#and the way the attendings try to put a stop to that shit. absolutely despicable

[sangsaracycling]

class consciousness is so stupid low among medical professionals. the amount of them that are willing to work and enforce systems that force their colleagues to work 90+ hours a week (putting them at risk, putting their PATIENTS at risk) because if they instead accept normal worker protections and demand that hospitals/governments hire more specialists for better coverage then they have to go from mid-high six figure earnings to like idk lower six figure earnings?

[breakingbadlikeaboss]

Serendipity - Chapter 3

@lokaneweek

Serendipity

Chapter 3: Closed Spaces

“Who is Donald Blake?” Loki asked nonchalantly as he munched on a piece of toast at her kitchen table in his casual green tunic and black pants. She’d noticed that he’d taken to dressing more comfortably in her presence lately.

“What?”

“Donald. Blake,” he repeated slowly. “Who is he?”

Jane could feel bile rise in her throat at the mere mention of his name. “Donald Blake is my ex-boyfriend,” she replied carefully. “Why do you want to know?”

Loki took another bite of his toast, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “He invited you to his wedding.”

He tossed a small, opened envelope across the table towards her. In the top left hand corner, the name Donald Blake was written in scrawled black ink with an address below it.

“We’ve talked about this, Loki!” Jane exclaimed angrily as she pulled the invitation out of the envelope. “Stop opening my mail! It’s private, and you don’t need to read it.”

“I disagree,” he smirked. “Your neighbor’s letters are quite amusing.”

“You’re reading their mail too?” she gawked. “Are you always this insufferable?”

He placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of his chin, as if in deep thought. “Yes,” he finally responded, a crooked grin stretching across his face.

Jane groaned and read the invitation, her face falling. “I can’t believe she’s actually doing this.”

She slammed the invitation down on the table, and placed her head in her hands. Loki was uncharacteristically silent. She wasn’t sure why, but Jane felt the sudden urge to unburden herself on him. Maybe it was because she was upset, or maybe she had merely lost her mind and he was the only person there to listen, but either way she began to speak.

“Donald Blake is marrying my cousin,” she admitted, refusing to look at him. “She knew that were together, and he knew that she was my cousin, but I guess it didn’t matter to either one of them. I just can’t believe they’re actually getting married…”

“She has purloined you,” Loki noted, his tone softer than she’d heard it before. “And Donald Blake was not faithful. A truly despicable and cowardly action. Would you have me kill them both, or only Donald Blake?”

Jane’s head shot up and her eyes went wide. “Wait, what? No!” she exclaimed. “You don’t do that! No killing anyone!”

Her phone rang, and Jane dug it out of her pocket and answered the call.

“Hello,” she greeted. “Hey, Darcy. Yeah, I’m still not feeling well, and…. Oh…” She turned away from the table, and covered the speaker on the phone, more out of habit than actually believing that Loki couldn’t hear her. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I’m really not… Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

She hung up and sighed, rubbing her temples. “I have to go in to work today,” she announced. “I’ve taken too many days off. S.H.I.E.L.D. is starting to ask questions.” She turned to him, worry and frustration flooding through her. “Please,” Jane practically begged. “Don’t destroy my house while I’m gone. Just… stay out of sight and don’t touch anything, okay?”

Loki said nothing, but his eyes were on her as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Okay, whatever,” Jane mumbled. “I have to go.”

She rushed to get dressed and scooped up her work bag on the way out the door, hoping that she would have a house to come home to at the end of the day.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane kept her head down at work, only talking to the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. when absolutely necessary and fielding questions about her ‘sickness’ with care. She watched the clock, counting down every minute until she could go home. Someone had the news on next door to their lab, and Jane listened in, hoping there would not be any reports of houses burning to the ground.

Darcy tried to engage her in conversation several times, but Jane was too much of a wreck to even remember what was said, and her answers were flaky and barely on topic. She didn’t tell her about Loki. Maybe she would later, but she wasn’t quite ready to try and explain the insanely crazy mess that had showed up at her kitchen table nearly a week ago. So until she was ready, she decided to say nothing.

When the work was finally over, Jane rushed to get home. She was beyond thrilled to find her house still standing and seemingly in good condition.

Inside, Loki leaned back against her couch, looking very bored. He’d figured out how to use the remote to the television and was flipping endlessly through the channels.

