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asian-fiction · 1 year ago

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Cultural sensitivity will help you understand dramas better

People get sensitive over the idea that one should try cultural sensitivity because often it means self-reflection. Humans processing difference, is definitely still a problem today. But here we go. Honestly, this type of behavior is why I stopped doing cultural notes so often. It's always rounds of people jumping in to defend the outsider and telling me to be nice to their cultural insensitivity and let them track mud into my house, and then telling me that me calling them out for tracking mud into my house is a terrible idea and I shouldn't do that. Friends don't let friends drive drunk. Friends also shouldn't let friends be culturally insensitive and beat up the person trying to extend learning either.

First of all, I've been trained in Cultural Anthropology--I have a degree in it. I also taught classes for a big media company in cultural media sensitivity. And 101 class in Anthropology says the first thing you need to do is pause judgement--which is what I said. Pause judgement.

I mean, if Cultural Anthropology didn't teach about how to get over yourself and culture shock, more Anthropologists would be tossed out of the communities they've been studying. Which is to say I know what I'm doing when I'm pushing against things like imperialism and ethnocentricism. I had the same challenges presented to me. I have no need to be nice about it, but I will be kind. And yes, most of the time this it is white women socialization to ask people to be nice (which isn't wrong, but different, but can be problematic in some contexts--which my white women friends also like to make fun of because they know it so well and are so self-aware, but they also learned how to use it for good, not evil), but understand the context and if it really is helpful to let people walk around with ideas that might harm them later down the road. Which is the greater harmony? That's the difference between kindness and niceness. It is more kind to try to challenge people to self-reflect on their prejudices, than let them walk around with them for the rest of their lives. I did the recently for my cousin's son, too. He got judgy about what other cultures eat, and I worked hard to walk him through it with another family member, and then he came to understand the how and why.

I get your discomfort is why you're asking an entire population to change--I mean Anthropology used to do this sort of thing too. This was their first reaction was to judge, but Anthropology, as a field grew up and realized that demanding that a country change without understanding why things are that way in the first place can do a TON of damage to the communities. This is pretty much the whole history of imperialism. And honestly, most people of color hate imperialism in the first place. (Someone is going to chime in, but, but don't you mean only Asians, no, I mean the majority of the world has been imperialized by Europe and we've been beat up over it. Look up your nearest politics. Name a country outside of Europe, and I'll honestly give you a run down--yes, even Thailand *cough British anyone? Granted a month, but British Museum says a lot….)

The same discomfort that straight people have over queer people demands that queer people act more like straight people. The same discomfort white people have around Black people demands that Black people act more like white people and not talk in their own, very understandable Black English dialects (why else subtitle PoC english speakers?). The same discomfort is the type where people demand that they don't have to see or engage with people who are disabled. It's the same human behavior. And usually, people from the out groups chime in and say, how could that be wrong? Of course they have to bend to us. Of course the wheelchair user has to cope with a 2 foot drop from the curb. Of course we should never have to change our rules on hiring practices for Black people. But the thing is when a group is oppressed for so long, at which point are you punching down? This is what I'm asking. And it's likely you have a difference that's also been picked on and people have also asked you to change it when you couldn't. There is a high likelihood this is a case of this in the majority of the posters. Think about it, and self-reflect for a while-- would you want to bend to such demands when the person hasn't even come to try to understand who you are? And this is how I was taught to stop and think about it in my classes on Anthropology. You, outsider, understand nothing. You are approaching a different time, a different people, but you need to make them human to you first before you can judge them and say they are wrong. It would be like a stranger coming up to you and punching you for wearing a cultural costume. Or that Atlanta shooter for shooting massage parlor people (who to be clear weren't sex workers, though there is nothing wrong with that) shooting Asians because he was angry over covid.

Also, when you're absolutely used to everyone bending to you and your ways, it can be a huge shock to be asked to bend to a totally different way.

To me, asking a country to change, is like trying to grow cacao beans in a desert and then demanding the people live off of that. It simply doesn't work because cacao is tropical. The desert is not. You don't know the conditions that they work under. There have been "rescue" groups that go to Africa (the continent, yes) where they try to force the locals to grow crops that simply don't work, and then the people come there all mighty and ignorant, and then tada~~ a storm blows in or the river floods just like they thought, and those "rescue" organizations have their tails between their legs and then have to start from scratch, learn from the people about what is and isn't working and why and how the system can work better.

So processing your culture shock--100% it takes practice. But it's never, ever OK, to use your discomfort to demand a country should change without understanding how and why the system works like that and how and why your own contexts might also be flawed.

100% I've gone through culture shock and stared at things where I go, this makes absolutely no sense to me. 100%… but what I've been taught through my anthropology classes, is to travel through my discomfort, reflect on if my systems at home are really that much better, and if it's really that dire of a change needed. Am I going to literally die if Japanese chocolate doesn't taste like Belgium chocolate like I'm used to (c'mon, US chocolate is worse than Japanese… most of the time--opinion here)? Or can I reflect on that difference and go, ah, cool, that's why. I may not agree, but I understand. I won't always agree with the difference, but in understanding why, my judgements become less divisive, more cool, and I understand that this system is working (or not quite working) for them.

I really do get that self-reflection makes people feel icky, but if you want to engage with people unlike you, you have to travel through this sort of discomfort. You get better at it as you experience more of it, like anything in life.

Also, this is probably why more Koreans wish I would quit making these comments, because there is always that one person that can't stand culture shock, and think their discomfort is more important than learning.

When I didn't bend to the people of the country, they treated me colder, and I think I would have missed out on a lot of good experiences if I had doubled down on my discomfort. What I want is a bit of that magic that I experienced for you. This is why I write these comments. It's not to get judged as a Korean person trying to extend an olive branch on everything you dislike about Korea. I am not everyone Korean. I am not a symbol. Let people travel through their discomfort--if it makes you feel uncomfortable seeing that they are being asked to travel through it, maybe you also could work on that. Because I promise you something better is on the other side.

Ah, I'd have missed out on the Geta obaasan if I was that uptight. And I swear thinking back onto that moment, makes me still tear up because I could really appreciate her humanity because I learned to let go. I'd trade the entire trip to Japan for that one moment, it was that special.

#Culture shock #cultural anthropology #ethnocentricism #privilege #imperialism #travel through your differences #travel through your discomfort #don't defend imperialists

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drwcn · 4 years ago

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Hello~ may i ask you something about Chinese culture? i'm a white person and i know that wearing traditional clothes from other cultures (for example as a street wear) simply because it's beautiful is disrespectful because it's also a form of cultural appropriation. A few months ago one of my friends and i were talking and exchanging facts about our cultures and lifestyles and i made a comment about how stunning some hanfu she showed me were and her first reaction was " oh you like it? what's your favorite color i can buy you that one! " and she was quite gleeful and seemed to be unaware of the ethical problem behind me wearing these clothes.. i kindly refused but it's been puzzling me for some time now and so I'd like to know a bit more about it so i can maybe educate myself on this matter and explain my position better next time such as why I can't wear these clothes. i'm really sorry to drop this important and not so simple ask on you but i actually don't know anyone else i could ask, also know that you don't need to answer this if you're uncomfortable or anything tho! it's such a long text omg again sorry for taking up so much of your time aldhsks i hope your day will be great 💝

Hi friend!

From where I stand if you want one, you should get one, especially if your friend is willing to help you pick a nice one. :)

Here’s the thing about culture appropriation - everyone has a different opinion on it, so even if I say something, another Chinese person can disagree and that’s valid.

I have a feeling, just a feeing, that if you go to China and buy a hanfu and put it on and walk around in it, most Chinese people aren’t gonna come up to you and say hey! this is cultural appropriation! In fact they might ask to take pictures with you.

That’s gonna be different if you did the same thing in New York, or Montreal, or Sydney, or London.

I’m not a sociologist or anthropologist or political scientist, but I am a young person who has a lot of incongruous feelings towards cultural appropriation. There are obvious answers. Any action whereby an item/accessory from a certain culture is used in a mocking or offensive way, or is used as a costume or a gimmick, is of course entirely inappropriate. This is the obvious answer. But, the question that is often asked, and the exactly thing you are getting, is: what if I’m not intending to be offensive? What if I just like it? What if I want to honour it and support it?

And the answer to that is complicated.

I am a CN diaspora, and from what I’m seen and experienced, the term “cultural appropriate” comes from a place of fear and feeling of threat. For countries like the US where the population is very diverse and there’s a pressure to assimilate and fit in, there used to be a time when immigrants felt they had to do everything in their power to be more integrated into the new community they landed in and that meant turning their backs on the culture that they’ve left behind.

The movement we see more and more nowadays is the reclaiming of some of that lost culture and the embracing of every aspect of one’s identity. However, the part of us that’s not quite “white enough”, that we’re just starting to build up the courage to be proud of, is still so tender, so raw, so vulnerable to any kind of assault from outside forces. The fear that we used to feel, the fear of being completely ourselves, it never truly goes away. It’s in the memory of being embarrassed to bring cultural food to lunch at school and wishing your mom could just pack you pizza. It’s the awkward moments when you can’t wear the shorts you want like the other girls in your class because your immigrant mother/father says it’s not appropriate. It’s loving a wuxia story and having no one to share it with because all your friends are non-cn and you’re 14 and everything is embarrassing. Imagine carrying that your entire life, that heavy mixture of shame and fear, and waking up one day and suddenly some pop artist is using aspects of your culture in their music video. Just for the aesthetics. And for that they’re getting millions of hits on youtube and making a fuckton of money.

The very thing that had caused you so much grief, so much mockery and stress, is being used and monetized. How could you be okay with it? Especially when commercialization often comes with sexualization and objectification as well. Now what if it’s not some famous person, what if it’s just a random citizen who wants to put on a kimono or a hanfu? Is that okay? Then it really depends on who you’re asking and what their relationship is with their cultural identity. Personally, I don’t really care because the community that I grew up in was very accepting of my culture. I never experienced as much cultural threat as other cn disasporas in other communities. So, like your friend who is CN (I’m assuming), I don’t feel as though my own identity is being infringed upon if you were to wear hanfu. In fact, I would take it as you being interested in my culture. But imagine someone who comes from a community where they weren’t allowed to freely express their unique cultural idiosyncracies, where they felt much more pressured to assimilate and fit in. I would think that you wearing hanfu would be absolutely seen as cultural appropriation in that case. Because the bottom line is, if they wore hanfu in their community, they would’ve probably been mocked for it, and so a person who is non-cn wearing hanfu just for fun, cheapens the struggles and the pain that they must’ve experienced ongoingly in their life. In simple words: imagine an unpopular kid at school had a mole on their face, a mole which earned them constant mockery from the popular kids. One day, however, one of the popular kids decided having a mole is “cool” and “sexy”, and drew one on their face and began sporting it around. Suddenly everyone is doing it. That kid with the mole is probably thinking having a mole is my thing, it’s part of who I am, I can’t change it, and you made my life hell because of it. Now, not only are you being a complete hypocrite, you’re also taking away a part of my identity. You’re removing the mole from it’s origin, from its context, and you’re drawing it on your face just because you like the look of it.

There’s a reason why Chinese people from China don’t care if you go to and buy all the hanfu you want. A) it’s generating business, but more importantly B) Chinese people in China are secure in their cultural identity. Being Chinese is their every day life, it’s their norm, their background, their default. By you wishing to try Chinese clothes, eating Chinese food, to them you’re simply going with the flow of their society. Diasporas on the other hand have a completely different relationship with our culture. We’ve had to fight to carve out a space that’s just for ourselves, and no diaspora’s experience is going to be the same as another. Therefore, our relationship with our culture, and with the term “cultural appropriation” is going to be very different.

#culture #coriesss #Anonymous #corie replies

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years ago

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Korekiyo Shinguuji x oblivious crush reader - short imagine

Request: could i request some headcanons or an imagine (whichever you prefer, i’m not picky lol) for Korekiyo with a crush on an incredibly oblivious female reader who never realizes he’s trying to flirt with her/trying to see if she likes him back? sorry if this is a weird request haha :,)

THIS ISN’T A WEIRD REQUEST, KIYO IS MY BABY DADDY. Also you requested female reader, but I wrote this with a female in mind and then realized I never used any feminine-assigned words or pronouns in here, so anyone can read this with themselves in mind! - Mod Kokichi

Warnings: PG-13 in terms of sexual/romantic scenarios and wording

“So, in essence, that is why the Egyptians worshipped Hathor, in all her grace and beauty. Isn’t that fascinating, y/n?” Korekiyo mused, watching you carefully as you waltzed through the rows of scrolls and ancient texts in his research lab.

“Yes, it’s a wonderful story! You really are lucky to have traveled to Eygpt! Heck, I’d never even left Japan until...well coming to wherever we are trapped now. Do you mind?” You pointed to a particularly intricate and elaborate book cover on a high up shelf.

“Not at all, my dear. Feel free to take any materials from my lab that you wish, as long as you promise I can visit your lab freely as well?” You let the words ‘my dear’ ghost over your ears with little to no reaction. Normally, if such a handsome man had playfully rolled those words off of his tongue in your direction, your neck hairs would have stood on end like a startled cat, but with Korekiyo it was different. You did harbor some...feelings for him, but he called everyone dear, right? He was always spewing mature and polite crap like that.

“Yeah, of course, though I don’t know why an anthropologist would ever waste his time in a plain old dance studio,” you chuckled, on your tip-toes struggling for the tome far above you. Korekiyo snuck up behind you, his chest warm against your back as he reached up and plucked the book down for you, placing it gently in your hands. You held the book to your own chest and turned to face him, finding yourself flush against the wooden bookshelf with the lanky anthropologist trapping you in place. “Thanks, Kiyo!” You felt blood rush to your cheeks as he tilted his head at you like a curious puppy hearing the word ‘treat!’ You tried to settle your stuttering heart. Surely he was just being nice, right?

