘race politics’ as a gibbering ruin in its wake."

Are there risks involved with this mindset? Certainly. But many of the basic criticisms will ring as hollow to transhumanists as basic conservative criticisms ring hollow to many left-wing and liberal readers.

This future is not yet etched in stone, but on the other hand, an article in Nature published in 2020 argued that...

Together, these findings suggest that there are, at present, no known insurmountable hurdles to the eventual development of safe and effective clinical applications of genome editing in humans. […] Therapeutic genome editing will be realized, at least for some diseases, over the next 5-10 years.

Part of what makes contemporary race discourse so unimpressive to transhumanists is that it fails to integrate Crispr or PGD-IVF into its moral imagination. Right-wingers are said to look backwards, and left-wingers and progressives to look forwards. But while the right-wing WrathOfGnon would encourage readers think on ancestral time scales by physically building villages out of traditional materials (a view which, right or wrong, is consistent), a number of Progressives fail to imagine beyond the next fifteen years.

...or perhaps they do. Can children consent to what's considered a genetic disease (such as Tay-Sachs, which is quite lethal)? Would having kids the old-fashioned way come to be seen as a low-class activity for rednecks and religious fundamentalists? There are ways in which genetic equity is at odds with genetic freedom.

It's also possible that they are simply technology pessimists, maintaining multiple rings of protection in case technology should fail to pan out this century. Though if this is their perspective, perhaps they should consider the potential dangers of their current rhetoric as well.

Contrary to the Liberal Transhumanists, for someone like Land, everything is highly competitive evolution.

genomic manipulation capabilities, which will also be unevenly distributed by SES, will certainly intensify the trend to speciation, rather than ameliorating it.

I take issue with Land, here. Not just morally (though he writes "this blog generally seeks to spread dismay whenever the opportunity arises"), but in practical terms.

Every time we edit a gene, we risk an off-target result, which may cause disease. The tradeoffs for early genetic engineering favor focusing on monogenic disease, the sort of situation where your choices are to risk genetic engineering or experience near-certain death by age 30. Many traits like intelligence or general health, should they be genetic, are likely highly polygenic. Hypothetically, a rich man could pay for a thousand edits, but this would only work with a relatively mature technology where the rate of error is very, very low.

Something closer to the opposite of Nick Land's idea might come to pass, in which sharp negative points are eroded away except for a few populations such as religious conservatives, including the literal Amish, and medical skeptics, paid for by big institutions like insurance companies and public health authorities. In twenty years, the likes of L0m3z, a right-wing Twitter contrarian, may write about the coming "Planet of Midwits."

As for Pre-implantation Genetic Diagnosis In-Vitro Fertilization, although it is currently being used for preventing the transmission of Huntington's Disease (if you have $35,000 to spare), the gains from embryo selection for other traits can be more limited than people might expect.

[Video] The Glenn Show: The Dark Matter of Developmental Psychology Glenn Loury & James Heckman, BloggingHeads.tv (2020/12)

GLENN: I'm talking to one of the great economists working on human development. What are you up to at the Center for the Economics of Human Development at the University of Chicago?

HECKMAN: Well, one of the great issues of course, always, is exactly how do you improve the lot of human beings. Namely, how do you measure what improvement is, what are the relevant life skills, and then how do you develop those skills? What's the proper role for social policy, and I don't mean just governmental policy, I mean social policy? There are some very strong interventions, evidence for interventions, showing how if you tell parents a certain amount of information that they lack, it can have huge effects on their children. And the same is true of interventions that occur in adolescent years. Human potential is not being fully utilized. [...] I've been working on this not only in the US, but in several countries around the world - a lot of time spent in China, recently.

[...]

HECKMAN: And then gradually society has become more and more cognitively focused. Well that sounds good. When Governor Clinton was governor of Arkansas, well all of these well-meaning officials were talking about how to improve schools, what do they talk about? Nate scores - reading, writing, and arithmetic. They don't talk about character formation. They don't talk about self-control, executive functioning, the way you can help govern your life. [...]

HECKMAN: One of the main lessons of this body of work, and I'm proud to have contributed to this, is in showing the power of social and emotional and personality skills in shaping lives. Skills that can be actually cultivated, and skills that can be cultivated not just at the beginning of life, but through adolescence especially.

What evidence is there? Aside from more contemporary study in his own field, Heckman mentions discusses the Perry Preschool Project, a topic which comes up sometimes when one is looking into this field. While increases in IQ scores failed to stick, the experimental group had improvements in other life outcomes such as earnings, home ownership, and lower risk of incarceration.

HECKMAN: ...but the way you take the kid to the next step matters a lot. You've got to do it with some patience, and with some empathy - some attachment. And so there's a whole subject matter in child development psychology which we're looking at now - we actively are exploring.

HECKMAN: By the way, I don't want to pretend this is all completely known. This is what makes the work that I'm doing now so exciting. Because now we're measuring these interactions, week by week. This is now not in the US, it's in western China, one of the poorest areas. We can see how the interactions between the parent and the child are leading to the growth of skills on the part of the child. [...]

HECKMAN: This was something that was tried in Jamaica some 40 years ago. I'm working with a group of people with a study that's still ongoing outside of Kingston, Jamaica. It's called the "Reach Up and Learn" study in Jamaica. The China study is patterned after that study. [...]

So the research the Heckman is focused on is not limited to a particular race, country, or culture.

HECKMAN: It turns out that a lot of parents don't really know how to parent. And what do I mean by that? They don't have a clear idea what a normal growth trajectory is for a child, what a child can do. And they often don't understand how powerful they are in shaping the life of the child. So you give them that kind of information. Nobody's being forced to do anything. Just empower people. Almost every caretaker of a young child really wants that child to succeed. [...] When they are told this information, they act on it.

Asian Americans live longer than non-hispanic white Americans, and have a higher median household income. [1☆][2☆] While there is some racial tension between white and asian Americans (see, for instance, ongoing 'cultural appropriation' arguments and other discourse), it's generally considered less of an issue than disparities between the country's white majority and black Americans.

Could parental information and mentoring programs reduce disparities in the United States, even if they aren't resolved? And could this turn down the heat on race discourse?

For instance, at $76k median household income, white households make about 77% of what asian households do. Black American households make about $45k, or about 60% of white American household income. At 77%, they would make about $59k, not far off from the $56k of hispanic households.

What are the potential downsides? The most likely way for the program to fail is for it to have no effect or, at worst, a modest negative effect. [3] It isn't incompatible with an ecological view of human society. It would cost money, but probably not much more than another couple years of additional schooling.