“Does work normally take such a lengthy amount of time?” he yawned. “Your Midgardian entertainment leaves quite a bit to be desired.”

Jane ignored him and moved to put away her work bag.

“I thought you would like to know that I took the liberty of reserving the two of us a seat at Donald Blake’s wedding,” Loki smirked slyly.

Jane whipped her head around to glare at him. “You did what?” she nearly shouted. “Why would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk stretched all the way across his face, and his eyes lit up with mischief. “Well, my dear,” he purred. “It would be quite rude to miss a family member’s wedding, and I’m certain that Donald Blake would love to see you again. He seemed quite eager when I informed him that you would be attending.”

Jane wanted to scream. Her hands curled into fists at her side, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from freaking out.

This wasn’t happening. She would wake up, and it would all be some sort of bad dream.

The doorbell rang, and she heard Darcy call out for her on the other side.

Shit.

She glanced at Loki, who was still leaned back against her couch, looking smug. “Hide,” Jane commanded the god of mischief. “In my bedroom. Go now.”

“Why Jane Foster, you should at least take me out to dinner first,” he goaded, raising a brow in mock surprise.

She felt her blood begin to boil, growing tired of his games. “Everyone thinks you’re dead right?” she hissed. “You want to keep it that way? In my bedroom, now!”

Before she could say another word he was gone.

Jane let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She opened the door and Darcy nearly knocked her over as she came inside. The younger girl carried several bottles of liquor and an iPod in her hands.

“You have so much explaining to do,” she grinned as she sat the liquor bottles down on Jane’s countertop and helped herself to the glass tumblers in the kitchen.

She looked around, taking in the changes Loki had made to the living room. “You rearranged stuff,” she noted. “It looks… interesting.” Darcy poured a glass for each of them, and handed one to Jane before throwing hers back in one smooth motion.

“Who’s the guy?” Darcy asked point blank.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Who’s the guy? I know you haven’t been sick.”

“Yes I have,” Jane argued.

“Nice try,” Darcy laughed as she pointed a finger at her. “But you did that thing you do when you lying, you know, where you flip your hair back. You did that when Erik asked you how you were feeling, so I know you haven’t really been sick. Now spill.”

Jane took a sip of her liquor and came up with the closest explanation to the truth that she could get.

“It’s not a guy,” she said carefully. “It’s um�� a project of sorts.”

Darcy brought a palm up to her face and sighed. “Dammit, Jane. That’s not healthy. I thought you were actually doing something normal and not nerdy for once.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Jane told her, relieved that she bought Jane’s half-truth.

“No need to be sorry,” Darcy grinned. “But you are going to be normal tonight, and you’re going to drink with me.”

“Darcy – “

“Nope. Not getting out of this one. Drink.”

Jane sighed and downed the rest of her liquor, grimacing as it burned her throat. Darcy cheered.

The next several hours followed in a similar fashion. Jane tried to take small sips of the liquor, attempting to keep her head clear, and failing. Darcy threw back at least six more glasses of liquor. The younger girl eventually passed out on the couch, her iPod still playing her Drinking Playlist.

Jane crept into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She threw off her shoes, and slid beneath the covers, wanting to sleep through the next day.

“Have fun?” a silky voice whispered into her ear.

Jane’s eyes shot open to find Loki propped up on one elbow in her bed. He was shirtless and wore only a loose pair of black pants. Her eyes traveled down the lean muscle of his chest to his stomach and the sharp V that dipped below the waist of his pants. Heat flared in her cheeks and her breath caught in her throat.

“W-What are you doing here?” she stammered, cursing her inability to hide her embarrassment.

Loki fixed her with a wicked grin that promised trouble. “It would seem that your friend has taken my quarters. I suppose I’ll just have to sleep here tonight.”

Jane panicked. “Absolutely not…” she scrambled back as far as she could go while still staying on the bed. “No way.”

“Come now, Jane,” Loki teased, his green eyes alight with trouble. “I’ll behave myself. It will be nothing. Unless… are you afraid to have a man in your bed, Jane Foster? Or are you merely afraid of what will happen if you invite me into your bed?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffed. “You can sleep here, but stay on your side of the bed.” Her eyes traveled the length of his torso once again. “And put a shirt on,” she added hastily.