“Think nothing of it…” his hands came up slowly on either side of your head, caging you in between his slender arms. “You know, y/n, Hathor is known mainly for her impressive duality. She balances femininity and softness with strength and vengeance. She is a protector, but also is the harbinger of dance, joy, love...sexuality.” His voice deepened into a rasp that was like melted chocolate flowing freely over your ears. His proximity was beginning to make you dizzy. “You remind me of Hathor in many ways. I see the way you take care of your friends here, the way you defend people, but also the with which you dance: the water-like movements of your passion.”

“...” you stood there, silent for a moment, and then another moment, and then another. He looked at your expectantly, his expression unreadable through his mask. “Well, thanks, Kiyo! I never thought you’d be into ballet! Though I guess dance is a part of culture as much as anything else!” You ducked under his arm with a chipper attitude, shuffling into the open space of his lab, and he sighed deeply, looking at the ground in self-pity. Were you really not interested in him? He couldn’t blame you. Many people saw him as a creep, a pariah. He was a teenager that wore a mask at all times for crying out loud. He endlessly spewed random facts and unsolicited folk tales. Of course people avoided him. But you...you visited him every day. Before his lab opened up, you met with him in the library and inquired about his day. You asked him to eat lunch with you, and walk you back to the dorms after dinner. You asked to hear his stories, and he found himself growing to like you more and more. He didn’t want to admit his feelings until he knew for sure that you felt the same, but it was looking like his old friend, rejection, might win the war once again.

“Kiyo, this lab is simply amazing! You’re so lucky... you got the biggest one yet! My studio looks like a janitor’s closet compared to this!” You spun around on the new floor on his lab, taking in the sights, book in hand. You’d been here every day since it opened, but dedicated yourself to one section a day, having only reached this floor earlier that evening. You thought knowledge like this deserved time and respect. Korekiyo agreed of course.

“Well when one’s area of study is the entire world, a proportionately large area is needed for said study,” he drawled, slinking along behind you as you sat in a chair on the main floor. He sat in the chair across from you in front of the wall of display cases holding ceremonial swords and masks as you fingered through the book in wonder.

“Woah…” your eyes widened innocently.

“Ahhh, the Kama Sutra? You’re holding one of the oldest copies known to man.” He leaned closer to you, splaying his fingers over the page you were on slowly and seductively. “I had no idea you were this kind of person, y/n…” there’s that confectionary tone again, sweet and dripping with carnal desire.

“N-no of course not I just...what kind of person do you mean? I mean...I think the book is just interesting, the cover and the design on the spine drew me in and-“

“We should never judge a book based on its cover, yes?” He let his honeyed-words sink in to your doe-like eyes, “I think human beings, much like this book, hide things within our pages not immediately evident on our covers.”

“I agree…” his words flew right over your head. “Like you! I didn’t know you had an interest in ballet at all!” He was starting to get frustrated, but he exhaled deeply, his inner voice telling him to have patience.

“Well, yes, I’ve seen many different forms of dance, and of course, ballet is delicate and breath-taking, but also very strenuous. Another thing we shouldn’t take at face value. I’ve seen the feet of many a poor dancer after a performance, and it really is a harsh contrast to the grace of the dance itself.”

“Yes, yes! You get it!” He smiled at your child-like wonder, with you seeing only the crinkle of his eyes above the mask. “I know so many men who don’t even think dance of any kind can be a sport. I think many so-called atheletes would give up on day one of ballet lessons.” You chuckled, and he let himself be enveloped in your laughter. He was complete entranced in your aura.

“So, you will allow me to view your ballet practice in private some time? I’ve seen you with your lab door open in passing, but I would be absolutely delighted if you’d honor me with a private session, so I could focus on you and only you.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his long raven hair falling around him like a bed canopy.

“Oh, Kiyo…” you began, your own heart hurting at the words you were about the speak, but it was for the best. You didn’t want to waste his time, not in a place like this. “I know you’re interested in ballet, but after those first two trials and this whole not-knowing-when-we-are-gonna-die thing, I don’t think it would be a worthy use of your time to pull yourself away from all of this,” you gestured to the gigantic room around you, “in order to-”

“Y/N-!” He spoke angrily and abruptly, startling you, before composing himself and beginning again, taking the book from your hand and instead intertwining his fingers in your own. “...I am not interested in ballet, so much as I am interested in you. Do you understand?” You felt your body tense up in complete shock. He wasn’t serious right…? He was teasing you, taking advantage of your naïveté and your obvious feelings for him. Maybe you weren’t hiding them as well as you’d thought.

“Me…?” You looked at his wrapped hand in yours, the bandages scratchy texture pulling you back down to earth.

“Yes, you.” He spoke bluntly, with nothing but compassion in his voice.

“But you’re...you’re so…” he braced himself, waiting for the insults and degrading comments that always followed when he let his walls down around normal people.

“...Odd? Long-winded? A freak of nature?” He sighed, pulling away.

“Beautiful…” you could hardly hear your own words pouring from your mouth, the pounding of your heart beat too loud in your ears. You grabbed his hand, and in a moment of fragile silence, began to unwrap the linen that covered every inch of his fingers, then down to his palms and wrists. His hands, now revealed to you fully for the first time, were just as beautiful as his voice and cat-like golden eyes. They were pale, ghostly, ethereal. They looked like they could break at the slightest touch, but withstand any hard labor that was thrown at them at the same time. “Korekiyo, you spend so much time telling others that humanity is beautiful, that you haven’t taken the time to see it in yourself, have you? At least...not for a long while.”

“Y/N, I-” you reached for the top of his mask with shaking fingers, and he jerked away roughly, terrified. When you reached out again, he didn’t move, steeling himself to be exposed to you. You deserved to see the truth. His eyelids fluttered closed, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Your fingertips lingered at the top of the mask before tugging it down gently. He kept his eyes shut tightly as you observed his full face.

The tip of his nose, which you could tell from the nose bridge was thin, came to an adorable point above his lips. A delicate, milky white chin led up on either side to a sharp jawline, high cheekbones and a flawless complexion. That powdery complexion was met in stark contrast to the blood-red pigment of a matte lipstick staining his lips.

“Y/N, I didn’t want you to see me...truly see me for the first time like thi-” you brought your lips closer to his until they were touching, and soon found yourself leaning into his chest, into his lap in his seated position in front of you. Your lips pressed into his, a bit more bold now, and your confidence spurred his own. You now straddled his hips, your legs on either side of his thighs, and he grabbed your hips, his hands shaking like a leaf in the wind. He pulled back, scanning your face for any regret, any shame or fear, and sensing none, crashed his lips onto yours again. He roughly sucked on your bottom lip, pulling a small moan from your mouth that excited him more than anything corporeal had in a long time. You never thought he’d be such a good kisser.

“Korekiyo…” you pulled back again, giving you both some much-needed air. “I never thought that...someone like you would even glance my way. You’re so intelligent, so regal and elegant and different from the norm and…” your words trailed off, and his thumb reached up to your lips, roughly wiping away the red lipstick that clung onto your face as a reminder that he had been there.

“Likewise, y/n,” he reclined back into the chair with you still on his lap, a little too cocky and cheeky for his own good, but to say the smirk on his messy red mouth wasn’t turning you on would be a lie.

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spidercakes · 4 years ago

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Starker high school AU featuring fem!Omega!Tony and alpha!Peter where Tony is well known for being a real bitch to anyone who tries to court him. Peter knows better than to think he hates getting gifts.

Warning for references to domestic violence (Howard).

Peter watches Tony from across the hall trying mostly unsuccessfully to shove his stuff into his locker. He’s already in a bad mood that much is clear but when Justin Hammer walks up looking far too confident his mood appears to take a nosedive for the worst. He watches Tony turn away from trying to stuff his leather jacket into his locker to Hammer, aggression clear in his features but that doesn’t seem to deter Hammer any. Bad sign, Tony hates that but Peter leaves him to it because its almost funny to watch Tony tear his suitors to shreds and he’s mean when he gets going. Or at least it would be funny if people didn’t keep disrespecting Tony’s very clear and well known boundaries and if Tony didn’t sometimes go a little far in his vicious takedowns.

But he doesn’t really like Justin Hammer that much and neither does Tony, he’s not shy about saying it. So when he holds out a box Peter knows he’s about to go ape on this guy. MJ walks up beside him and shakes her head, “one, stop fantasizing about being the only one to tame that beast. He’s a privileged brat, get better taste. Two, privileged brat or not he’s preferable to Hammer so I want to see this,” she says, looking satisfied as Tony glares Hammer down.

“He’s not a brat,” Peter tells her, “he just doesn’t like jewelry and no one seems to get the point.” Or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what that is anyway but its hard to tell because omegas almost never get stuff that isn’t jewelry. Peter doesn’t get why that is when he’s never actually seen an omega wear any of it. Mostly they range from irate like Tony about it to mildly uncomfortable and unsure what to do with expensive things they don’t want like Liz. Either way Peter thinks its about time someone actually paid attention to what their crushes like and give them something that’s not stupid expensive that they might actually like. But that’s probably the fact that he’s too poor to do much more than get small things talking even if Liz agrees.

“Turn the fuck around right now,” Tony tells Hammer. MJ raises an eyebrow at him but they both agree that unwanted attention should earn a person a smack so Tony is actually being really polite right now according to those standards.

“I got you-” Hammer starts but Tony cuts him off.

“You could have Nicolas II the last Czar of Russia in that box and I couldn’t give two shits. Turn around and walk away,” Tony says.

Peter doesn’t mean to let out a sharp peel of laughter but its funny, okay? Tony turns to glare him down but softens slightly when he notices that Peter isn’t laughing at him specifically. He still turns away like he’s been stuck with a hot poker because Christ, Tony isn’t supposed to see him watching. “He’s not staring anymore,” MJ tells him helpfully so he risks looking back over.

Tony is unlucky enough to have Hammer’s gift all but shoved into his grasp and oh, Tony hates that too. Peter isn’t entirely surprised when Tony makes an offended noise and walks to the nearest trash can to chuck the box into it. “For ten fucking seconds I want some time to myself to stick my jacket in my locker and you fucks can’t even give me that!” he snaps as he storms off, unconcerned with the fact that his jacket is on the ground and his locker is wide open.

“Well that was a fun way to start the day,” MJ says. “Think we’ll get more entertainment by lunch?” Given the way people seem to lust after Tony Peter wouldn’t really be surprised.

Rhodey is used to people asking him about Tony, it happens all the time and he’d never say anything. Or at least he’d never say anything to anyone Tony didn’t already approve of so he’s gotten a reputation for being as difficult and bullheaded as Tony. Neither of them have high standards so its pretty sad that people consistently fail them but it is what it is. So when a lanky looking alpha walks up to him at least having the sense to look nervous Rhodey isn’t surprised. He’s not the usual type, that goes to whoever is overconfident enough to think they’ll actually get something from Tony and this guy does not look the type if his blush is any indication.

“Um, hey. I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker, yeah, um. God, this is bad I’m so glad Tony doesn’t have to- here,” he says, handing Rhodey a small box. “Tell him its not jewelry.” He turns to walk away looking pretty harassed but Rhodey is curious.

“Why’d you give it to me?” he asks before Parker can run off anywhere.

He doesn’t look impressed about it but he does turn to give Rhodey his attention. “Tony doesn’t like being handed stuff, but he seems to take stuff from you and Pepper. You seemed less scary than Pepper but I think maybe I was wrong and both of you are terrifying.”

He doesn’t mean to laugh a little but its kind of funny and he gave an answer Rhodey likes. “If he doesn’t want it I’ll give it back to you at the end of the day,” he tells Peter.

Peter nods and walks away with a soft ‘thanks’ and Rhodey decides he likes that too but he won’t tell Tony about it unless he likes the gift. Not that he would have even got it if he didn’t like Peter anyway, he knows Tony well enough to know when he won’t like someone and he’d probably appreciate the help weeding them out. He doesn’t even know why people try at this point, not when Tony is so damn nasty about his day being disrupted. He doesn’t know about anyone else but if he watched a guy toss a twelve thousand dollar necklace in a pond because he didn’t like it he’d probably think that guy was an asshole and avoid him forever.

He knows better than to think Tony is the asshole here, but without context he’s go to wonder what the hell everyone else is thinking. Its not like they all know Tony is as rich as he is when he doesn’t hint at it, and they don’t know that he hates jewelry because his asshole of a father used to give his mother something sparkly after he beat her, and they definitely don’t have any boundaries, but he still wants to know what goes through their mind. He wants to know what it feels like to be so confident he thinks he can win over an omega who actively hates jewelry with jewelry. It must be some kind of adrenaline rush mixed with a Darwin Award and he wants to know.

The fact that its so common is so weird to him too, its like no one here has basic observation skills. Sometimes he pretends like he’s an anthropologist trying to figure out how the students in this school work because their behavior is so counterintuitive. Other times he texts Pepper so they can privately roast whoever Tony harshly turned down now.

By the time he gets to lunch Tony reports three more people- and there seem to be unlimited people at this school Rhodey swears- who have tried to give him gifts. None of them anything but jewelry and Rhodey can do with a little key change to his day so he pulls out that Peter Parker kid’s box. “Here,” he tells Tony, who frowns at it for a second before looking kind of hurt. It takes a second for Rhodey to catch on and when he does he wrinkles his nose, “look man, if I wanted to court you I would have and I don’t. I just can’t look at you the same way after that time I witnessed you triple yourself,” he says. “Its from some kid named Peter Parker and he says its not jewelry so I figured it was promising.”

“Do I even want to know what tripling oneself is?” Pepper asks, coming up behind Rhodey and sitting beside him.

“Shit, piss, and puke in sync,” Rhodey and Tony say together, both sounding dismayed and a little disgusted. The look on Pepper’s face tells him he should be ashamed that this is information he has.

“I can’t believe I associate with you two,” she mumbles, shaking her head at least until she spots the box sitting in front of Tony. “What’s that?” she asks.

Tony shrugs, “don’t know but he survived Rhodey so I assume he doesn’t suck.”

“As long as its not another Sunset,” Pepper says, shaking her head.