Given the modest downside risk, what are the potential upsides? If the reports on the Perry Preschool Program are accurate and the effects can be replicated, there are a large savings to be had, mostly from the reduction in crime. [4☆]

But can the effects be replicated? The sample size for the Perry Preschool Project was relatively small. As far as Early Childhood Education programs go, the effectiveness of Head Start, which provides more than just preschool and is "based on a 'whole child' model," is disputed. [5☆][6☆] However...

Two older "high-quality" preschool programs mentioned frequently in the research literature are the HighScope Perry Preschool program from Ypsilanti, Michigan, and the Chicago Child-Parent Center (CPC) program. These programs include parent education and support and thus differ in significant ways from the type of preschool programs offered by Head Start, as well as the more recent "high-quality" programs. They are also much more expensive on a per-capita basis. Both the CPC and the HighScope Perry Preschool programs were started in the 1960s, and researchers have carried out long-term cost-benefit analyses for both programs. These analyses conclude that better long-term outcomes more than pay for their higher program costs, mainly in the form of higher career income and lower rates of criminal behavior.

- Armor & Sousa [6☆]

By 2018, the "Reach Up and Learn" program Heckman was speaking of had been expanded to 9 other countries, with varying degrees of effectiveness depending on its implementation. [7☆] (Though its associated US domain has expired.) Heckman's own study is, as one would expect, positive about the effects - and was published in Science.

Early childhood education increased earnings by 25%, enough for growth-stunted children to completely catch up to the earnings of the non-stunted comparison group. The control group remained far behind. In fact, average earnings from full-time jobs were 25% higher for the treatment group than for the control group. Ninety-eight percent of treated children had been employed at age 22, with 94% in full-time jobs.

Jamaica is not America, and interventions that worked under conditions in Jamaica might be less effective in America. However, if it could be achieved, a 25% increase in median income would put black American households at roughly $57k annual income, just above hispanic households, and within striking distance of the $59k target.

A nutritional intervention was also attempted, however, although "Other studies have shown cognitive benefits from nutritional supplementation in the first 24 months," Heckman wrote, "The nutrition supplement for the child was often shared with the family, so it may not have been sufficient to produce better outcomes."

And the nutrition angle might be worth looking into - the study cited (preceded by an analysis, by one of the same authors, of 13 studies on the subject) by Scott Alexander in Society is Fixed, Biology is Mutable showed that vitamins didn't do much for well-nourished kids, but that a minority of undernourished kids may have benefitted greatly.

-☆☆☆-

[1☆] As of 2014, asian Americans lived about 86 years, hispanics about 83 years, and non-hispanic whites about 79 years.

[2☆] In 2019, asian households had a median household income of $98,174 US to white non-hispanic median household income of $76,057. (It should be noted however, as shown in this Wikipedia article that is easier to read than the government data it cites, that household median incomes for groups within "white" or "asian" are not all the same.)

[3] Heckman's program and attitude suggest that an ideological explanation of how we got here isn't included, just an assumption of lack of access to resources by impoverished parents, whether that's in Jamaica, Peru, or China. This suggests the program lacks a loop where program failure just means that the program wasn't tried hard enough.

[4☆] Updating the Economic Impacts of the High/Scope Perry Preschool Program (2005)

At a 3% discount rate the program repays $12.90 for every $1 invested from the perspective of the general public; with a 7% discount rate, the repayment per dollar is $5.67. Returns are even higher if the total benefits--both public and private--are counted. However, there are strong differences by gender: a large proportion of the gains from the program come from lower criminal activity rates by the treatment group, almost all of which is undertaken by the males in the sample. The implications of these findings for public policy on early childhood education are considered.

[5☆] Wikipedia collects a number of studies both for and against.

[6☆] The Dubious Promise of Universal Preschool David J. Armor & Sonia Sousa, National Affairs (2014/01, arch. 2014/01)

[7☆] Reach Up: how a Jamaican early childhood intervention swept the world APolitical.co (2018/04)

#timac #politics #racepol

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

Text

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary: Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

*****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

*****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that? Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

#themysticgarden #loki (marvel)#loki x ofc

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tansypoisoning · 4 years ago

Text

Scrappy Doo

You got in trouble often, and it showed. Worse than every bruise and cut, though, was your front door neighbor’s concern. He didn’t know you; he was too busy to know you. You wished he would stop pretending he cared so you could move on with your life in peace, and never have to deal with intrusive thoughts of what it would be like to have a room in his heart.

Me, writing fluff? More likely than you think (and yet not that likely). This is my entry for @jtargaryen18‘s “30 Days of Chris” I’m just trying to branch out a little, and since J’s fics tend to end up being really sweet even if they don’t start that way… Well, I thought I’d go for some sweetness too. Ended up calling out myself in this xD. Anyway, I would appreciate if you guys let me know if you think this is okay. Don’t judge the name too harshly please xD

Fandoms: MCU

Genre: Fluff? Hurt/Comfort? Things you wouldn’t expect from me, I guess.

Ships: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3166

Warnings: Mentions of violence and injury, some blood, non-graphic descriptions of wound dressing

The bits of bandage and specks of blood in the sink were piling up worryingly fast. You had looked at them to take your eyes and mind of the gash in your arm, but you reckoned you should’ve just closed them.

“One of these days you’re going to lose your head,” The woman in front of you grumbled as she weaved needle and thread through your flesh “and I’m not going to put you back together, I swear.”

You tried to tell her ‘If anyone could it’s you, Molly’, but the stiff thrown pillow stolen from her couch so you’d have something to bite muddled the words to the point none of them were recognizable.

You ground your teeth on the linen with every new puncture, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like a lifeline. It hurt, but you’d be okay. You’d been through worse. Your love of hiking, parkour, urban exploration, political activism and doing good recklessly (emphasis on the reckless bit), meant you often found yourself beaten and bruised and wounded and just fucked up in general, but it was all worth it. Just last week you’d rescued a woman’s purse! Molly didn’t share your enthusiasm.

“I should really charge you for this,” she complained. She said it every time you showed at her doorstep, and every time she would put you back together free of charge.

Nick by nick, all your wounds were dressed and you were good to go. You dropped the pillowcase in the washing machine before making your way to the door.

“Seriously, you gotta start being more careful.” Your friend called. “I get that you can’t always help it, but…. jumping on a rusty ladder, are you kidding me?”