Loki clicked his tongue in disapproval, but did as she asked. He slipped on his green tunic, and lay back down on the opposite side of the bed from her. He snapped his fingers and the lights went off.

They lay in silence for some time, only their soft breaths and the occasional shifting of their bodies filling the silence. He was on the opposite side of the bed, but he was close enough that she could feel his weight beside her, and the cool that emanated from his skin. She could smell him too, the scent of leather, metal, and books filling her nostrils.

She couldn’t sleep, not with his body so close to hers. Her mind ran in overdrive, trying to think of anything but his presence and his scent, and she failed miserably.

“Does Thor know?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Mmhm?”

“Does Thor know that you’re alive?”

For a moment Loki didn’t speak, and when he did his voice was barely above a whisper. “No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“When the time is right,” the god of mischief admitted. “I left him clues if he is only smart enough to interpret them. I cannot lose my tactical advantage by revealing that I am still alive, not yet anyways.”

“But tell me, Jane Foster,” he questioned as he rolled over to face her, propping himself up on one elbow. “How did Thor react to your rejection? He is not used to hearing the word ‘no’.”

“Oh…” she breathed. “He um… He didn’t take it well, at least not at first. He tried to talk me out of it, but I knew it wasn’t working out and it wasn’t what I wanted anymore.”

“And what do you want, Jane Foster?” Loki pressed, his eyes on her, even in the dark.

“I…” Jane started to respond, but came up empty. “I don’t know right now. I’m just… trying to cope with everything that’s happened since I hit Thor with my van that day in Puente Antiguo.”

“In a way it’s made me even more of an outcast than I was before,” Jane admitted. “I don’t fit in here. I’ve seen and experienced too much for my life to be relatable to other, normal humans, but I don’t fit in out there either. Odin himself called me goat, can you believe that?”

Loki laughed, the deep timbre of his voice putting her at ease. Hearing him laugh was nice, and for a moment she wished that she could hear it more often.

“Odin does not spare his barbs only for you, Jane Foster,” he chuckled. “I believe we are quite alike in that aspect.”

A warm smile spread across the astrophysicist’s face as she listened to him. The remains of the Aether flared to life inside of her, and she took in a sharp breath as it burned through her veins.

“Loki,” she began slowly. “How do you deal with the Tesseract? Does it leave you wanting still?”

“It does,” he admitted. “I fear that you and I will both struggle with it for the remainder of our lives. Magic helps keep me calm, and bring me back to the present.”

Jane nodded as the pull of the Aether set her on fire, the line between pleasure and pain beginning to blur.

Loki reached a hand out to her, palm up, and nodded. Without thinking, Jane placed her hand in his. The effects were immediate. The fire in her veins cooled, the pain dulling and shifting into calm pleasure. She shivered as his magic coursed through her, but it was pleasant, and she had her wits about her.

When he let go of her hand, she was herself, only the cool tingling in her blood to remind her of what had happened.

“Thank you,” she breathed, unable to say anything else. Loki grunted and turned so that he was lying on his back. He closed his eyes, and said nothing.

It took Jane a very long time to find sleep, and when she did, her dreams were filled with a dark prince, the tingle of ice in her veins, and a need for more.

[synecdocheofouch-blog]

On the ‘Noble Savage’ in particular and dilemma of whiteness in general

Organized society necessitates a certain amount of infantilization. To rely on others, and make it instinctive to rely on others for your basic needs, to make filling them yourself beyond imagining. That’s not entirely a bad thing, when it’s handled well in a fair just society (composed entirely of magical elves), but otherwise it’s kind of like child abuse as an ingrained institution. To justify this (and the huge inequalities that make it seem necessary to those in power) in a society that justifies itself on ideas of ‘fairness’ ‘equality’ and ‘merit’ those with disproportionate power touch themselves imagining an ideal of ‘self reliance’ and not needing anyone else (contrary to that civilized ideal of almost mechanical deference that gives them their disproportionate power) putting them among the (most) virtuous (being the ones who are needed, who must be deferred to, whose norms and interests determine popular understanding of ‘good’), and that it’s a real thing that's ever existed anywhere (even they must still act with consensus, or at least not against the interests of their own class. even hunter-gatherers venerated their prey and staple foods). So. The ‘Noble Savage’ bastardized ideation/appropriation of tribal (or even modern disenfranchised-enough-to-resort-to-self-help*) cultures.