It earns a small sigh out of Tony and he picks up the box, probably looking for a subject change. He looks exhausted with it already so that’s how Rhodey knows his reaction is genuine. He pulls a scrap of paper from the box and snorts before he starts laughing, cracking up the the point of doubling over and Rhodey would like to know what’s on that paper.

Pepper has the same idea because she snatches it. “Nicholas II the last Czar of Russia?” she reads, clearly confused.

Tony is already distracted by something else in the box because he’s staring at it with a smile on his face. Rhodey beats Pepper to snatching it this time and he smiles when he reads the pin too. “That’s cute,” he says, handing it to Pepper.

“Ah! the element of surprise. I don’t get the Czar thing but Tony clearly did so that and this pin make for a clever combination,” she says. “So you know this one has brains. Just make sure he’s not the type who thinks being clever every once and awhile is a replacement for a personality.”

“Ew, don’t ruin the only good gift I’ve ever gotten,” Tony tells her, taking his pin and scrap of paper back. “The Czar thing was me insulting Hammer. God, can you guys believe he tried to give me anything? I’d rather stick my dick in a bee hive.”

Rhodey and Pepper exchange a look because there might be something here and Rhodey, for one, wants to figure out what it is.

Tony finds Peter after school and quickly learns that he’s jumpy when he all but tosses himself nearly into his locker because Tony spooked him by accident. “You’re interesting, I don’t think I’ve met you before,” he says. He’s certain he hasn’t actually and Peter’s cute, in a boyish way. And he already knows he’s not a dunce so there’s that too.

“I um, you have actually. We’ve had like three science classes and two math classes together but I um, usually sit at the back so.”

Yeah, bad excuse because that’s where he sits too but that’s sweet of him to try and give Tony a reason for not noticing his existence. “Okay, so maybe I can be a little self absorbed. Cute gift though, the element of surprise thing was kind of clever.”

It seems to take Peter a few seconds to catch on to his own joke and that’s... weird. “Oh my god, its like I’m the element of surprise! Yeah, okay, I didn’t even think of that I just thought it was kind of cute and sarcastic and you like science so...” he trails off, wincing.

Its adorable and also telling. So he did put thought into it, just not the way Tony thought and that’s actually better for him. “Think you can come up with another gift by tomorrow?” he asks in maybe a little too cocky a tone. And then he kind of thinks of the implications and winces, “I um, I don’t really want stuff I just want to know that you like, give a shit about who I am. And uh, yikes, that wasn’t an improvement. You can just forget this ever happened,” he says, for some reason feeling the need to finger gun his way out of this, passing Peter quickly as he scrambles the hell out of there.

Peter doesn’t really know if Tony likes vinyl but he definitely likes AD/DC so he leaves it in front of his locker and figures Tony will make up his mind. In the meantime he finds Liz so he can focus on something that isn’t losing his mind or passing out. “If you were a sandwich what would you be?” she asks as he walks up. Ned looks mad beside her and that’s weird because Ned never gets mad.

“I don’t know, a BLT I guess,” he says.

Liz throws her hands up, “the only correct answer is a grilled cheese, why do you guys like in anarchy?”

“Meatball sub!” Ned says, staking his claim but Peter frowns.

“Ned, a sub isn’t a sandwich yours doesn’t even qualify.”

Ned looks offended about this, “Peter, its meat in bread. That’s the exact same as a sandwich, just because the bread is shaped different doesn’t mean its not a sandwich.”

MJ chooses then to walk over so Peter pounces on it, “is a sub a sandwich, MJ?”

She squints at him like he’s stupid, “no. Why is this even a question.”

“Liz lives in denial that if we were sandwiches the best option is meatball sub,” Ned explains.

That gets him another ‘what the fuck’ look. “First of all I maintain that a sub is not a sandwich and obviously the only right answer is grilled cheese.”

Peter frowns, “why does grilled cheese count as a sandwich?”

“It has ‘sandwich’ in the name Peter- a grilled cheese sandwich,” Liz points out.

“What was his answer?” MJ asks.

“BLT,” Peter in Ned say in sync.

“Savage,” MJ accuses and frowns for a moment, leaning around him. “Oh, and he’s about to get his penance, we should probably check ourselves before we wreck ourselves,” she says, nodding at something behind Peter. He turns to find Tony walking towards him with the record he left at his locker and winces because he doesn’t want to like... get smacked with it or something equally unpleasant.

When he turns back to his friend group he finds that they’ve all abandoned him like cowards but in their defense he wishes he could abandon himself like a coward too. But unfortunately he’s him so he can’t. “Um, hey,” he says once Tony is in ear shot.

Tony grins, “AC/DC!” he says excitedly.

“Oh, yeah. You like them, and like... most eighties rock but a lot of sixties and seventies stuff too. Why are you looking at me like that, you wear a lot of band shirts,” Peter says. Like a lot of them, but enough of them are AC/DC shirts that Peter assumes he has a preference.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry, I’m just not used to people noticing really obvious stuff about me- I, you know what. Uh, thanks,” Tony says, scattering before Peter can say anything. From across the hall he has no less than six people staring at him in shock and Peter frowns.

“What? It wasn’t hard to find something he liked.” Which is true, but he’s at least somewhat benefitted by the fact that his competition seems to think trying the same thing over and over again despite atrocious results will work.

“I gave him like, twelve things!” the one guy says and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Ten bucks says it was all jewelry,” he mumbles to himself and walks away. He doesn’t get why people keep trying to throw shiny things at Tony when he obviously doesn’t like it.

When Tony finds the box he doesn’t expect much mostly because good things don’t seem to last where he’s concerned, so he’s pleasantly surprised by its contents. “That is the ugliest scarf I have ever seen,” some alpha a couple lockers down from him says, giving the scarf a distasteful look.

Tony doesn’t remember anything about her except that he can’t stand her. “Then you clearly don’t get the reference,” he snaps, putting the scarf in his locker before he goes to class.

Rhodey raises an eyebrow at him as he walks up but he says nothing as he sits down. “What, no rant about gifts today?”

He shakes his head, “no. People seem to be picking up on the fact that Peter is doing a better job than any of them. Today I got Four’s scarf.”

“Nice,” Rhodey says, grinning and giving a nod of approval. “Now that you have a not shit suitor I feel like I can finally say that I cannot believe you threw a twelve thousand dollar necklace in a pond because you didn’t like it. You could have pawned it,” he points out.

“And get money I don’t need? Let someone else find it and cash in and I thought you hated Killian anyway.” Rhodey had been the one to warn him off not that Tony needed a warning to stay away from Killian.

“Could have donated it to charity. And I don’t, which is why I laughed when you tossed it. But damn man, twelve grand. I can’t imagine having that much money to just throw aside for a courting gift.” He shakes his head but Tony is well aware there’s more to it than that. Its not like his being on the lower end of middle class is a secret, and Tony knows that Rhodey doesn’t really believe him when he says most omegas don’t actually want jewelry. Tony is pretty sure Rhodey thinks that’s a bias on his part and it is, but only because he has an active reason to dislike jewelry, not because omegas secretly do want jewelry.

But the pressure is there and Tony knows Rhodey has avoided dating because he can’t afford that kind of thing. He figures he’ll grow out of the pressure to perform courting in a certain way but that doesn’t make things suck less for him now.

“If Killian knew anything about me he would have donated it to charity himself. And even if I didn’t hate jewelry that thing was god awful, you can’t expect me to have liked that gaudy ass thing. It looked kind of like this hideous necklace my great grandmother snuck out of Italy when she fled fascism during World War Two.”

Rhodey snorts and cracks up, shaking his head. “Okay, I will give you that it was very ugly but it was also stupid expensive.”

“I didn’t know that before it was tossed and yes, I could tell that it cost money because I know what good jewelry looks like but also I wouldn’t have paid more than ten bucks for something that hideous. Someone designed it that way on purpose and they should be fired for their sins.” And that’s before he even gets into the mess that Killian is specifically. Rude, entitled, arrogant, a mean streak a mile wide, and a total inability to not go into full meltdown mode when he’s told ‘no.’ Tony learned his lesson when he was a freshman and Killian decided to hit on him with an uncomfortable amount of aggression and then got mad when Tony agreed to meet him elsewhere to get him the hell out of his face only to not show up.

Needless to say the ensuing meltdown led to somehow deciding to win Tony back, not that he ever had him to begin with, with jewelry. It’d been the first time he’d ever been given anything and the situation resembled the cycle he’s watched his parents go through a million times so closely that he kind of lost it a little. Admittedly it wasn’t the nicest thing in the world to throw the necklace in a pond and start shrieking but he also feels like, at least in context, the reaction wasn’t totally irrational. Just mostly.

“So Four’s scarf,” Rhodey says, transitioning away from Killian thankfully. “Not a bad choice, even if you prefer Ten.”

“What are you two on about?” Pepper asks, arriving to the conversation late.

“Doctor Who,” Tony says and fills her in on the rest. She also gives a nod of approval and its almost harder to impress her than Rhodey. Rhodey only wins out because he’s grown a protective streak for Tony and Pepper has it too, but she’s a lot less likely to go ham on someone at least publicly. Usually Rhodey is good at pretending not to be an impulsive moron but there’s something about Tonys presence that makes him lose a brain cell or two and do dumb shit like get suspended for punching Killian in the face. Twice.

Peter didn’t really think Tony would actually like any of the stuff he got, minus the record because he knows Tony likes the band, but it turns out he’s actually really good at this. Tony liked the other pin he got too mostly because ‘UM confusion’ on a pin is pretty much how he feels about this whole thing and he figured Tony felt similarly. And its cute and matches the other pin.

The last thing he expects is for Tony to put the pins on his jacket and wear the scarf he got him. What he expects less than that is the sheer amount of people asking him for advice on how to court Tony seems how his efforts are working. Which is why he finds himself on the top of a table in the cafeteria kind of annoyed that he even has to do this.

“Hey. Um. Hey!” he says a little louder, drawing more attention that time. “So um. You guys keep asking me for advice on how to court Tony but you guys like... really don’t need advice on that. You guys need advice on how to follow boundaries and not harass the shit out of people. And also really, really basic observation skills. Tony doesn’t like jewelry you idiots, how did you not realize that when he kept throwing stuff out? Are you guys stupid?” he asks, fully prepared to continue on this rant when he notices a teacher beelining their way over and he sighs. “Whatever, point is if you can’t figure out how to court the omega you’d like to maybe you should take that as a sign that you don’t like them, you like what they look like. Courting someone shouldn’t be so hard that no one but me I guess figured out that Tony hates jewelry. Didn’t think he’d have to write that one down for you guys considering he throws everything he gets out,” he says, throwing his arms up before he jumps down from the table only to nearly run into Tony.

He looks pleased with himself so at least there’s that. Peter mostly tries to avoid looking at his legs in that skirt because its rude even if he looks good. “Peter Parker I think I owe you a date,” he says, grinning.

Peter blinks, shocked. “Um. What?”

Tony smiles wider, “I said I owe you a date and seems how you’ve been doing all the work so far I’ll handle it.”

“That’d be great, thanks,” he says. “I’m not great at this.”

Behind Tony Rhodey snorts, “you were better at it than the whole school and don’t have a problem with Tony taking the lead to boot. He’s probably gunna marry you.”

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #highschool au #alternate universe #omega tony stark #alpha peter parker #abo au #abo starker #starker abo

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spilledinkstories · 4 years ago

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One Level Down

(writing prompt: you board an elevator of strangers and someone says “thank you all for coming”— I just kind of ran with this one, didn’t take it too seriously... :P )

“So I bet you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,” said the woman in the red overcoat.

I had been planning this specific trip to my university’s library for about two weeks now. I had placed a hold on a rare copy of a book you could only read in-house, and I had been notified of the date of my viewing. It was in a temperature-controlled basement room, and to be honest, I had been feeling pretty great about the whole experience. Like this made me a Real Scholar, or something.

It was a book on the archeological findings at a famous site in China. I was writing a paper on how a report provided by women versus men often offered different focal points of the ideas of the ancient society, or different perspectives on that society all together. For example, you might get a bigger focus in a report on home life rather than warfare. That was the department’s hope, anyway. This was of course a research question posed by the department, and I had been wondering what on earth could be so different in two reports filed on the finding of a hairbrush, but anyway. The temperature-controlled room sounded cool, and I was all about that academic aesthetic. I kind of felt like it was part of some Indiana Jones movie, doing research of relics and ancient peoples, being involved in the ongoing discourse around history, the relationship between a person digging up some ancient artifact in a remote land, and then tourists paying pocket change to stare at it for five seconds.

So, you can imagine my surprise when, crammed on an old elevator with several other people in various states of exhaustion, digging for gum in my overflowing backpack to eradicate the taste of crappy cafeteria coffee on my breath, the woman spoke.

No one said anything for a couple seconds.

“Really, no one is curious?” She pressed.

“We got your memo, ma’am,” said one of the young men in a baggy sweatshirt.

“Didn’t think to question it,” said another.

“Headquarters told me yesterday, I flew out immediately,” said a girl in a voice simply dripping with a thirst to prove herself. It’s worth mentioning that we were six Americans standing in an elevator in London, England.

“Good,” said the woman in the red coat.

“Why a library,” whined the first boy. “I thought joining up meant a life of excitement, not…books.”

I had to hide my grin, not wanting to be caught. I don’t know if they knew I didn’t know what was happening, but I’ll tell you: I didn’t. I was intrigued though, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to pretend I was one of them for a little while.

“Well, I assume you all brought your paperwork with you, so we won’t waste any time getting started. I’ve booked the main room down here for one hour, so let’s be sharp, got it?” The woman in red spoke with an authority that was positively presidential. We fell in line like soldiers as the elevator doors creaked open, and she marched down a carpeted hall to what looked like a conference room.

I was beginning to question my new plan, realizing I’d miss my viewing of the book if I stayed too long with these strangers, when someone spoke in my ear. “I haven’t seen you before, but it’s nice to have another girl on the team. Wanna sit next to me?”

“Okay,” I whispered back.