“I can’t make any promises!” You smiled sheepishly and she rolled her eyes “Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate it.”

She sighed, but her lips curled upwards nonetheless “Yeah, I know. I expect to see you again in a week.”

“You know I’ll visit regardless!”

“Hopefully not bleeding!” She yelled just as you turned around to jog back to your apartment complex just across the street. The walk was familiar, if a little uncomfortable. Your bruised legs hurt as you climbed up the stairs, but you were smiling all the way.

You had just shoved the key in the lock when the door across from your place opened, and someone behind you sighed.

“Again?”

You whirled around on the balls of your feet, arms raised in preparation to salute the other person on the hall with you.

“Hello, captain!” You greeted cheerfully, resting your hand against your forehead.

Captain America’s look of disappointment could make just about everyone wilt, and you weren’t the exception. In fact, maybe you were even weaker to it than the average person.

“What happened this time?” He asked.

“Urban exploration,” you said, your voice losing a considerable amount of volume and enthusiasm “I was on some ladders when they broke down.”

The lines of his forehead deepened. No, this wasn’t disappointment; it was concern. That was somehow worse.

Who the hell was he to be concerned about you? He didn’t know you; he was too busy to know you.

“I’m okay, though. Nothing broken or anything.”

“You got stitches.”

You shrugged. “Stitches, schmeeches.”

He didn’t find it amusing. “And you’re still going on these expeditions alone.”

“Well, who else am I gonna do them with?” Most of your friends lived too far away, and the ones who lived near had no interest in your little misadventures.

Steve didn’t answer. He likely didn’t have an answer, but he also didn’t have the decency to wipe that look of faux worry off his face.

“And how are your expeditions on the culture going?” You used his silence to direct the conversation to a more pleasant topic.

You didn’t know much about Captain America – he didn’t really let himself be known – but living across from him had given you some insight on his life. Given he’d been stuck on ice for seventy years, it was no wonder he’d needed help to acclimate to the radically different world he had woken up in. He got used to the social and political changes with surprising ease, and it didn’t take him long to acquire a passable understanding of current technology. What he struggled with was pop culture.

You had been his media dealer for a few months now, supplying him with an endless stream of movies, series and music (some of which of questionable legality, but he didn’t need to know that). He had told you of his difficulty finding some of the things people had urged him to look into, and you offered to help him with that. You used the opportunity to introduce him to some things that you liked, because it was always nice to have another person to talk to about these things.

“It’s been going,” he said, and you were happy to see his expression softening “slowly, but it’s been going. Thank you for the Prince songs, by the way.”

“You’re so welcome,” you answered with a grin. He had initially given priority to media other people had suggested to him, but he’d been getting around to your things in the last two months or so “Have you watched Mr. Rogers Neighborhood yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You really should. Fred Rogers might be the one person who beats Steve Rogers at the whole ‘being a good human being’ thing.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m putting it off,” he smiled, but it was short-lived as he stopped to clear his throat. “I gotta go now.”

“Okay,” you nodded and stepped back to press your back against the wall. The hall was almost too small for the two of you. “Gotta rush to save the World, huh?”

“Something like that,” he said as he moved toward the stairs, but he turned back to you as he reached the railing. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You recoiled at his words. “Sure.” You answered stiffly, then rushed to open your door before he could say anything else. You didn’t need this. This fake concern, those empty words… You much preferred hostility, that was at least less confusing, less painful.

It really was stupid of you to nurture such a silly crush. Steve was just your front door neighbor. The sooner you accepted that, the better.

Molly wasn’t home, and she wasn’t picking up her phone. Where the fuck was she? It’s not like she had an obligation to help you out, yes, but… She always did help, and now she had to pick the worst possible moment to go M.IA.

The walk up to your apartment was familiar and painful. You were worried about your right arm; it wouldn’t move, and whenever you tried to touch it, it hurt. Could it be broken? You hoped not, but if anyone could be sure, that person was Molly. And she always picked up.

Your key was in your backpack, so you had to take it off before you could open your door. You tried to be quiet, but when the strap brushed your injured arm you couldn’t help but yelp.

Your neighbor’s door opened instantly, and at such a speed you felt the air in the room being rearranged. Steve’s gasp behind you only made you feel worse.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” you sniffed “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” There was a pause and then a hand was at your right arm, squeezing it as if to turn you around. You were loathe to show any weakness in front of him, but it hurt too much. You howled, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, and Steve let go. He walked around you, coming to stand in front of you. He didn’t look angry at all, just deeply concerned.

Great. You didn’t need this shit on top of everything else.

“Steve, let me get into my home.”

“Where’s Molly?”

“I don’t know,” you whined. It was getting harder and harder to keep the little composure you still had “Please let me in, Steve.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” His voice brooked no arguments, and something about it was too much for you.

You broke down with one sob, then several more, and the look on Steve’s face only grew more worried. “I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“I’m paying,” he said, and you were about to tell him no, but he didn’t give you the chance: “This is serious. You can’t wait this out. I’m taking you and I’m paying for it. Do you need me to carry you or can you walk on your own?”

You wiped at your tears with your good hand and nodded. “Yeah, I can walk.”

You followed Steve out of the building, pausing ever-so-often. Steve would wait for you whenever you did, not once complaining or frowning. He helped you into his car and buckled you in.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” He asked once he’d settled in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t want to.”

He took a deep breath as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t press the issue. You didn’t want to talk about the incident, but you didn’t know what else to talk about, so you kept quiet. Steve didn’t speak much either, occasionally asking you for updates on your state, but otherwise letting the radio do the speaking for you. The songs playing were ones you’d recommended to him, you noticed.

The trip to the hospital was longer than the waiting in the lobby, and thankfully that wasn’t very long. Steve remained outside while you were being patched up. You were glad for it. Having to explain your wounds to the staff was already bad enough, you didn’t need him to hear it as well.

You left the hospital in bandages and with a cast on your right arm. Despite the weight of the plaster, you felt a hundred times lighter, knowing you’d gotten the care you needed for free. Steve didn’t share your enthusiasm. He sighed when he saw you walk out of the room, and you felt your smile slip just a little.

The two of you were quiet when you entered the car. Steve drove in absolute silence for about two minutes before you thought to thank him – and you really were thankful, but thanking him almost seemed a waste. He looked so frustrated, just like everyone else when it came to you. Reckless, hasty, imprudent, you should just know your limits and not go past them. You should just stop doing the things that made you happy and the things you felt were needed because you would get scratched in the protest. That’s what everyone said. You couldn't imagine a super-human who put his life in graver danger every day being any more understanding.