And onto (white) people appropriating shit in general: the state of whiteness (in most of the world; maybe not KSA or PRC) is one of oppressing, whiteness is an act of oppression. The benefits (often in a zero sum system) are passive and come to you whether you want them or not, and you’re told you deserve them for reasons that have nothing to do with the amount of melanin you don’t have (almost) every time. But oppression hurts the oppressor as well as (of course always to a lesser extent than) the oppressed, and it necessitates certain ways of being; having servants is creepy, whipping slaves is hard, relying on others for everything is infantilizing as fuck, and living among a captive population that outnumbers you and could destroy your way of life by just stopping (not to mention active resistance) is fucking terrifying, traumatic, and limits the ways you can be in the world; noone had fun in sparta, white confederate families were always abusive, and apartheid south africa was probably just as creepy.

So. What is one to do when born into this? To actively swim against that current, to decline the benefits and advantages you’re unjustly offered pretty much from birth (and they’re never blatantly offered on merit of your race, so you have to decide whether to err towards sensitivity and fuck yourself more than you need to or specificity and still reap some of the rewards while feelings like you’re resisting in total solidarity?) insults others, functions implicitly as a call-out of everyone who just went with the flow. That pisses people off. That calls all their achievements all their joy all their daily satisfaction and maybe even their suffering (in their un-nuanced eyes) unjustified, unreal, cheating, made up (which it kind of is, but you still have to be exceptional to win at the olympics even if your pharmacist helps out, and a 10% edge at the roulette table still leaves you penniless more often than not). So obviously, in a society where we’re always told to go with the flow, that shit and all the attendant blowback isn’t an option, but for anyone with a conscience and basic self awareness just going with it’s not an option. What’s a self-aware but not self-critical milquetoast asshole to do?

This is where I compare cultural appropriation to libertarianism, and I’m pretty sure I owe one party or the other an apology but I can’t quite figure out which (I’m so sorry; white girl with dreadlocks, seattle yuppie. That comparison was mean spirited and I shouldn’t have. now stop making out.). A lot of (white) people whose awareness of the problem floats just below consciousness because they don’t quite have the integrity, emotional backing, or intelligence to resist instead cling to something else. for economic inequality, it’s libertarianism, a rejection of the system without actually pushing back against it, gaining all your strength through its most despicable mechanisms. For race, denying association with whiteness or white culture is a fun start, but since the view from nowhere isn’t a thing (and it would be fucking boring if it was) you have to claim SOME perspective, and what’s better than claiming you’re oppressed? you’re entitled to some sense of justification, after all; you are sorta-kinda not just going with the flow of whiteness. you're aware enough to cringe at those ‘white peepul aer uppressed mineorities!’ white nationalist asshats, so you can’t be one of them; your face would get tired! The obvious answer is: claim the identity of someone your whiteness oppressed (which you can only do because of that same whiteness, but hypothetical you isn’t self critical because that can be uncomfortable, so shush), because you can’t have benefitted been involved or even really be complicit if you’re from the streets (specifically a lovely cul-de-sac off maple drive in orange county), how could you possibly be the oppressor? it’s some bullshit psychopretzel absolution, but it seems to work for a lot of people, which is why they take it so hard. Besides; white culture is awful and boring and so pervasive as to be almost invisible. who wants to be invisible for reasons that aren’t creepy?

This isn’t me making excuses. I take joy in the discomfort of others, and hate myself fucking passionately, so I try to swim against that current at every opportunity, but it helps to understand why. I’m not sure I have a solution here. maybe the closed I can come is:

if you won your gold metal cheating doesn’t it nag at you? never knowing if you were really the best, or just ‘good enough’? it can’t all have been for the pretty rock.

Weirdly, even (white) people who HAVE legit connections to other cultural identities (regional poverty cultures, geekiness, disability, deafness, etc.) tend to either do this, or (so very often) be more dedicated to their whiteness, to avoiding the marginalization that goes with these other identities, to erase and make white these other parts of themselves. After all; being white is more fun than being a (white) disabled queer if comfort’s your priority.

*By ‘self help’ I don’t mean ‘boot straps!’, but ‘killing the pig who keeps raping members of your community yourself(ves)’, or ‘finding something to kill/cook when you’re hungry’.