“I’m Anna,” she said, smiling.

“Ivy,” I whispered back.

“Sit,” said the woman in the red coat, as we entered the conference room. She stood at the front and fired up her laptop, and had it projecting onto the screen in a couple of seconds. Images of old manuscripts and letters filled the screen, all too faint to read properly.

“So, I want you to go around the room really quickly, tell me your names, and your departments,” she commanded, turning quickly to the young man sitting to her left.

“Brandon, fact checking,” he said.

“Adam, restoration,” said the one who had whined that it was a library job.

“Jake, archeology.” This one shocked me, since he was dressed like a stoner that thought pop music would be the death of culture but was secretly in love with Taylor Swift. Maybe they were all disguised look like students, to blend on campus or something…

I gulped. I was sweating now, the skin behind my knees prickling inside my tights. Clearly this was some official thing – the power suit the boss lady had been hiding under her red coat was proof of that enough. The skater skirt I had on was okay, and my baggy green knit sweater hid the Captain America t-shirt underneath, and my combat boots hid my Dr. Who socks…but I still felt massively out of place. The space buns hairstyle really was the cherry on top. The epitome of e-girl wannabe, nerdy art student, who’d invited herself to this meeting. I gulped again. “Ivy, sociology,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake.

“Anna, state department,” the other girl said directly after I’d spoken. She looked polished too, like an intern at a high end tech company or something. Wait. Did she say state department?

“Great, and I’m Dr. Grayson, here on behalf of, well, a few people. Important people. Okay. Let’s get started. The short version is that the manuscripts you see on this screen are actually fakes, and we have to prove it. The long version is that they were pulled from a recent dig at a site said to house artifacts from the Byzantine empire, and they are to be displayed at the British Museum next month. It’s a political scheme. In essence, the scientists pushing these documents want to present them to the public as proof that an archaic and brutal form of biochemical warfare was commonly used before, in order to try to naturalize it into the minds of civilians, in hopes that if it’s used later they won’t deem it a warcrime that came out of nowhere.” With that, Dr. Grayson began handing out papers around the table, giving us a moment to digest.

Um.

What the hell had I walked into? I needed to go. I had to get out of there. But how was I supposed to leave without them knowing I didn’t belong? On the other hand, how was I supposed to sit here and listen to the rest of this and then try to walk away, having heard all their plans? Either way I felt like I was done for. I could feel the sweat prickling my armpits and the backs of my knees, and my toes felt slick inside my shoes. My stomach felt acidic, and I could feel it churning and roiling. I was sure Jake and Anna on either side of me could hear my heart palpitating and my breath coming in short, uneven rasps.

“Your handouts outline the task ahead of us. Of course the lawyers are already trying to handle the scientists putting this research forward as legitimate, so we’re not really going to focus on the publicity angle ourselves. Our focus is to prove that this document is a fake. We’re going to analyze it, and we’ll have to dig up some research on warfare of the time, but we’ll also be dispatching our own team to the dig site. We want to see what other artifacts or things they supposedly dug up there. Anything we can do to discredit this.”

“Right, so Brandon and I can team up, if you want,” Adam said.

“I’d hoped so. You two can work on trying to disprove the authenticity of these artifacts. They’re here actually, in the other room. Being cared for. The staff here put them in the maps room.”

Holy crap…what had I walked into. I had known choosing to go to university in London would be exiting - I’d always loved British culture, but I thought I’d be reading Shakespeare and arguing essays from Ophelia’s perspective…stuff like that. Saying that Lady Macbeth could be construed as a hero, given women’s issues of the times. Not…this.

“So, that leaves Jake, Anna, and Ivy,” Dr. Grayson was saying, “perfect. We’ll get on the jet, and we should be at the dig in about three hours. You’ll be fitted with the proper tools, of course.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Why had I followed them off that elevator?

An hour later I was seated between Jake and Anna on a very small airplane, taking off from Heathrow.

“So, state department, huh? Couldn’t stand to let actual scientists get some work done without a babysitter?” Jake tossed this scornfully at Anna, ignoring me who was awkwardly slumped in my seat and wishing I didn’t exist.

“Unsupervised scientists are exactly what created this mess, dumbo.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you called me that. Dumbo. Ouch. How am I going to be able to focus on my work, with a wound so deep?”

“Ugh,” Anna rolled her eyes, and turned to look out her window. And by god, I wish she hadn’t, because Jake turned to me instead.

“Cute hair, by the way. You blended in really well. Sociology, you said? What’s your area?” I gulped, my throat feeling like it was made of carpet. I was an introvert to begin with, so honest conversation with strangers posed enough of a challenge. But this was another beast entirely.

“Im interested in women’s suffrage,” I squeaked.

“Of course you are. No, I didn’t mean your disguise,” he said with a laugh. He must have mistaken my anxiety for anger, because he followed with “I mean, we’re all into women’s rights. Don’t get me wrong. I just meant…like…what’s your speciality, like, why’d you get put on this specific case?”

I wracked my brains so hard I wondered if it was possible to inflict a concussion that way.

“I was in the middle of conducting research on how different teams of anthropologists or archeologists can influence the public image of ancient societies, based on publication and subsequent publicity.”

“Oh, so you’re from the office of public affairs, basically,” he said in a bored voice.

“Have you ever been to a dig before?” Anna asked, sounding politely interested. I simply shook my head.

“Okay, no worries, Jake and I can handle the grunt work, and you can focus on your write-up. I’m sure you’ve got a tight deadline for this.” I smiled appreciatively, blown away that my answer had satisfied them and terrified of making things worse.

“Wait, I thought Grayson said we weren’t covering the publicity, that they had lawyers on it,” Jake said.

“It’s more academics,” I said vaguely, and they nodded as though this meant something significant.

Thank the lord we spent the rest of the flight in relative silence, reading through the documents Grayson had handed out. They really just outlined procedures for the dig site, and our capacity there, but Anna had assured me I could just linger to a side with a laptop if I wanted.

We touched down in Genoa around three in the afternoon.

At least if it was my last day as a free citizen on this earth, I could say I’d gone to Italy with a frankly quite attractive scientist boy. Not a bad last day, as these things go. With mountains on one side and the sea on the other, it was absolutely breathtaking. If I hadn’t been in the middle of an hours-long panic attack, I think it would have been the best day of my life.

Off the plane, we got into an SUV right there on the tarmac, and as I watched the scenery slip from urban to rural I wondered what had inspired these fake scientists or whatever to even want to do this. What kind of biochemical warfare were they suggesting? Dr. Grayson hadn’t said, and none of the paperwork had said it either. I suppose the others back in London would decode it from the manuscripts, if that’s what they were doing, but…

“So you’re here to report on us, Anna tells me. I was wondering who you were,” Grayson spoke in a quiet voice from the front seat. I said nothing, feeling like my throat was going to swell shut in panic. Was I busted? Would they tie rocks to my feet and toss me out to sea?

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to speak up until we were on our way. The bureaucrats never want the researchers involved, but then they get mad when the researchers say something they don’t like, so what’s the point? You may as well be here and get the proper intel.” She swivelled in the front seat to face me. “Don’t make me regret it, got it?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said in what I hoped was a winning voice. I saw a smirk tugging at the corners of Jake’s mouth, and tried to soothe the raging panic in my head and stomach.

The dig site was honestly kind of disappointing. I had built it up in my head to look like a whole government facility built on a crater in the ground, with tents, scaffolding, desks, the works. But nope. This was just a crater in the ground, with a couple of ropes spanning the width of it here and there, I guess to mark the split between sections or something. That, and a couple of stools and ladders, and it was your run-of-the-mill pit.

“You’ll want this. Don’t forget the back of the neck,” Jake said, handing me a tube of sunscreen.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, smirking as I took a bit and passed it on to Anna, who began vigorously rubbing some into her face and arms.

“Tools are in the trunk,” Grayson said, “I’ll be in the car as I have to update the Upstairs. Private phone call, you get it. Get to work.” Anna sprung into action. It was like she was racing Jake to get the tools and pick a spot first, wanting to beat him at every turn.

“You’re not even a real archeologist,” he grumbled, leaving my side to gather his equipment.

“Tell that to the state department,” she called, and he looked pissed that she’d heard.

“Which state, even?” He asked.

“Virginia.”

“CIA then?”

“Not necessarily.”

I said nothing, letting them bicker. I went to the trunk and peered in, seeing a stack of coveralls. I picked on up to inspect it, thinking it might be nice to cover up my outfit that was feeling less and less professional by the second.

“Good thinking,” Anna said, grabbing a pair herself. All suited up, she pulled a laptop out of a bag and passed it to me.

“Here ya go, I guess you didn’t get a chance to bring yours.”

“Is there internet here?” I asked.

“Yep, car acts as a router. High tech,” she said. I took the computer from her silently.

The three of us trudged back to the pit, where the other two lost no time hopping in and surveying their turf.

“So,” I said awkwardly, “we’re supposed to see if we can find any other manuscripts? Or anything suggesting biochemical warfare?”

“Partly, yeah. I’m also going to be inspecting the dig site itself to try to disprove that they found any paper substances. Particles left behind, impressions in the ground, you know.” Jake was bobbing his head, hands on his hip, looking like my dad about to mow the lawn on Sunday morning.

“You can do that?” I asked. He laughed, seeming to think I was being facetious. I wasn’t. I was just clueless, but I guess I’m glad he didn’t see it.

“I’ll just watch you both work for a while, and then I’ll start my write-up. I need to observe to figure out my angle.” I tried to muster as much authority in my voice as possible, as though I’d done this kind of thing before.

“Yeah, okay,” Anna said absently. A couple of minutes later and some awkward waiting with my hands in my pockets, laptop waiting on a stool, the others had picked work spots and gotten to it.

The silence was broken only by the sound of shifting dirt, and the occasional ruffle or grunt from one of them. Subtle glances back to the car suggested that Grayson may not be joining us in the pit at all, which was a relief. I watched as Jake poked and prodded at the ground, a look of deep concentration on his face, compared to Anna’s digging with all the fervour of a child told to find treasure in a sandbox.

There was nothing for it. I went over to the stool, opened the laptop, and started typing. I wrote of the bureaucratic nature of science, as Grayson had put it in the car, and how publication could really be a business. How people had to fight to get their ideas heard. How certain things were deemed more or less important to the government for example, versus the public sphere.

Basically, I sat in coveralls, on a stool in a pit in Genoa, Italy, and wrote my term paper.

I tried to spin it so that the finding of a hairbrush, or a kitchen tool, would be treated very differently than the finding of a weapon, and whether or not it was a man or woman who discovered it really made no difference. Both men and women work in bureaucratic systems and in academics in today’s world, and both have access to controlling information. I wrote something like that, hoping if Grayson checked what I’d been working on, she’d see it as a government report on academia, since that was my only thread of legitimacy to work with where these strangers were concerned. After I finished I quickly emailed it to myself, hoping no-one would notice, and then I could just email my professor saying I couldn’t see the book I was supposed to but I’d written a paper for the deadline anyway.

By the time I’d finished my write up it was nearing six o’clock. Jake pulled up a stool next to me, and braced his forearms on his knees.

“I can’t see any evidence of a real dig here. I don’t get it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I said slowly, closing the laptop, having quadruple checked that I’d sent the work to my school email and saved it.

“I mean there wasn’t a dig here. This isn’t a real archeological site.”

“So where did the fake manuscripts come from then?” I asked, wondering how on earth he could tell.

“I don’t know. I also don’t know why Grayson wouldn’t have known that before we got out here.”

“Well, someone had to be the first to check,” I offered, blushing a little for fear this was a stupid comment. He looked at me, real suspicion entering his eyes for the first time.

“There are scientists in Italy. We didn’t need to fly out here to check it. Something’s up.” In the setting sun, the green flecks in his brown eyes caught the light, and I realized he was younger than I had originally thought. He couldn’t have been out of school that long.

“Maybe Grayson is in on it?” But before Jake could reply to this, Anna joined us in our little corner of the pit.

“Anyone have any water?” Jake passed her some, and she gulped it down before saying, “I’ve been digging for almost three hours and haven’t found a single thing.”

I felt the familiar surges of panic making their way through my veins, making my ears ring and my head feel stuffy, and making the other two feel oddly distant.

“Maybe the site has already been cleared out?” I offered, my voice squeaky. Anna passed me the water bottle, mistaking my rasp for thirst.

“How’s it going down here?” The three of us froze, staring at each other. Grayson had gotten out of the car, and hopped into the pit, the heels of her shoes sinking an inch or two in the loose dirt. She shuffled over to us, maintaining her look of authority.

“Yeah, good,” Jake said, “I think I’ve seen all I need to for a first look.”

“You’re only getting one look,” she drawled.

“I haven’t found any other artifacts,” Anna said, “I think whoever was here before cleared everything out.”

“And where would they have put it?” Grayson demanded. Anna fell silent, taken aback.

“I don’t think anyone really was here before. I think this is a fabricated dig site.” While I didn’t know Jake very well, there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice. Grayson’s eyes narrowed a little, and she took a couple steps closer to where Jake was seated beside me, so she could tower over him.

“And what are you suggesting, exactly, Jake?”

“When I’m working I go by Dr. Miller. I’m suggesting that they gave you a fake location to send you on a goose chase, or that perhaps those manuscripts don’t exist at all.”

“Then what would you suggest is in the maps room back in London?” She said dangerously.

“I couldn’t tell you, seeing as I never saw them in person.” A grin flickered on Grayson’s face. I caught Anna’s eye from where she was standing behind Grayson, and read the worry as a pretty bad sign.

“Who would want to send me on a wild goose chase?”

“You’re the government official, not me. Who exactly do you work for, Dr. Grayson? And what are you a doctor of, exactly?”

“Political science, it’s just a title. I work for the secretary of defence.” At this, Jake laughed in her face.

“The U.S. government is worried about some old scroll they dug up in the mountains that suggests some ancient civilization knew how to…what? Poison each other? This is a joke, right?” Jake stood up and strolled away from the group, shaking his head.