You were about to bite the bullet and thank him, but Steve opened his mouth before you could: “You’re kind of like Scrappy Doo.”

“What?” All your previous feelings of goodwill vanished from you like the air in a popped balloon.

“I started watching some of the cartoons you-”

“I’m surprised you’re even here if I’m such a burden.”

It was his turn to look incensed. “What are you talking about?”

“Scrappy Doo. Am I seriously that much of an annoyance to you?”

“No!” He took his eyes from the road for a brief moment to direct them at you. “I was making a reference. Isn’t that what people like to do nowadays?”

“You compared me to a character everyone hates.”

“I don’t. And I don’t know why anyone would.”

“That’s not-” Your words didn’t come to you as fluidly as you would like them to. “It doesn’t matter. He’s an annoyance and only ever makes things worse.”

“Is that what you think of yourself?”

“No, that’s just what everyone else thinks of me.”

You looked at the rear view mirror to see him frowning. “Who told you that?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Of course he didn’t. If you were a nuisance to normal people, imagine how pathetic you must’ve seemed to someone as strong as Steve.

“I-” Whatever he was going to say he interrupted with a shake of his head and a sigh. “I shouldn’t say you remind me of Scrappy Doo. Rather… you remind me of me.”

It was your turn to frown. “You?”

“Before I was recruited for the serum program, I used to be very small. Short, frail… that didn’t stop me from getting in trouble whenever I saw injustice. I thought it was wrong to let bullies go unchallenged, even though I knew I couldn’t win. I always had to get rescued, but I kept doing it because I knew it was the right thing to do.”

“And then you got jacked and that helped a lot.”

He laughed. “I’m way better at doing helping out nowadays, but even so… I don’t think you’re an annoyance. I worry about you because I used to get in the same sort of trouble. I ask you to be careful because I’m afraid you won’t come back home one day.”

Your heart leaped in your chest, and then you remembered you had been there before. That wouldn't be the first time someone pretended to care for you on a personal level, then abandoned you when it wasn’t convenient anymore.

“You don’t really know me, Steve. I get if you’re worried about me just like you’re worried about everyone else, but I would rather… It feels fake, you know? Like you’re just helping me because I’m right there, and if one day I didn’t come home you’d just go on worrying about everyone else.”

“No, I-” He started, then cut himself off to huff. “I can’t talk about this while I’m driving. Hold on.”

You were quiet as Steve turned into a side street, darker and quiet than the one you were on. He looked around until he found a place to park, and then turned to you once the engine was off and the key was out of the ignition.

“I do care about everyone. If I was neighbors with someone else and they got hurt as often as you, I would worry and I would help them however I could, but I wouldn't feel the same way I feel about you. If you suddenly didn’t come back I- Why would you think I don’t care?”

“I just don’t see why you would. We only talk when we meet in the hallway, and you don’t look at the things I reccomend you, because you never talk about it.”

“I was watching Scooby Doo when you showed up.” Steve said, and there was an edge of frustration to his voice “Whenever I’m home I’m looking at the things you gave me. I don’t have as much time to learn about the things you like as I wish I had. I don’t have as much time and energy to know you as I wish I did. And you-” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Nevermind. I don’t want to do this when you’re injured.”

“No, tell me.” You and Steve were finally conversing rather than exchanging pleasantries. Now that you were being honest with each other, you didn’t think you could go back to how things were before. “I told you I wanted honesty. And whatever it is you’ve got to say, I bet won’t hurt more than this fucking thing.” And you pointed at your injured am.

He hesitated. He looked back and forth from you to the windshield, then swallowed hard before proceeding. “You put up a wall. I couldn't get you to talk to me about your injuries for months, and every time I ask you to be careful, you brush it off. It’s like you don’t want me to know anything about you.”

You considered his words for a second, then your own feelings for a moment longer. You couldn’t pretend it was just because you didn’t want to be a burden. “This is going to sound weird, but I’m scared I can’t trust you?” You turn to him. His brows are scrunched together, and he almost looks to be in pain. “I know, right? If you can’t trust Captain America, who are you gonna trust?” Your chuckle sounded hollow to your years.

Steve shook his head as his right hand moved from the wheel to latch onto your left wrist. His hold was gentle, and you knew you could pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t want to. “I thought you disliked me.”

His words sent a shock through you. Dislike him? How could he think that when the truth was the exact opposite? Then it dawned on you that you really had avoided him. Whenever he tried to get you to open up you deterred his efforts, like you really didn’t like him, like you didn’t want to know him. You did, you just… You were just afraid of what could happen if you let him in too deep.

“That’s funny.” You said, even though it wasn’t. “I was so scared you wouldn't like me, or you would stop liking me, that I didn’t even give you the chance to do that.”

He was quick to respond: “No. I could’ve talked about different things-”

“It wouldn’t have worked.” You said. The words came to you easily, products of an epiphany rather than a thought. They’re not a product of your own reason, rather a universal truth. “It’s not your job to chip at my barriers. I was avoiding you, I was fighting this. Why would you keep pushing if I gave nothing back?”

“I don’t know why you put up walls.” Steve’s fingers skimmed against your skin. Was he still afraid his touch wasn’t welcome? “You must have your reasons, and I’m not going to ask them. I want to be someone you can trust, but I can’t make you trust me. Do you think… Do you think we could make this work? I’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with that.”

You pulled your hand from his. His shoulders slumped, but he looked up when you entwined your fingers with his. His surprise was evident, and behind it, subtler, there was something else. You didn’t know what it was, but something in his expression sent your heart fluttering.

“I would like that too.” You said, smiling at the same time he did. “And you can let me know when you’re free so we can watch some series together, and you can explain to me how the hell you don’t hate Scrappy Doo.”

He laughs and squeezes your fingers in his. His touch is reassuring, and you feel nostalgic. You remember your childhood bedroom, and being snug under covers while a hand ran through your hair. Safe. That was the last time you had felt this safe.

#30DaysofChris2020 #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #mine

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catsnuggler · 3 years ago

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1-5?

I'm answering my own questions in response to this post.

Answers under the "read more" because this got long.

1. Do you identify as an apostate, exvangelical, ex-(denomination), heretic, or something else? I identify as ex-mormon (straight to the point), apostate (because that's what I am), and heretic because it sounds a lot more charged than apostate, in my opinion, even though technically a heretic is someone who is of a particular persuasion but refuses to accept the established religious dogma of that persuasion. In technical terms, I'm an apostate, but my dad, who is still Mormon but differs from the church radically in religious and political beliefs, is the heretic, not me. But, again, I just like the word. It brings to my mind an angry Crusader about to attack me, charging me with heresy and exclaiming that I'll be punished for my sins and treachery against the One True Faith - and to think of myself as an enemy of Crusaders is badass. Even though I'm really just some weak guy who sits around criticizing things.

2. How would you describe your current beliefs? Deconversion was as much a political as a religious process for me. I had to turn away from the liberal democracy at best, conservatism at most common, theocracy at worst political outlook of Mormonism, toward anarchist communism, which resonates best with my political desire for global liberation from both sociopolitical and economic tyranny. Additionally, the church is founded on colonialism, and warming up to decolonization is also part of my deconversion.

But this question is more specifically about religious beliefs, so, onto those: while most exmos are atheists, I'm a hard polytheist. I worship the Norse gods right now. I don't do so regularly, nor do I think they're the only ones deserving of worship; the idea that this or that god is unworthy of worship just because they're outside of ones tradition is an idea I've also had to reject. No, it's just that the Norse/Germanic gods are the ones I felt most pulled to. Generally, us Norse (neo)pagans/polytheists/"Heathens" also practice land worship and ancestor veneration, but given the settler-colonial context I'm part of, I'm still dealing with psychological as well as overarching political barriers with regard to such practices. The Norse god I feel most attracted to is Odin, although I do have to resist the "he's basically God" view that's been drilled into my head and is reinforced constantly by culturally Christian ex-Christian Heathens, particularly those of what we call "brosatru" and "(br)odinist" persuasions.

I've also had to unlearn a lot of antisemitism and islamophobia either directly taught as part of Mormonism, or otherwise commonly accepted in Mormon culture.

3. Have you gotten emotional support from friends in deconverting/deconstructing? Would you like more support? Have you found any online? Yes, yes, most definitely. The most support I got from @sleepyowlet. I can thank her for opening my mind up to anarchism, communism, and heathenry, while remaining respectful and understanding. I already had questions, she simply encouraged me and provided an alternative perspective, one which I ultimately found refreshing and made the most sense to me.

I haven't known too terribly many ex-mormons in person, though, and that would be rather refreshing and healing; bonus points if we've come to about the same politico-religious conclusions, yet still bear unique viewpoints to open the others' minds. That's more support I wish I had.

The /r/exmormon subreddit is somewhat helpful, and I'm also looking in the #exmo/#exmormon/#apostake etc tags on tumblr to find others to talk about this with.

4. Was any person, book, or something else instrumental in your deconversion? I don't like the guy, but... oh, hell, what was his name? The atheist with the talkshow, he's also an islamophobic asshole. Bill Maher, I think his name is? I saw a documentary by him that left me depressed and atheist for about a week, maybe two weeks? Which increased the questions I had. I was also already friends with a lot of atheists, growing up, so I was constantly exposed to non-mormon, non-Christian viewpoints. I mentioned Owly, of course. I haven't read many books. And, oddly enough, one of the most instrumental individuals to my deconversion is my Mormon dad. He is an odd duck, as previously mentioned, in the Mormon faith. He's very sad, because as I grew up, he taught my siblings and I all the bad things he knew about the church, but he did so to inoculate us so we wouldn't learn anyway down the road, with no previous idea of, say, how the Mountain Meadows Massacre really happened, and spiral into a faith crisis. He wanted to be living evidence that, though the other Mormons keep themselves blind and thoughtless, thinking that doing so is faith and righteousness, that one could be Mormon and still have a heart and mind. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for myself, my older sister, and my younger sibling (not my older brother, though, as he is still a firm believer), his revelations to us led in large part to us leaving the church.

5. Who have you told about your deconversion/change in beliefs? I'm guessing this post is about people I know in meatspace, particularly close friends, folks still in the cult, and/or family members. My old bishop knows, one of the guys in the stake presidency who knew me back when we used to be in the same ward together knew because he was the one who fucking blabbed about me requesting my records be removed from the church to my dad, fuck you "Brother" [REDACTED]. Though I didn't tell him, technically, it just ended up in his lap after I got the lawyer to send the request, and breaching my request for fucking privacy, he told my dad. Asshole! Anyway. Anyway. Any fucking way. I've told my grandparents on my mom's side - well, bio-grandpa and step-grandma. Bio-maternal-grandma died years ago, one year after my mom died. I haven't told my dad's side yet, strangely, even though they live much further away and so I'm thus in far less physical contact with the convert side of my family than I am the pioneer side, who are just to the East/Southeast in Idaho, Utah, and a few in Arizona. I'm not sure how many I told I'm pagan, because I forgot, but they at least know that I'm not Mormon. I know I told my grandparents I'm pagan, though.

#exmo #exmormon #excult #ex cult #cult survivor #ex mormon #apostake #tscc #ex christian #exchristian #exlds #ask

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unsafepin · 3 years ago

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Optical Illusions: A Study of Aesthetics in Activism in Two Accounts

There’s been a particular thing bothering me about social media for a while. I should probably get a cool editing app, write it in a few bullet points and post it on Instagram. You know what I’m talking about, right? The goddamn infographics. If I have to sit through another slideshow explaining to me another military conflict, another societal issue, another existential unfairness on a baby pink background in a cheery font, I might combust. But the cognitive dissonance of aesthetics in activism has been a problem for a while, hasn’t it? So today, I want to examine the effect of focusing on aesthetics over content, or, on the flipside, not considering the optics of your activism enough, and what it does to the consumer of your content by picking apart two local activist-adjacent media projects, Tetraedras and Giljožinios.

Firstly, I want to make my own bias abundantly clear. I am personally acquainted with the teams of both projects, so obviously there will be innate personal bias involved. I highly encourage anyone reading to check both projects out themselves (@t3traedras and @giljozinios on Instagram, as well as Giljožinios’ YouTube channel) and make their own conclusions on the matter. I believe that while my familiarity breeds deeper knowledge of my subjects, it also makes me more vulnerable to assumptions about individuals involved. My insights come from the perspective of an observer, not an expert. Welcome to the circus.