“Not poison,” she said quietly.

“Then what?” I asked, immediately realizing I’d broken my vow to myself to keep my stupid gob shut.

“Classified,” she said with an arched brow.

“So again, why fake the site?” Anna asked.

“The scientists who produced the documents could have said it was here to buy time until the exhibition,” I offered, since Grayson was still staring at me. She flicked an eyebrow up again, and finally broke her stare to turn her eyes on Jake.

“Are any of you wearing microphones?” She asked.

“No,” we all said unanimously. She exhaled wearily, rubbing a hand over her tired eyes.

“Alright. What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this pit. The scrolls outline a way of spreading a virus that was apparently employed all the way back then. Given the recent pandemic all over the world, that’s not the kind of thing the public needs to be seeing. But these scientists are convinced it needs to go public. You can see how that would strike fear into the hearts of everyone. They’d all be convinced they were the recent victims of a large-scale government attack.”

“Who are these scientists? Archeologists, whoever?” Anna said, disgust colouring her words.

“We’re wasting time here, we can talk about this on the jet back to London. I want to see those manuscripts,” Jake said, and he strode to the edge of the pit and hauled himself out. I was shocked that Grayson didn’t counter his authority, and instead followed him.

I slept most of the plane ride back to London. I’d listened to them bicker and swap theories while we ate our way through a couple of pizzas that were waiting for us on the tarmac, but they’d mostly talked in circles. The more they talked, the less Grayson really seemed to know, and Jake kept saying he needed to see these artifacts.

With the time change back, it was about nine when we landed, and ten pm when we reached the university. I felt better, having slept a bit, but my head was still pounding with exhaustion from the events of the day.

We loaded ourselves back into the same elevator in the university library, and headed one level down. Instead of going to the conference room we headed down another hallway, where the map room was tucked away.

“They said they were still here,” Grayson said, leading us. She opened the door, and I would have been impressed by the collection of old maps had I not flown to the northern coast of Italy and back that afternoon.

“Where are they?” Jake asked harshly.

“I don’t know,” Grayson admitted.

“Dr. Grayson, have you worked with either Brandon or Adam previously?” Anna asked.

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t worked with any of you before.”

“Do you know who they work for?” Anna pressed.

“No.”

“They just said fact checking and restoration. That could be government, a university,” Anna was trailing off.

“A museum, even,” Jake offered.

“I mean now that I think of it, you didn’t check any of our credentials,” Anna said, glaring at Grayson.

“Hang on a minute, I knew five people were supposed to be joining me in the map room. I don’t appreciate your suggestion that I’m incompetent. They’re probably out grabbing coffee.”

“But how do we know they weren’t just two random guys on the elevator?” Anna said, wringing her hands. I was beginning to think she was scared that her own butt was on the line here, but mine was too so…relatable.

“Oh, you’re back, perfect,” said a voice as the door opened, and Brandon and Adam walked in. The room was cramped with all of us standing in there.

“From what we can tell, they’re real,” Adam said.

“They can’t be, the dig site seemed fake,” Jake said. “Let me see it.”

“I mean, obviously more rigorous testing has to be done than what we can do in a day, but it seems pretty authentic to me,” Brandon was saying as he led Jake over to where they’d been examining a very old, gross looking scroll of paper.

“Who do you two work for?” Grayson asked them, and they looked at her in shock.

“I work for the British Museum, in the restoration department,” Adam said a little uncertainly.

“I work for the university here, but I was hired as a consultant by the government,” Brandon said a little pompously.

“And who do you work for?” Grayson said, turning on me.

My throat burned. My eyes stung. I felt my head swimming, my palms prickling and my knees shaking. My limbs felt weirdly weightless. They were all staring at me now, and I knew there was nothing for it.

“It’s like Anna said…I was just a stranger on the elevator. I followed you guys to the conference room earlier half as a joke, and then I got too scared to leave cause I thought I’d get in trouble,” it was all just tumbling out of me, and I didn’t care that tears were tracking down my face. “I should never have gotten on the plane, I should have never even followed you down the hall off of the elevator. I was on my way to look at an old book for a sociology paper I’m supposed to submit this weekend.”

To my absolute shock, Jake started to laugh. Not just a chuckle, he really laughed. Despite myself, I laughed a little too.

“I really was supposed to write a paper on different perspectives on the publications in the archeology and anthropology world, but this took it to a whole new level. I did a write up at the dig site and emailed it to myself to submit for class, but I can delete it if you want.” I looked at Grayson, fear spiking in my gut again.

“I’ll read it first, but you clearly know nothing so I’m sure it’s harmless,” she said with an eye roll. why had I laughed? Surely ‘apologetic’ and terrified was what I should be going for, not acting like I was gloating.

“Are you gonna lock me up?” I squeaked, fresh hot tears running into my mouth and off my chin.

“What for? So you came to Italy, big deal. If Jake is right and the site is fake, you basically flew with us to see a random hole in the ground. We’ll draft up a non-disclosure agreement, track your phone for a few days, keep an eye on you…to be honest, with something like this, it doesn’t really matter that one little girl knows.” I was a bit offended at being called a little girl, but I took her point. Even if I posted about today all over my social medias, I would be discounted pretty quickly by the public, especially since I had no photos to back it up. Kinda like that history channel guy convinced aliens were responsible for historical landmarks.

“So…” I started, unsure what I was attempting to say.

Adam pulled a wad of cafeteria napkins out of his pocket. “It’s okay, no one thinks you meant anything by it. You got swept up in it. No big deal.”

“It still doesn’t answer my question though,” Jake insisted. “Where did these come from? If they are real, why do they surface now? Who found them? And if they’re fake, still who?”

“All I know is my boss gave me the assignment,” Grayson shrugged.

“What does that mean? You’re blaming the American government for this?” Anna said acidly.

I sat down in a chair tucked in the corner, glad I didn’t have to pretend I knew what was going on, or that I had any roll in this.

“Can I go?” I asked, suddenly desperate for silence and solitude. I’d had enough.

“Yeah. We know where to find you,” Grayson said, exhaustion dripping from her own voice.

I left the room. I walked back down the hallway, boarded the elevator and left the university library. I walked back to my dorm, in a complete daze, unable to process the day I’d just experienced. I’d snuck into some top secret government meeting and flown to Italy to attempt to disprove evidence of an ancient virus spreading technique.

At least I’d still managed to write my paper, and I’d tried pizza in Italy, so that was pretty cool.

A week later, with an A on my paper that I’d turned in, headlines broke that people suspected foul play with the pandemic we’d just survived the year prior. People began to suspect that it was brought on by some government or other, but then other outlets said that was just paranoia. Others still said it was old news, and what were we supposed to do about it anyway.

I bought a ticket to the British Museum, and saw the manuscript on display for everyone to see. A little blurb was posted beside it, saying how its authenticity was severely questioned, but it was no doubt real.

No one seemed to care. I never did find out where those manuscripts really came from.

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protag-rantaro · 4 years ago

Text

"Confusion and Familiarity" Prologue [PART 3]

Written by the fabulous Mod Tai!

Where should I go next? Hmmm...

He looked around and noticed a big door at the end of the hall. Of course, he immediately walked towards the big door, but the moment he reached out- something held him back.

What is this? A deja vu?

Strange, I feel like I have been here before, but that's impossible, right?

He overcame his own thoughts and tried opening the door, but it was locked.

Seems like I was wrong after all or…?

He closed his eyes and stopped walking.

That's really not the time now. I should just move on. Next station are the stairs leading to the basement.

Rantaro headed down the stairs with caution and in the basement he found… a game room? and a new person!

"Sheesh, what a strange place. Didn't expected a game room when we're trapped in here- hmm, but it seems pretty cool. Compared to prison anyway..." he turned around with a sigh.

"Hm, I'm Ryoma Hoshi, the men called the Ultimate Tennis pro… no longer exists. I'm nothing more than an empty shell" he stared Rantaro directly into the eyes and he backed up a little.

"Hey, Ryoma? Are you alright? Is there something you want to talk about?" Rantaro asked and reached out his hand, but Ryoma turned around uninterested.

"No, it's nothing. It's not like me to talk so much… anyway, I'm warning you, little one- it's dangerous to just walk up to a killer like me" and with that he left and Rantaro was completely confused.

I guess, I should try to find out more about him when I get the chance. He seems very interesting like most I already met.

Now, let's see if I can remember the way to the library, because earlier nobody seemed to be in there, but maybe now someone is…?

Rantaro entered the library and looked around curiously. The library was really packed up with a lot of books and that made Rantaro a little happy.

He enjoys reading a lot and since they probably won't be able to escape that easily he will have enough time to read a few books in here. While looking around he noticed a girl with long brown hair sitting on the ground.

"Hey, are you alright?" no answer.

"I'm Rantaro Amami and you?" the girl turned around and quietly watched him, before standing up from the ground.

"Maki Harukawa, Ultimate Child Caregiver..." Rantaro waited for her to continue, but nothing came.

Huh? That's all?

Maki seemed to have waited as well since she took a long pause before continuing.

"... surprised? I don't look like someone who would like kids, right? Because I don't. They just come on their own. I'm not good at taking care of them and I'm not friendly either..." she played with her ponytail a little before looking back at Rantaro.

"But Kids are intuitive! If they like you so much to come on their own... they can probably tell that you're actually a good person, Maki!" Rantaro encouraged her and Maki blushed lightly at that comment.

"It's just…! I grew up in an orphanage and got saddled with helping out a lot, that's all!" she tried explaining and Rantaro kept on smiling, while listening.

"Don't worry! I'm sure we will get out of here pretty fast!" a blonde girl walked around the corner together with Shuichi, who Rantaro parted ways with earlier.

"What makes you think that a group capable of this would just simply let us walk out of here?" Maki asked, not believing any word the blonde girl said.

"If they won't end this then we will! I know we can do it if we work together!" she placed a hand on her chest and smiled brightly.

Wow, she is hella optimistic and-

His thoughts got interrupted by the brown haired child caregiver.

"You're a naive fool if you think you can end all of this so easily" Maki pointed out and Rantaro nodded silently. She was indeed right about that.

Maki turned around to get the book she had read earlier and walked to another corner of the library.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Kaede Akamatsu, the Ultimate Pianist!" she smiled gently and they shook hands.

"Rantaro Amami and I know being optimistic can be really helpful, but do you really feel like this is going to end so easily? I mean, I asked the others and all of them can only remember their names and talents and I… I can only remember my name, not even my talent. It's like we all have amnesia or something like that" Rantaro explained and shared his observations with them, but Shuichi cut him off.

"... but that's not normal if everyone here has amnesia-" The detective was getting quieter and quieter by the second and Rantaro put his hands to his hips.

"Maybe, we're all in a pretty abnormal situation then or something simple like brainwashing or group hypnosis...well, it doesn't matter now, does it?" Kaede took a step back in surprise and stared at him, waiting for him to continue talking.

"Well, I just hope we can get along since we won't go anywhere any time soon... sounds suspicious, but I promise I'm not a bad guy or anything" Rantaro ended his sentence, shrugged and left Shuichi and Kaede behind in the library. He still has to meet a lot of other people.

He stopped at a small gate and it seems like someone was already waiting there for him. They stood up from the bench they were sitting on and walked up to him.

"You wonder "who is this?" Yes, I will make that clear first. My name is Korekiyo Shinguji... I am called the Ultimate Anthropologist. However, please call me Kiyo and for anthropology, would you like a simple explanation?" Kiyo asked politely and Rantaro nodded clearly interested in what Kiyo has to share.

"Anthropology studies costumes, legends, folk tales, songs and much more. For example… certain aspects of birthdays or new year celebrations. It's a study that examines the thought behind culture, faith and costumes… and I believe that human beings are truly beautiful. Every aspect of humanity, even the ugly parts are beautiful- to me, at least" Rantaro listened carefully to Kiyo's little speech.

He was truly interesting, maybe a little bit weird, but still interesting.

"What beauty will I be able to witness in our current situation, I wonder? Kehehee, people are wonderful!"

"Wow, you sure are something else, Kiyo! But that's good, I'm sure it will never be boring with you- by the way my name is Rantaro Amami, nice to meet you" they both shook hands and chatted for a little bit, before Rantaro decided to finally step through the door he was curious about the whole time.

He opened it and was immediately greeted by a bright light, a gentle breeze and he slowly opened his eyes to see…

"A cage?" Rantaro said out loud.

To be honest, not surprising.

I mean, I already knew it's not going to be easy to get out of here…, but giving up is not something I ever want to do.

Rantaro walked around and noticed two people in the back of the field. He quickly rushed over there to introduce himself.

"This cage is nothing compared to the universe!" One of them yelled and the taller one looked down in confusion.

"Oh, ups! I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Kaito Momota, Luminary of the stars! Even crying children adore the Ultimate Astronaut! How about it? Pretty cool, right? I mean I wasn't in space yet, but I'm the first teenager to ever pass the exam!" The purple haired male posed proud and the taller one clapped.

"Wow, really? Don't you need a college degree to even take the exam?" Rantaro interrupted their conversation and Kaito jumped in front of him with a huge grin.

"Actually yes, I had a friend who got me in there, but I got caught in the end and was like in pretty deep shit, y'know? But they decided they liked me and let me in anyway! Cuz I aced the exam, too" Kaito explained and he was a little speechless by Kaito's confession.

"That was pretty damn reckless, but it's really impressive as well!" Rantaro admitted, but he was so impressed that he almost forgot how this could have ended as well.

"Well, sometimes you have to be reckless to reach your dreams and make them reality! Everyone told me it was impossible, but I never gave up and aced the exam. Limits don't exist unless you set them yourself!" Kaito seemed to be an optimistic person as well… just like Kaede earlier.

Hmm, that can be a good thing, but it can also turn out very bad… I may have to keep an eye on them if things go the way I think they are, but they are very friendly and nice so far.

"Gonta thinks that sounded very cool!" The other one smiled and clapped a few more times in his hands.

Third person? Rantaro looked up confused, but simply accepted it. I'm sure there is a reason for it and I don't know about it yet.