The use of the word “optics” in a metaphorical political sense sprung up in the 1970s to describe the way major political decisions would not necessarily affect an average citizen, but how it would appear to them, e.g. 'U.S. President Barack Obama temporized for weeks, worrying about the optics of waging war in another Arab state after the Iraq fiasco' (Toronto Star, 19th March 2011). However, it’s become increasingly relevant in our age of social media, an age of perceptions over substance, of shortening attention spans and increased barrage of information one has to stomach daily. Social media is the great equalizer - a random person off the street can theoretically hold as much influence as a politician - thus it is becoming increasingly crucial for the average Joe posting on the countless apps owned by Facebook to be as familiar with PR terms as a firm with a six figure salary. Or at least that would be nice, seeing that more and more average Joes are becoming actively involved in politics and education, seeking to influence their newfound audience.

So, let’s see how successful average people with no media or politics degrees are at balancing their image. Both Tetraedras and Giljožinios lean into their 2010’s social media project optics: millennial pink themes, bold names, young teams. But that’s where the similarities end. Tetraedras’ brand is safety. The shades of color on the profile are calming, the illustrations are youthful and playful, their more serious posts are interspersed with more relaxing content (poetry, photoshoots, etc.). Giljožinios is confrontational. The colors electric, posts loud and to the point, they’re what it says on the box - a leftist project - and unapologetic about it. This might help to explain why audiences react as differently as they do to these two, on the surface, similar accounts. Because while you might’ve stumbled on Tetraedras organically while browsing, them having almost two thousand followers, Giljožinios crashed into the educational/political social media scene by being featured on the goddamn national news, that’s how controversial the project is. And obviously I am oversimplifying the issue, Tetraedras slowly built up to posting more opinionated content, while Giljožinios came in guns blazing accusing USA of imperialism, but you’ll have to let me explain. Tetraedras, in its essence, is a welcoming environment. They explain complicated problems in short bullet points with accompanying comforting visuals, their mascot is a inoffensive geometrical figure and their face is a beautiful girl, make-up matching the theme of the post. Giljožinios is named after a revolutionary device, their profile picture is a monarch being beheaded, their host quite infamously sat in front of Che Guevara memorabilia in their first and (as of writing) only video. It’s a lightning rod for angry comments by baby boomers, no matter what comes out of their mouth. In fact, I would argue that, if presented accordingly, the idea that the US is conducting a kind of modern imperialism is just a simple fact and personally can’t wait until Tetraedras posts that with a quirky illustration of Joe Biden to introduce the concept to the wider public.

This leads me to my next point, because despite what’s been previously suggested, I’m not here to solely sing Giljožinios’ praise. There is a cognitive dissonance in both of these flavors of social media activism, but while I can understand Tetraedras’ on a PR level, I’m kind of personally insulted by Giljožinios’. While purely personally I find aspects of Giljožinios’ radicalism distasteful, I appreciate the honesty in the youthful maximalism, of coming in strong and not backing down, but from the guys that made a communist Christmas tree once I almost expected something more stirring than “military industrial complex bad”. This leads me to ask: who is your content for? Your average breadtube-savvy twenty-something already heard this a thousand times, because they consume similar english-speaking content and I doubt any minds of the vatniks that came by to fume in the comment section are being changed. I’m obviously harking on a newborn project here, the team of which has already been bitten by authorities censoring their content, but so far there has been a lot of optical bark, but no substantial bite, especially considering the team seems to be in a safer place now. And the inverse is true for Tetraedras, while I can understand wanting to be visually interesting yet inoffensive, their visuals are sometimes laughably, morbidly light for the topics they discuss Sexily posing in Britney Spears-inspired outfits while discussing the horrors of her conservatorship springs to mind (funny how Britney’s conservatorship leads her to have next to none bodily autonomy, including her public costume choices). And, once again, your target audience is teenagers. They understand English, they’ve seen the news, they don’t need you to translate infographics filled with statistics and information that’s locally completely irrelevant. There needs to be some kind of middle ground between aesthetic cohesion and common sense, because this all signals to the viewer that the content is meant to be mindlessly consumed first and to educate second.

Which leads me to ponder what kind of consumption accounts like these encourage, which will surely lead me to an early grave as I drink away the existential dread of how social media rots all of our brains. Because yes, actually, producing funky visuals to convey an idea way too complicated for an Instagram post is fun. I myself got distracted multiple times during writing to make the first slide for my own post. Meta, I know. This is obviously more of a problem for Tetraedras, who seem to fervently resist injecting their content with a few more paragraphs and a tad more nuance, but even with Giljožinios choosing a more appropriate long-form format to educate, I still pray everyday they don’t get lost in the revolutionary reputation their group built up and forget to make a point, not just talking points.

Because what all this all inevitably leads to is misinforming the public. Again, this seems to be less of a problem for Giljožinios, as the amount of critical eyeballs they have on them leads to them being corrected on every incorrect numerical figure and grammatical mistake, I just hope all this harassment, once again, doesn’t get them all caught up in the optics of a revolution against all the Facebook boomers and forgetting to do their due diligence to the truth. As far as I know, the only factual mistake is miscalculating how much Lituania invests in NATO and there’s still a historical debate in their comment section about the existence of a CIA prison in Lithuania, if anyone’s concerned. Tetraedras, however, is safe. And safe content goes down just like a sugar-coated pill, you don’t even feel the need to fact-check it. And fact-checking is what it sorely requires, or else you’re left with implying that boxing causes men to become rapists and citing statistics of every country except the one in which, you know, me, the team and the absolute majority of their followers live in.

So what’s my goddamn point? Burn your phone and go live in the woods, always. But in the context of this essay, if you are a content creator that aims to educate, inform, incite, whatever, you need to put aesthetics on the backburner. And, more importantly, we as consumers need to stop tolerating content that puts being either pretty or inflammatory first instead of whatever message it’s trying to send, because the supply follows where the demand goes. Read books, watch long-form content made by experts, not teenagers on the internet chasing followers out of not even malicious intent, but almost a knee-jerk reaction. Because while the story of those two accounts cuts especially deep, expectations for local-, even friend-made content being much higher than that for some corporate accounts shooting their shot at activism, the problem is entrenched deep, thousands of accounts exhibiting the same problems racking up millions upon millions of followers. Having said that, my attention span is barely long enough to read the essays I write myself, so maybe do burn your phone and go live in the woods.

Also, pink is actually my brand so both of these accounts are being contacted by my lawyers and the rest of you don’t try any shit.

#unsafe pin

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carpstan · 4 years ago

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hi @wasp-factor! i'm your secret santa. i just wanted to say how happy writing this fic for you made me - i love gakushuu too, even though i never had the chance to write about him before, hopefully it's in character. i know you like gakushuu/isogai, and i tried to include it in the fic (apparently i really like this ship, i never thought about it before). i hope you'll like it and, since we don't know each other, maybe we'll become friends. happy holidays!

Asano Gakushuu discovers the magic of Christmas

He had done it on purpose. There was no other possible explanation.

Winter holidays were approaching and the headmaster himself had given class A a social studies assignment about the influence of Christmas. Normally, Gakushuu would not have minded writing a paper on a topic that he deemed to be quite fascinating, but that was really not the case: the headmaster apparently thought it would be delightful to have everyone discuss a different aspect of the main theme, so joining all the students’ essays would result in a rich dissertation that would cover every little detail. The problem was the theme he got.

According to the instructions he received, his task was to understand what made Christmas so appealing to people in terms of improvement of their mood and behaviour; in easier words, he had to investigate the odd phenomenon known as “the magic of Christmas”. Oh, and he had to provide actual evidence to support his thesis as well. He had to go on the streets and interview people.

So, his father absolutely did that on purpose. Forcing him to reflect on a social event he considered not only pointless but plain out dumb, while also having him interact with random strangers who were likely just as dumb was an extremely clever way to torture him. Like that was not enough, he knew he could not complain about it with his friends, who he was sure considered him lucky and would have immediately said he got the best topic. The audacity.

It could have been literally anything else. And to say he was almost excited - no, not the right word. He was intrigued when the theme was announced. He had made some research on his own and he had stumbled upon an interesting article regarding the frailty of a consumist economy which revolves around a single month of extreme consumptions, he would have been ready and enthusiastic to write about it. Ren got that part instead. Now that was luck.

Well, he better start to plan out his actions. First of all, he was going to complain to his friends: they were not going to understand him, but he still needed to get rid of some frustration. Then he would start right away. The deadline was two weeks from then and he needed to get properly organised to avoid spending too much time on this project. The sooner he turned it in the better.

---

It was not going as well as he expected. He thought everything would have run as smoothly as usual, but he should have taken some factors into account. The problem was that for the first time in his life, he found himself in the unenviable position of talking about a topic he had no knowledge nor experience of.

His father and he never celebrated Christmas, or any holiday to be fair. Their house was the only one in the neighbourhood, or maybe in the whole city, which was completely missing decorations. Once he was asked how he felt about it, and the truth was he did not feel anything at all. His family was not religious, and not believing in Jesus Christ sounded like a perfectly good reason not to celebrate his birth to him. He did not mind his house keeping its sobriety either; being exposed to flashing lights for more than two minutes gave him a mild headache, actually. He never thought it was sad, or whatever people said about those who did not celebrate, it was just behaving like usual in a time of the year which was just like any other period.

Still, he was having some troubles doing his deed. He had decided to start off with the interviews, since he knew from the beginning he would have had to rely on other people’s experiences, and also he wanted to get rid of the most distressful part first. That turned out not to be a good idea too.

Well, to be fair he did not have a choice. He just seemed to be particularly unlucky with the people he met. He tried his best to select those who looked more likely to actually answer his questions, but these last days also did their best to remind him the one thing he’s not good at: understanding others.

He wanted to develop a good thesis, so his intention was to gather information from people belonging to different social classes, age groups, gender, occupation and so on; he had thought that, if he had been able to analyse the phenomenon through different perspective, he would have also found the key to see the whole picture. Apparently he could have not been more wrong.

Apart from being dragged down a rabbit hole of war stories and memories of a long dead man by an old lady, witnessing a college student have a full on mental breakdown and having a business woman tell him that her children were ruining her life and their expensive desires were driving her crazy - that would have been helpful, if only he had got the part about the economy - he received the same answers from everyone. And those were not answers he could work with.

A lot of his targets claimed that presents were the best part - both receiving and giving. It made sense, at least the part about receiving, because he really could not see the appeal of wandering all day through the streets - oh, the irony - looking for gifts and getting crazy while trying, and probably failing, to figure out what someone might appreciate. Again, it could have been an interesting take to explore for the economic aspect, but he should stop thinking about that.

No, the tradition of presents was actually a decent starting point, maybe it was kind of shallow and too closely connected with the intrinsic materialism of a consumerist society - okay, enough - and it was not completely clear to him why everyone was so obsessed with Christmas and not any other holiday if it was just about gifts, but he could make it work. What actually bothered him was the other answer he frequently received.

It was lights. People actually told him that they liked the little lights all over the buildings and all the other decorations. Lights. Was he supposed to say that what made the population radically change its habits and attitude in the month of December depended on lights? What is wrong with everyone?

Exchanging presents and “festive atmosphere” really was all he got. He could feel his average grade suffer. He was not going to let it happen, let alone because of a social studies assignment on the magic of Christmas.

---

It was his fifth day of scanning the streets for someone who would give him some good material to work on. He had been reviewing his notes and the night before he had had an idea: it was his last resort, but time was running fast. Reluctantly, he made his decision. He was headed towards the 3E building and he intended to make a truce.

When he did arrive at the building he could not find anyone. Class E was definitely odd, but how skilled each of them appeared to be at getting through that hell of a path down the mountain was beyond weird if you asked him. Maybe it was for the better, he thought. He would have found another way, he did not need any help, certainly not from them.

Just as he was about to head back he noticed someone walking out of the building and towards him. Isogai arrived at the spot where he was standing fast, stopping at an appropriate distance before speaking.

- Asano-kun, I didn’t expect to see you. Do you need anything?

He did not look too happy to see him there, but he was very polite, just like it was expected from him. Isogai also seemed eager to know what brought him there, which was legitimate; he swallowed down his pride and forced himself to do what he came for.

- Actually, yes, I do.

Gakushuu straightened his back before continuing.

- I’m writing an assignment for social studies about the social effects of Christmas and I need to interview some people. I haven’t received any satisfying answer so far, so, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?

Isogai was surprised by what he could tell. Fair, he thought. He was not aiming at him specifically, but any 3E student would have had the same reaction. Or a way less polite one. He had to admit, he was quite content having met him: he did not insult him and sent him away, which was already a lot, and Gakushuu did have some sort of respect for him, if he could call it that. He acknowledged he was smart and most importantly he was skillful enough to be able to use his intelligence to do a good job as class representative. He was from class E, so he mostly despised him, but a little less than he despised the others.

- Of course. What is it?

He had hesitated for a couple of seconds before pronouncing the words, and Gakushuu guessed he had debated whether he should indulge in their conversation or not until the very last moment.