"Hehe, Thanks dude! Now introduce yourself as well!" Kaito showed a thumbs up and 'Gonta' nodded firmly.

"Uhm, Gonta's name is Gonta Gokuhara. Gonta's talent is Ultimate Entomologist. Kid Gonta bigger than other kids. Other kids scared of Gonta...so kid Gonta play alone often. That how Gonta came to like bugs, but then Gonta really focus he end up lost in forest" he explained and both Kaito and Rantaro stared at him.

"But they found you and everything was alright, right?" Kaito asked with wide open eyes.

"Yeah, but took 10 years though"

"10 YEARS?" for a second Rantaro had to steady Kaito so that he wouldn't fall backwards right out of his slippers.

Why the hell is he wearing slippers anyway?

"Don't worry! New family took care of Gonta!" Gonta continued to explain his situation and the other two sighed in relief.

"I hope they are nice people" Rantaro smiled, but Gonta looked confused.

"Not people, wolves! Cuz of forest family Gonta learned to speak bug and animal and as thanks Gonta wanna show new family what great gentlemen Gonta is" he stated happily and smiled proud.

"W-WOLVES?" and again Rantaro had to catch Kaito so that he wouldn't fall. He sighed defeated.

"That's all you heard? Seriously?" Rantaro turned his head to look Gonta in the eyes.

"I think your forest family would be very proud of you so just be yourself! By the way you two- I'm Rantaro Amami, nice to meet you!" he pushed Kaito back on his feet, they chatted a bit, but after some time Rantaro had to leave these two behind.

Who is still missing? We're 16 students and-

Rantaro didn't know how, but somehow he found a little waterfall and a girl was curiously watching him.

"Yaahoo!! My name is Angie Yonaga and I'm the Ultimate Artist!" She quickly introduced herself with a very positive attitude.

More optimistic people? Oh well, that's going to be hard to keep track over. At least, they are all really nice, I guess.

"I'm Rantaro Amami, you're pretty cheerful, aren't you?" he asked, not sure how to respond to her positivity.

"Nyahaha!! There's no reason to carry bad thoughts with ya! You gotta live everyday like it's big, cheery and fun… so says Atua!"

"Wow, it's amazing how positive you are- wait… Atua?" Rantaro tilted his head in confusion and Angie laughed again.

"The god of my island, Atua, is always with me, speaking to me with his divine voice… Atua also makes the art, I only offer my body as his vessel! Do you want to offer something to Atua? Boy's blood is also an acceptable offer!" Angie spoke slowly but clearly and Rantaro laughed loudly.

That's a nice joke-

please tell me it's a joke…

please?

And then he ran for his life.

Some time passed until Rantaro found the rooms for each person.

Finally, I'm so exhausted, I need a break…

The moment he wanted to open the door with his picture above it someone stopped him.

"I'm sorry, but I haven't introduced myself yet- I'm Kirumi Tojo, the Ultimate Maid. Please let me know if you need any kind of help or service!"

"Nice to meet you, Kirumi! I'm Rantaro Amami! I hope we get along well and you don't have to talk so formal, it's not necessary!" He assured her, but Kirumi didn't seemed to care much.

"Do you have any plan what to do from now on?" she asked and Rantaro stopped in bis tracks.

"That's a tough question… it's more like what can we do… I guess we have to wait and see what happens, do you have an idea, Kirumi?" he thought hard, but nothing came to his mind.

"As a maid my only desire is to fulfill the desires for others so please think about what you desire for yourself. No matter tge situation, no matter what happens… I am here to serve everyone" Kirumi gently put her hands together and smiled lightly and Rantaro smiled back at her.

Okay, I get big mom vibes from her… hm, we will see how this will turn out later.

Ding Dong- Bing Bong!

#protag-rantaro #rantaro amami #danganronpa #danganronpa au #danganronpa fanfiction #protag rantaro au #drv3 rantaro #drv3 ryoma #drv3 maki #drv3 kaito #drv3 gonta #drv3 kirumi #drv3 korekiyo #drv3 shuichi #drv3 kaede #drv3 angie #mod tai

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bonesandblood-sunandmoon · 4 years ago

Link

Article from The Atlantic “This Is Not a Normal Mental Health Disaster” (posted July 7th, 2020). Excerpt:

In any case, the full extent of the fallout will not come into focus for some time. Psychological disorders can be slow to develop, and as a result, the Textbook of Disaster Psychiatry, which Morganstein helped write, warns that demand for mental-health care may spike even as a pandemic subsides. “If history is any indicator,” Morganstein says of COVID-19, “we should expect a significant tail of mental-health effects, and those could be extraordinary.” Taylor worries that the virus will cause significant upticks in obsessive-compulsive disorder, agoraphobia, and germaphobia, not to mention possible neuropsychiatric effects, such as chronic fatigue syndrome.

The coronavirus may also change the way we think about mental health more broadly. Perhaps, Schoch-Spana says, the prevalence of pandemic-related psychological conditions will have a destigmatizing effect. Or perhaps it will further ingrain that stigma: We’re all suffering, so can’t we all just get over it? Perhaps the current crisis will prompt a rethinking of the American mental-health-care system. Or perhaps it will simply decimate it.

Shared in entirety under the cut for those who can’t access it:

This Is Not a Normal Mental Health Disaster by Jacob Stern

If SARS is any lesson, the psychological effects of the novel coronavirus will long outlast the pandemic itself.

The SARS pandemic tore through Hong Kong like a summer thunderstorm. It arrived abruptly, hit hard, and then was gone. Just three months separated the first infection, in March 2003, from the last, in June.

But the suffering did not end when the case count hit zero. Over the next four years, scientists at the Chinese University of Hong Kong discovered something worrisome. More than 40 percent of SARS survivors had an active psychiatric illness, most commonly PTSD or depression. Some felt frequent psychosomatic pain. Others were obsessive-compulsive. The findings, the researchers said, were “alarming.”

The novel coronavirus’s devastating hopscotch across the United States has long surpassed the three-month mark, and by all indications, it will not end anytime soon. If SARS is any lesson, the secondary health effects will long outlast the pandemic itself.

Already, a third of Americans are feeling severe anxiety, according to Census Bureau data, and nearly a quarter show signs of depression. A recent poll by the Kaiser Family Foundation found that the pandemic had negatively affected the mental health of 56 percent of adults. In April, texts to a federal emergency mental-health line were up 1,000 percent from the year before. The situation is particularly dire for certain vulnerable groups—health-care workers, COVID-19 patients with severe cases, people who have lost loved ones—who face a significant risk of post-traumatic stress disorder. In overburdened intensive-care units, delirious patients are seeing chilling hallucinations. At least two overwhelmed emergency medical workers have taken their own life.

To some extent, this was to be expected. Depression, anxiety, PTSD, substance abuse, child abuse, and domestic violence almost always surge after natural disasters. And the coronavirus is every bit as much a disaster as any wildfire or flood. But it is also something unlike any wildfire or flood. “The sorts of mental-health challenges associated with COVID-19 are not necessarily the same as, say, generic stress management or the interventions from wildfires,” says Steven Taylor, a psychiatrist at the University of British Columbia and the author of The Psychology of Pandemics (published, fortuitously, in October 2019). “It’s very different in important ways.”

Most people are resilient after disasters, and only a small percentage develop chronic conditions. But in a nation of 328 million, small percentages become large numbers when translated into absolute terms. And in a nation where, even under ordinary circumstances, fewer than half of the millions of adults with a mental illness receive treatment, those large numbers are a serious problem. A wave of psychological stress unique in its nature and proportions is bearing down on an already-ramshackle American mental-health-care system, and at the moment, Taylor told me, “I don’t think we’re very well prepared at all.”

Most disasters affect cities or states, occasionally regions. Even after a catastrophic hurricane, for example, normalcy resumes a few hundred miles away. Not so in a pandemic, says Joe Ruzek, a longtime PTSD researcher at Stanford University and Palo Alto University: “In essence, there are no safe zones any more.”

As a result, Ruzek told me, certain key tenets of disaster response no longer hold up. People cannot congregate at a central location to get help. Psychological first-aid workers cannot seek out strangers on street corners. To be sure, telemedicine has its advantages—it eliminates the logistical and financial burdens of transportation, and some people simply find it more comfortable—but it complicates outreach and can pose problems for older people, who have borne the brunt of the coronavirus.

A pandemic, unlike an earthquake or a fire, is invisible, and that makes it all the more anxiety-inducing. “You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, you just don’t know,” says Charles Benight, a psychology professor at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs who specializes in post-disaster recovery. “You look outside, and it seems fine.”

From spatial uncertainty comes temporal uncertainty. If we can’t know where we are safe, then we can’t know when we are safe. When a wildfire ends, the flames subside and the smoke clears. “You have an event, and then you have the rebuild process that’s really demarcated,” Benight told me. “It’s not like a hurricane goes on for a year.” But pandemics do not respect neat boundaries: They come in waves, ebbing and flowing, blurring crisis into recovery. One month, New York flares up and Arizona is calm. The next, the opposite.

That ambiguity could make it harder for people to be resilient. “It’s sort of like running down a field to score a goal, and every 10 yards they move the goal,” Benight said. “You don’t know what you’re targeting.” In this sense, Ruzek said, someone struggling with the psychological effects of the pandemic is less like a fire survivor than a domestic-violence victim still living with her abuser, or a traumatized soldier still deployed overseas. Mental-health professionals can’t reassure them that the danger has passed, because the danger has not passed. One can understand why, in a May survey by researchers at the University of Chicago, 42 percent of respondents reported feeling hopeless at least one day in the past week.

A good deal of this uncertainty was inevitable. Pandemics, after all, are confusing. But coordinated, cool-headed, honest messaging from government officials and public-health experts would have gone a long way toward allaying undue anxiety. The World Health Organization, for all the good it has done to contain the virus, has repeatedly bungled the communications side of the crisis. Last month, a WHO official claimed that asymptomatic spread of the virus is “very rare”—only to clarify the next day, after a barrage of criticism from outside public-health experts, that “we don’t actually have that answer yet.” In February, officials from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention told Americans to prepare for “disruption to everyday life that may be severe,” then, just days later, said, “The American public needs to go on with their normal lives,” then went mostly dark for the next three months. Health experts are not without blame either: Their early advice about masks was “a case study in how not to communicate with the public,” wrote Zeynep Tufekci, an information-science professor at the University of North Carolina and an Atlantic contributing writer.

The White House, for its part, has repeatedly contradicted the states, the CDC, and itself. The president has used his platform to spread misinformation. In a moment when public health—which is to say, tens of thousands of lives—depends on national unity and clear messaging, the pandemic has become a new front in the partisan culture wars. Monica Schoch-Spana, a medical anthropologist at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security, told me that “political and social marginalization can exacerbate the psychological impacts of the pandemic.”

Schoch-Spana has previously written about the 1918 influenza pandemic. Lately, she says, people have been asking her how the coronavirus compares. She is always quick to point out a crucial difference: When the flu emerged in America at the end of a brutal winter, the nation was mobilized for war. Relative unity prevailed, and a spirit of collective self-sacrifice was in the air. At the time, the U.S. was reckoning with its enemies. Now we are reckoning with ourselves.

One thing that is certain about the current pandemic is that we are not doing enough to address its mental-health effects. Usually, says Joshua Morganstein, the chair of the American Psychiatric Association’s Committee on the Psychiatric Dimensions of Disaster, the damage a disaster does to mental health ends up costing more than the damage it does to physical health. Yet of the $2 trillion that Congress allocated for pandemic relief through the CARES Act, roughly one-50th of 1 percent—or $425 million—was earmarked for mental health. In April, more than a dozen mental-health organizations called on Congress to apportion $38.5 billion in emergency funding to protect the nation’s existing treatment infrastructure, plus an additional $10 billion for pandemic response.

Without broad, systematic studies to gauge the scope of the problem, though, it will be hard to determine with any precision either the appropriate amount of funding or where that funding is needed. Taylor told me that “governments are throwing money at this problem at the moment without really knowing how big a problem it will be.”

In addition to studies assessing the scope of the problem, which demographics most need help, and what kind of help they need, Ruzek told me researchers should assess how well intervention efforts are working. Even in ordinary times, he said, we don’t do enough of that. Such studies are especially important now because, until recently, disaster mental-health protocols for pandemics were an afterthought. By necessity, researchers are designing and implementing them all at once.

“Disaster mental-health workers have never been trained in anything about this,” Ruzek said. “They don’t know what to say.”

Even so, the basic principles will be the same. Disaster mental-health specialists often talk about the five core elements of intervention—calming, self-efficacy, connectedness, hope, and a sense of safety—and those apply now as much as ever. At an organizational level, the response will depend on extensive screening, which is to the mental-health side of the pandemic roughly what testing is to the physical-health side. In disaster situations—and especially in this one—the people in need of mental-health support vastly outnumber the people who can supply it. So disaster psychologists train armies of volunteers to provide basic support and identify people at greater risk of developing long-term problems.

“There are certain things that we can still put into place for people based on what we’ve learned about what’s helpful for PTSD and for depression and for anxiety, but we have to adjust it a bit,” says Patricia Watson, a psychologist at the National Center for PTSD. “This is a different dance than the dance that we’ve had for other types of disasters.”

Some states have moved quickly to learn the new steps. In Colorado, Benight is helping to train volunteer resilience coaches to support members of their community and, when necessary, refer them to formal crisis-counseling programs. His team has also worked with volunteers in 31 states, the United Kingdom, and Australia.

Colorado’s approach is not the sort of rigorously tested, evidence-based model to which Ruzek said disaster psychologists should aspire. Then again, “we’re sitting here with not a lot of options,” says Matthew Boden, a research scientist in the Veterans Health Administration’s mental-health and suicide-prevention unit. “Something is better than nothing.”

In 2013, reflecting on the tenth anniversary of the SARS pandemic, newspapers in Hong Kong described a city scarred by plague. When COVID-19 arrived there seven years later, they did so again. SARS had traumatized that city, but it had also prepared it. Face masks had become commonplace. People used tissues to press elevator buttons. Public spaces were sanitized and resanitized. In New York City, COVID-19 has killed more than 22,600 people; in Hong Kong, a metropolis of nearly the same size, it has killed seven. The city has learned from its scars.

America, too, will bear the scars of plague. Maybe next time, we will be the ones who have learned.

#coronavirus or covid-19 #mental health

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theworldbrewery · 5 years ago

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Fantasy sportsball

In honor of Superbowl Sunday, here’s a post about FANTASY SPORTS!!

First, sports are games, so think about crafting a sport like you would craft a session of D&D or a board game--there need to be end conditions, measures of success, and obstacles that hinder the players. Take football: ends when the clock runs out, success measured in points, and complicated by the other team trying to win.

Second, ask yourself who is playing the sport and who is watching the sport? your avg low-income city boy isn’t necessarily into Equestrian sports because there’s an access issue. Sports become associated with certain types of people and it’s interesting to know how the structure of your world informs who is playing what sports. This is when sports become cultural phenomenon and not just a game. Feel free to have socio-political issues play out in sports. Remember that sports ARE POLITICAL because individuals have identities that are political, no matter what people tell you.

Third, feel free to have your PCs just not know things about sports unless they’ve played them before but don’t just make the sport stupid because you think sports are stupid. Yeah, sports have lots of confusing rules if you don’t know them but if you can logically go “that doesn’t make any sense” after knowing all the rules, (*cough cough* I’m looking at you JKR) then someone has probably already tried to change it, and you should have a reason why it hasn’t. If sports aren’t your thing, treat it like an anthropologist looking at a foreign culture--there’s a logic there, but it’s one you just don’t know yet.

#d&d #dnd #fantasy sportsball

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exorciseyourspirit · 5 years ago

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Two For Tea||Javier and Rebecca

Timing: Sometime in March, during the coin debacle. Parties: @damn-fine-cup-of-tea Summary: Just two normal folks talking normally about normal White Crest things. Over damn good tea. (This chatzy was unfinished b/c I am, as Meri says, Booboo the fool and let it sit for far too long but it’s a fun read anyway. Thanks!)

Javier took the trip to Rebecca’s house as an opportunity to finally have a look at campus, and Wilkes Park. They were nothing spectacular, but the park was full of these trees he enjoyed so much and he had to stop to observe a praying mantis that was taking a stroll on someone’s windshield. He had left the motel early anyway, as there was nothing he disliked more than being late or in a hurry, at least outside of work. He could not be so picky in his professional life. He was looking forward to this meeting with the Professor. Having followed her advice, the agent had faced his fear of heights and climbed up a roof, to find a cracked roof tile and some scratches. The four other rooftops told him the exact same story. Someone had been near the fireplaces recently. And, whoever they were, they did not leave a lot of traces for him to inspect. This did not make sense. Why would someone go on the roof. Chimneys were too narrow for anyone to fit in there and too dirty too. Those thoughts were solidly anchored in his mind as he knocked on Rebecca’s door.

The truth behind the newly baked macaroons was a more sinister one than Rebecca wanted to admit. Staying in control was becoming increasingly harder, but Rebecca was determined to not let it interrupt her daily life. He had already taken so much from her, she wasn’t about to let him take her routine, as well. So, baking it was. It helped keep her up, because if she fell asleep with the oven on, the cookies would burn. And other things, but the cookies were the most important part of that equation. She had them all set out on a plate, with the sugar cubes, the teaspoons, cups, and the pot, with a few different choices for Javier to pick from. It’d been a while since she’d picked the brain of another Anthropologist, and she’d have been lying had she said she wasn’t the slightest bit excited for this. Plus, and FBI agent would be a good contact to make. Now, it was just about assessing how much she could get him to believe about this quirky little town. When the knock came, she waltzed over to the door and opened it up, giving a pleasant smile. “Thanks for coming,” she said, standing to the side and ushering him in. The house was a bit older than most in town, but it was nothing overly fancy. Rebecca had left that life behind a long time ago. Still, there were far too many empty rooms, and she could only hope that her decorations she’d bought from the antique mall were enough to hide that fact. “How was the drive over? Not too bad, I hope? There’s a hook for your jacket,” she motioned, shutting the door behind him. She’d always been good at pleasantries, even if she didn’t care much for them.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Javier nodded politely, walking inside when invited and having a first look around him. It was a nice house, even if there was nothing special to it. You could tell a lot about a person from the way their house looked, and as far as the entrance was concerned, Javier could tell that it had not been long since she arrived here, that she had a taste for antiques, and that she was neither married nor with children. “Well, compared to Philadelphia, there was little to no traffic,” he observed, taking off his coat when told to, and putting it neatly on the mentioned hook. His eyes lingered on a hair on the collar, and he took a mental note to clean his coat whenever he could get his hands on a brush. “...” He wondered if he should begin by telling her about these things he had found, climbing on those roofs, or mention the fact that even having learned how to better deal with heights, this had not been his favourite experience since he arrived in White Crest. The only thing that could possibly be worse was his encounter with the mime although nothing terrible had happened then. The meeting with the bizarre masked person had left him with a bad feeling and whenever he thought of that thing, his brain felt like trying to scream in horror. “So, about those dreams,” he began, following the woman behind. “There was something strange going on where the woman was pointing.”

Rebecca led Javier into the foyer and to the sitting room, where she had the tea set up. She was, actually, quite grateful for the company. The big house got lonely, and the more she was alone, the more she felt the weight of it. But being alone, truly, was the only way to keep people safe from the monster inside of her. One small visit wouldn’t harm anyone. She motioned for him to sit anywhere before taking a seat across from him. “So what you’re saying is, my advice was good?” she gave a little wry grin before offering the selection of teas. “Tell me, what is it that you found? If you can share, of course. I’d love to help you anyway I can. I’m just as worried about a serial killer loose in my town as you,” she said simply.

Javier took a look around each room, out of sheer curiosity. There was something fascinating, to him, about walking into someone’s home. The way a house looked always said a lot about their owner but this one felt a bit empty, like she had just moved in and did not have time to unpack everything. He sat down, crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. He held back his smile as she prided herself of giving good advice although his eyes betrayed him and his amusement. “I suppose so.” Glancing at her with a knowing look, he then took a moment to choose his tea. “...” He bit his lip and ran his hand from below his nose to his chin, thoughtful. What he had found did not make much sense, and he was not sure that she would be able to help him with that. She sounded like she knew things about this town, things both mysterious and incredible, he supposed, although for now, all he had gotten from this town was beauty with a touch of eerie. “Someone has been climbing on all the victim’s roofs,” he finally said. “What I don’t understand is, no one could have possibly gotten access to the room through the chimney. It’s too narrow, and it would have made a mess. There was no trace of soot in the room,” he would have to ask Regan about that, although he doubted that she would have forgotten to mention it in her reports.

Rebecca caught the little smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth and she gave herself an internal pat on the back. All these years later and she still subsisted off of validation from others. “Sure, suppose,” she answered, reaching out to pour in the hot water for his tea, before pouring her own cup. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” She sat back, tilting her head as she examined him. Even in this setting, he still seemed so professional, a feeling she knew well. He sat up straight, crossed his legs proper, and placed his hands in just the right spot. A lady never puts her hands in her lap, her grandmother had said, a lady puts her hands on her knees, or at her sides, lest the men whose company she keeps think her...dirtied. Rebecca shook the memory away and met his eyes, a steely brown, captivating in their unwavering stare. Reflecting his stalwart opinions. “That is interesting,” she noted. What did she know that could do that? She’d have to consult her journals later, but the story of a chimney creeper sounded somehow familiar. “But at least you know how they got in now, right? Now it’s just about figuring out the rest.”

"I was not entirely convinced by your methods," Javier, if he could tell that she had gone some place else in her mind for a while, did not make any comments. He too could sometimes get lost in his own stream of consciousness, and he appreciated being in the company of someone who was quieter than the norm. This was one thing he had observed : Rebecca never spoke to say nothing. There was always a point being made and if he had disagreed with her on her view of dreams and their hidden meaning, he had to admit that she was right. There was something unsettling about it, and since he did not believe in coincidences, he felt slightly frightened as he still had no clue whatsoever on who could have done all of this. He knew how they got in the room. That was all. He had no idea how it was that they got the intestines out so neatly, or why. Was it a cult? A very bored surgeon maybe ? Or a skilled butcher ? "It's interesting, to say the least," in a I have never ever seen something so impossible before kind of way. His gut feeling told him that there was something off about all of this, but he could not put his finger on what. "It is… Just about figuring out everything else," taking out the infuser from the cup, he looked up from the cup, meeting her eyes. "..." No, he would not ask her if she had other hints to give him about this case. Maybe she just believed in dreams meaning something and that was it. And so he remained silent and took a sip from his cup.

“I noticed,” Rebecca said quickly, making sure to keep her voice even. She didn’t entirely care if anyone believed her or not, she’d had people yelling at her her whole life saying she was crazy, saying she was wrong, telling her she couldn’t do it. She’d never listened then, why would she listen now? But Javier seemed to have the ability to change, if he would only open his mind a little. And if Rebecca could help push him in that direction, then maybe someone like him could actually be helpful in this town. It would just take some gentle persuasion. His silence spoke words, as he sipped from his cup. If he didn’t want her advice, that was his loss. She sipped her own. “Well, whatever the case, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. How longs it been since you’ve had a good case like this, Agent?”

“I am still not entirely convinced,” he replied, once again looking at her. This was something Javier did while on the job. Always keeping his eyes on others, studying their mannerisms, their intonation. But he was not working right now, not really. In fact, he was supposed to come here to discuss anthropology, and not once again focus on this case. “But you have won this set. The dreams indeed were trying to tell me something,” putting down his cup, he leaned back a little, trying to look more relaxed, but it was just not comfortable. Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead with the tip of his fingers, puzzled. “How did you know that I would find something up there?” There had to be a reason, an explanation. He did not accuse her of being behind those murders, of course, but this troubled him nevertheless. If he always kept an open mind, he relied heavily on empirical methods. Observations, experiments. “I think this might take longer than I anticipated,” he had theories. Lots of them. But none of them explained the lack of wounds. He could explain everything, but this. “Good question,” he frowned, thinking about the question seriously. He usually had great instincts, and there was always something, a detail, to put him on the path of the perpetrator. “I don’t know if I should be rating cases, but this one is quite captivating,” and he hoped that he would solve this.

Ending Summary: The two continued a rather amicable conversation about Javier’s case, though neither side decided to let up too much on the secrecy they were holding. They left off on good enough terms to continue speaking and with promises of trying a new tea next time.

#chatzy #chatzy: javier #javier #dr jekyll #two for tea

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hhollylau · 4 years ago

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Why Are We Talking About This?

I was at an energy conference years ago where the speaker asked a question that has stuck with me ever since.

“Where do you think the price of oil will be in a hundred years?”

After a series of “show of hand” votes, the consensus in the audience was clear: no one thought the price of oil would be higher than $0 in a hundred years.

When we think about work, the essence of our economic lives or in aggregate what we term as “the economy”, what is “the economy” really but the conversion of energy into consumption? We take water and irrigate fields, so that seeds can turn into food, and food can turn in calories to keep our bodies and minds functioning. We take fossil fuel from the ground and put it in our planes, trains, and automobiles to move products around, to trade so we can consume more: more quantity, higher quality, and more diversity of goods and services. Every leap in the history of productivity has been a revolution in energy efficiency – how to yield more consumption at a lower cost: via cattle drawn ploughs, via steam engines, via diesel powered motors, via electric cars.

What does it mean then if a room of relatively informed professionals expect oil prices to go to $0 in the next one hundred years? The implication is simple: taking the trajectory from the dawn of time to the industrial revolution and out to the future, we assume that humans will find a cheaper, more efficient alternative than oil for energy to fuel our consumption. After all, how could it be otherwise? The conversion of energy for consumption at present comes with an extremely high, existential cost to the planet. Political partisans may cynically dodge questions about climate change with a “who really knows” shrug, but is there any doubt that the market would at least hedge the possibility of rising temperatures and sea levels? Why not invest in alternative energy sources that could possibly yield more profit, and maybe not render the planet uninhabitable?

Then where does it leave us? What is the point of the Economy as we know it if humans succeed with brutal efficiency in bringing the cost of converting energy to consumption to near zero? What if there is a day, doomsayers be damned, when we live in a near Utopian world where food and housing production can be solved through waste-neutral farming, 3D printing, and other innovations we have yet to realize? What does it mean for work in the twenty-first century, when so many of our jobs already seem to exist for their own sake rather than creating any productive value for society?

The phenomenon that many of us may have “meaningless jobs” had been explored by anthropologist David Graeber in the essay “Bullshit Jobs.” His thesis, in essence, is that there are too many workers with too few actually necessary jobs. Automation has vastly improved the industrial process. Bang for the buck, robots can produce more goods and services than a human ever can for things like assembling electronics or even providing financial advice. We should be basking in those extra hours of leisure, lapping in the luxury of cheaper goods. But we are not. Somehow humans have invented more work, peripheral to actual productivity -- work created seemingly for the sake of work.

John Maynard Keynes predicted the 15-hour work week in 1960. Instead of living in the paradise of free time thanks to technological advances so efficient at converting energy to consumable goods and services, we find ourselves spending weekends preparing a presentation, responding to emails at the dinner table. We squared the equation of an oversupply of educated people and under-demand for labor by inventing new types of labor: roles of administrators, consultants, and other actors and supporters of increasing bureaucracy. As Graeber pointed out, in those jobs, people know they have bullshit jobs, causing what he called “moral and spiritual damage.” Put in another way, there may be an impending crisis of unemployment due to automation, but the crisis of joyless employment due to some logic to keep everyone busy already has an acute impact on large swaths of the population.

Why Are We Talking About This?