- Do you consider Christmas important?

Isogai pondered his words upon answering.

- My family is Christian, but I’ll admit we don’t give much weight to the ritual celebration. Apart from that though, we do take Christmas seriously.

Gakushuu nodded slowly. Not religion then. He had already figured that bit on his own, religion might have been a relevant fuel in the past, but it could not get such an effect in these times. It was time to ask the infamous question then: he really hoped he was not going to hear presents and lights again; this really was his last resort.

- If not religion, what is it that makes Christmas so special? How is it different from any other holiday?

Isogai took yet another pause.

- Well, it is the only holiday that brings my whole family together. On Christmas day no one is at school, or at work, and even if it happened before that we had to spend it in the hospital, we still were all together.

A small smile was forming on his face as the words rolled out of his mouth; he may have not even realised the corners of his mouth rising ever so slightly.

- We also usually get to eat a meal that is a little more elaborate than our usual, and since we cook all together too it’s another chance to spend as much time as possible with each other without worrying about everyday’s problems. It’s the one day we can live completely carefree. And since everyone else tends to feel more generous, they leave higher tips, which is convenient.

Family. Was that the key? It was the message that also laid under those college students who mentioned some dishes that their relatives were going to cook and that they were looking forward to eating. He should have understood before, he told himself, but he knew he could not. He just could not. He was never going to understand what it really meant, he knew because he had forced himself to do it before. Even those times he had tried to picture a cohesive family, he still did not manage to get past the notion that the concept of family itself is supposed to be on a higher level than most things. Why would something one had no control over ever be so important? How could relationships decided by casuality alone be more relevant than those born out of mutual choice? It did not mean anything to him. He was never going to understand.

But at least he had enough material to write a good essay now. He could have just thanked Isogai and left, but there was that last sentence he had said. He did not think too much before opening his mouth again.

- Don’t you think that’s hypocritical?

Isogai now gave him a full, conscious smile, even though it had a shade he could not quite place: it looked almost sympathetic. He shrugged before finally replying.

- Maybe it is, but I’m not in a position to judge, if anybody is.

Gakushuu was not sure about what he should do with that statement. It was something to think about.

- Alright, that’s all I needed. Thank you, Isogai-kun.

---

Gakushuu did not write the essay right away. Instead, he took his time to adjust all the information he had gathered. He did not take any notes while talking to Isogai, but he soon realised that was not going to be an issue at all: he remembered all his words perfectly, he noticed, and he proceeded to write them down in the evening.

Later, he caught himself thinking about that conversation more than once. They did not even say much, and he wished they had taken some more time. Speaking with Isogai again was something he would have liked; they did not have much in common, but he still thought they might have some interesting discussions, if only they had the chance.

He actually ended up handing in his paper on the last day. It was not usual for him, or, to be honest, it should be said it had never happened before. He knew he had made excellent work.

---

It was not evening yet, but the sun had set long ago. The sky was clear and a soft yet glacial wind was blowing; Christmas lights seemed brighter when the moon was not high up in the sky, drowning the stars themselves with their overwhelming glow. After a careful analysis, Gakushuu was confident in confirming that he hated them, and the flashing ones still gave him a mild headache. How all those people could appreciate them was forever going to be a mystery.

Mindlessly walking through the city centre, he was still thinking about that assignment. It had kept him occupied for a good portion of time, and he was glad it was now something he did not have to worry about anymore. As he was passing close to a café, something at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He stopped by the side of the street, unsure of the reason, and peeked through the café’s window: there he saw Isogai serving a couple of elders with a warm smile on his face. He was working hard, probably, no, surely looking forward to spending the next day with his mother and siblings. The man he had just served handed him what looked like a very generous tip, and his mind trailed back to that one conversation again. He could not understand Isogai’s situation either, he had to admit it, at least to himself. At the moment, it felt okay. Realising he could not understand everything for once did not feel like a tremendous crime he had to atone for. It actually seemed to him that he could empathise with Isogai, just for a second, and despite knowing it was nothing but an ephemeral feeling that was going to be gone in a flash, it made him feel well. Maybe poor people deserved rights, after all.

Then Isogai noticed and his face went pale. Gakushuu did not immediately interpret that reaction correctly, but he soon became aware of what his presence there had meant in the past: he thought he was going to tell his father about it.

Isogai excused himself and rushed outside to meet him without even bothering to grab a coat and started talking before Gakushuu had the chance to clarify his intentions.

- Asano-kun, I know I shouldn’t be working but I really-

- I’m not going to report you to the headmaster.

Gakushuu interrupted him immediately. Isogai did look significantly relieved.

- I was just passing by. But since I’m here I wanted to thank you for helping with my assignment. It was an interesting conversation.

Isogai’s eyes were wide open - he almost looked like a deer caught in the headlights. But soon he started to warm up and reserved him a smile similar to the one he gave to the clients in the café.

- Oh, I’m glad I was helpful. It was interesting indeed.

Gakushuu could almost feel himself starting to smile in the moments of silence that followed, which he hurriedly broke.

- Well, it’s cold. You should head back inside.

He quickly said then. Isogai was almost shivering actually, but he looked somehow pleased. Gakushuu suspected he had seen him smiling, but he could not be sure.

- Yeah, that’s right. Merry Christmas then, Asano-kun.

He greeted him; his smile might have been brighter than those Christmas lights.

- Merry Christmas, Isogai-kun.

He really did not despise him that much.

---

After leaving the café, Gakushuu decided to head home. The walk was not long and he deemed it quite relaxing. He was not paying a lot of attention to the familiar buildings of his neighbourhood: everything was in place, just as it was when he had left the house in the morning.

Except there was a difference, a small detail that could have gone unnoticed and that most people had surely missed, but which appeared like a massive change to his eyes: on his house’s front door there was a Christmas wreath. It was small and quite simple, but it was there. He stared at it for what might have been a whole minute before snapping out of the shock and entering the house.

He found his father sitting on the sofa reading a book like nothing had happened, but he was the only person who could have put it there.

- What does it mean?

Gakushuu asked as soon as he arrived in the living room, without bothering to greet him first.

- What is it?

His father asked, his eyes still fixed on the book in his hands.

- The Christmas wreath on the front door, what about it?

- I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Gakushuu stared at his father for a handful of seconds, before huffing what sounded like a “whatever” and going straight to his room. There, he allowed himself to smile.

#assassination classroom #assassination classroom secret santa

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