The motivation for writing, whether an academic essay or creative story, is to say something about what is different this time, what’s different about now. Henry David Thoreau said over a century ago, to paraphrase, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Films, movies, and books have delved into the extreme anxiety and frustration caused by work (e.g., “Office Space”). For millennia workers toiled, unhappily, for feudal lords, surviving on scraps and dangling on the precipice of gruesome and miserable deaths. So works sucks – what is different about then and now? I’ve come home many days feeling decimated by the pointlessness and pettiness of a corporate setting. Conceptually it is a far cry from having to stand in an assembly line for fourteen hours straight; vast improvement from shoveling coal into a steam engine. Shouldn’t we just accept this fate of modern work life in exchange for the material comfort that many of our predecessors couldn’t even imagine as possible? The most stunning paradox here is that because our economy is so efficient, because technology has enabled us to be so productive, that we have created our own trappings of an unfulfilled life, and I refuse to believe that it is fait accompli. What if there are other ways to think about work, other ways to define work? Other ways to busy ourselves, rather than perpetuate the monstrosity that is corporate work life, while we enjoy the fruits of an economy that no longer really needs us?

My intention is to write a series of essays, grouped by observations and theories of how we got here. Without the how, it would be difficult to discuss the what of our dilemma, and most importantly, why it does not need to be this way. Classical economists tend to have a “natural laws” view of the world: the belief that the Economy arose from first principles of human nature and society. Humans are greedy and want to keep moving up the utility curve. They have the urge to trade as involuntarily as the compulsion to breathe, which is why capitalism is the most natural form of economic organization. What is is what should be. It would be a grave mistake to call this current definition of work natural. It is in its unnaturalness that renders it soul crushing. It is in its unnaturalness that we chafe against it. And so we begin with an exploration of what work could be for humans to proper and lead productive lives.

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theveryworstthing · 6 years ago

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(pounding fists on table) fashion, fashion, fashion, faSHION FASHION...

it is time to release the fruits of my patreon sponsored Dwarf Week to gen pop. the theme was the long awaited history of dwarven punk (furthermore known as Lunk) and woo did it become A Lot. music genres and fashion movements don’t just come from nowhere and transplanting a human genre that started from specific human times and sensibilities onto another race without thinking about why a thing ain’t my style. so! i’m gonna give you a nice chunky lore post and follow it up with some posts about Notable Lunk Ladies. let’s begin.

A Long Short History of Lunk To really talk about Lunk we gotta talk about the rebellion. And to talk about the rebellion we gotta talk about the flood in the Mander Drop cave system.

Two Disasters. - The Mander Drop cave system was fairly small as dwarven cities go. It was also very remote, and as far as top-sider territories are concerned, outside of the Woods. So when a devastating flood/cave-in combo forced survivors up to the surface they found themselves in the human kingdom of Luxterra, and therefore on the land of the recently appointed King Regiis The 27th. For a while this seemed like good luck. The king welcomed the refugees in and happily provided them with housing and food. How could they be anything but helpful to the first dwarves seen in Luxterra for generations? Especially since, whether they knew it or not, the royal borders made it so that these were clearly their people? Their brethren? It was just too bad about all the blasphemy. The King and his religious advisers all agreed that they’d have to do something about that if their newly discovered people were to be Saved with the rest.

Now religion can be a force for love and safety and a link to important cultural heritage. But also. You know. Sometimes it sucks. Rolism, which is what Luxterra had recently adopted as their primary and only religion, sucked. The Incomparably Holy And Absolutely Complete Sapient Bestiaries was a collection of books written by a young failed anthropologist/failed fantasy writer/failed(eventually successful?) cult leader with an unchecked ego and a down right girthy god complex named Sir Adam Brightcrown (real name:Rod Flaff). They were said to contain the true and holy roles of every sapient being barring demons, who were not in the books outside of mentions of general badguy behavior and their penchant for the perversion of nature. The series was barely older than the current king himself and had flown completely under the radar until the former king Regiis The 26th, received the books as joke gifts and got way into them. Like, into them enough to abolish all mentions or practice of any other religions in Luxterra and turn the church over to the author of the Bestiaries/voice of god, Sir Adam.

The Mander Drop dwarves did not act the way dwarves were described in the Bestiaries (a common theme for any race described in the Bestiaries). They thought themselves all women, even as they wore long beards! There was no gleam of avarice in their eyes when they walked past the golden ornaments hanging throughout the royal gardens! They weren’t even violently rowdy alcoholics!

Scandal.

It couldn’t just be that they were survivors of a horrible disaster reeling from the loss of their homes and families as they tried to be polite to human hosts who knew next to nothing about their actual culture.

No, they had to have been Changed. Touched by demonic forces that all Good People knew lurked beyond their righteous borders.

But they would surely come around with a little instruction and the church got to it right away, sending their missionaries into the hospitals and dwarven camps to spread the word. But the word did not spread as easily as they would have liked. The word was kinda chunky. The dwarves were very set in their ways and the loss of their home had made them very touchy about altering their traditions too much. So after enough badgering, the remaining Elders decided that maybe it was best to leave Luxterra as soon as their wounded could be moved and take their chances in The Woods. They even went so far as to tell the royal council that they did not see themselves as true Luxterrans and so felt that they should not be beholden to certain church guidelines. The King took this pretty well and told them that he would respect their wishes and support any decision they made. So a few weeks later, when everyone who hadn’t passed was stable enough to ride with a caravan, they sent messengers out with pleas for help to other cave systems.

They never saw those messengers again.

A freak flash fire broke out in the dwarven camp that evening. All of the Elders and the adults most resistant to the church’s advances mysteriously did not make any moves to escape as they were burned to death in the meeting tent. Most of the possessions and goods salvaged from the Mander Drop caves were also reduced to ash . In the end, all that was left were a few resilient trinkets and a vast amount of mostly orphaned dwarven youth that had luckily been away at the time. The king’s detectives declared that it probably was and accident, but the remaining dwarves should move to the land behind the royal monastery for a while just to make sure it wasn’t something more…unsavory. And so the survivors were put under absolute royal protection. Which meant a settlement furnished with everything the holy books said that a dwarf could want, entry into St. Adam’s Rolism School for the young ones, round the clock guards to ensure safety standards were met, and many other…perks.

All the king asked for in return is that they work the mines to repay him for his generosity. Since they were not actually Luxterran citizens, they could only receive a certain amount of aide without incurring debt from their hosts, and that line had been crossed long ago. But no worries! Once their debt was repayed and they felt stable enough, they could leave with the kingdom’s support and blessings.

House Arrest- The dwarves had a bad feeling about this whole deal, but weren’t exactly in a position to refuse. The initial agreement to pay for the refugees room and board looked completely fair despite their awful feelings toward it but like everything else in their situation, it sucked. Hidden, vague stipulations in confusing foreign languages and weird time frames made them inescapable. The mining conditions were so hazardous that many didn’t live or stay healthy long enough to pay their due. Children inherited debt from their parents and were locked into the system as soon as they were old enough to enter the work force (an age that inched ever lower). As far as the king and the church were concerned, the dwarves had a sizable community debt not just from enjoying Luxterra’s gracious hospitality but for having their souls saved by being shown their proper Roles. And that debt was so great that it made sense that it was impossible to pay off. Also, trying to escape the contract was as much a death sentence for you and your family as ‘consorting with demons’. Leaving the kingdom or rebelling against Regiis’ rule was akin to stealing the prosperity they had surely enjoyed and no one stole from the king. It was rehabilitation from the church or death.

And let’s be real. It was usually death.

Besides, the Holy Bestiaries stated that dwarves lived for mining and their generations of work had made Luxterra prosperous beyond measure. Why would they want to leave?

Basic Rolism Dwarf Rules- Dwaves are masculine. Dwarves are brutish. Dwarves smith and mine but they do not craft. Dwarves only love Gold and treasure. Dwarves only take joy in fight and drink. There’s more but you get the idea. There were other random rules around appropriate use of the dwarvish language (no use. No use is what they wanted) that included acceptable names (most families got to keep their last names because they were appropriately Aesthetic but first names were changed for most people). These rules weren’t in the books, the church just decided they were for the best.

Music - music was the biggest and most freeing coping mechanism the dwarves had during the three generations of life in Luxterra. This makes sense, as screaming rhythmic complaints is a known stress reliever for many sapient races. What culture could be recovered or remembered, which wasn’t much tbh, was used heavily in the Lunk (short for ‘spelunk’ which some dwarves did in secret to recover relics from the ruins of the Mander Drop caves) scene, and that included attempted replications of traditional instruments and songs. It was way different from classic dwarven music due to the new instruments, influence from human underground (not that kind of underground) musicians, and enhanced Angst, but like all of lunk culture it was good enough.

Dwarves were expected to sing per their entry in the Bestiary, and so were never bothered about practice during the work day unless snitch human coworkers or guards heard…less than tasteful lyrics. This meant anything treasonous or ‘contrary to their nature’. Fighting and drinking were okay subjects but critique of religion, the social order, or the king? Literal devil music that was cause for possible arrest and ‘rehabilitation’. To be fair, a lot of human miners weren’t too fond of the king either (Rolism didn’t just affect dwarves) so they let a lot slide unless a dwarf got uppity and they were a huge bastard. Also fighting and drinking persisted as song themes long after they were freed from their restrictions because those are almost universally fun topics to scream about in a cave, but still.

While plenty of singing went on in work areas, actual concerts and events were held in deeper decrepit mines than were usually condemned for one reason or another. It was…not safe. But that was kind of the point. If it wasn’t safe for dwarves then humans certainly wouldn’t want to venture down there, not that they didn’t. Human friends could come to shows if they were vetted by enough dwarves, kept their mouthes shut, and brought their own safety gear. Crouched figures with oxygen tanks, harnesses, and dusty mohawks weren’t as rare as you would think. Especially when the war started and the king really kicked his religious fervor into high gear.

Strangely enough, none of these venues ever killed or injured their occupants. Future dwarven musical scholars would say that the shows tied into ancient protective ballads that are sung in unnaturally excavated areas, a bit of accidental protection magic, but at the time they just considered themselves lucky.

Music Part 2: Themes In Screams - Classic lunk was angry rebellion music, but it was also very fantastical and tended to veer into a surreal dreamy territory that at times produced echos of ancestral dwarven music. This was purposeful, as the descendants of the Mander Drop dwarves had a lot of culture scrubbed out of them, but they fiercely guarded and celebrated what remained. Lunk also had a kind of fun hopeful romanticism to it once you got through all the verses about beheading the king and pissing down the stump. Besides regicide and bar fights, major classic lunk themes were a mix of gender, identity, and love. Lunk was a perfect medium to explore their heavily repressed femininity and sexuality because as far as the Church was concerned all dwarves were manly men who only touched through punches and dwarven babies came from special chunks of gold and rocky debris found in mines.

Music Part 3: Instrumentals - a lot of scavenging and creative instrument construction went on to make lunk possible. The dwarves were limited to crafting weapons, tools, and armor due to their Role in the Bestiaries, but used their time combing scrap yards and dumps for forge materials to smuggle out other interesting tidbits. Using knowledge gained from discarded manuals and spare parts hidden among mining equipment, a workshop (called the Ironing Board for its red walls and duel purpose as a place that outlaw seamstresses hung out while doing clothes alterations and fittings) was established in an empty side tunnel, and secretive tinkerers would spend their spare time churning out strange stringed things, portable piano adjacent items, and drums that were honestly, Too Much. Some of the better sounding instruments became staples of the genre and were mastered by most players but there were a lot of funky one-offs only used by specific dwarves.

As for singing, Lunk started as a mix of dwarven throat singing, very energetic yelling, seductive crooning, and rare operatic belting. Mostly it’s just Loud. Microphones weren’t a thing and being heard over the instruments meant positioning yourself in the cave for maximum acoustic effect while wearing your lungs out.

Some original music from the time in Luxterra still exist in dwarven museums and private collections. Recorders were retrieved with the rest of the spare parts they hid down in the tunnels, and the ones that weren’t taken apart for instruments were used to record shows. The quality of these recordings is middling to pretty bad, but considering how few of those bands survived the war with all their members, they’re treated like the exquisite treasures they are.

Aesthetic:

Hair- Mostly bald or buzzed short with bangs but short thin mohawks or rat tails were also acceptable. Usually bleached completely golden blond or streaked with blond chunks as a sarcastic nod towards The Bestiaries stance on the dwarven race’s supposed obsession with gold. Besides, bleach was cheap and easy to get. Hats were worn constantly above ground to prevent questions about the styles from nosy humans.

Beards- Styled to hell. Gelled monstrosities that were sometimes bleached and often dusted with mica powder until they resembled shimmery stalactites /stalagmites. Lunk beards are dyed a variety of colors these days, but in the past mica powder was easy to make/steal and a dusty beard was easier to explain away than a rainbow one. Beard style varied, some cut them short and shaved them into easily spikeable strips, some only shaved the chin and wore the rest in two braids laced with found bits of metal and ribbon, and some went with the dwarven classic: letting it grow to ridiculous lengths. It really depended on how closely they were monitored and what they felt they could get away with safely.

Clothes Makeup and Accessories- The goal was to be a visually blasphemous fuck you. Rolism gave dwarves very strict very masculine fashion guidelines that favored rugged disregard for appearance over careful grooming. Makeup and any accessory deemed too feminine was prohibited. Colors were restricted to shades of brown with an occasional splash of white or gold. All jewelry was bits of rough blocky metal with very little detailing. Free dwarves have an androgynous style that flips from feminine to masculine and everything in between depending on cave system and activity but the Lunk style aimed for less gender androgyny and more gender discord. In the beginning dwarves turned up to shows in a mix of their least ruined set of work clothes and whatever super ‘feminine’ items they could get their hands on. This made for some very patchwork looks like heirloom pearl necklaces and gaudy costume jewelry earrings were paired with grungy button ups and ripped jeans. As scavengers got bolder and seamstresses got better they started experimenting with castaway human sized dresses (and the rare ballgown) that were ‘harvested’ by being hacked apart and put back together to make two or three slightly scandalous smaller dresses and taking apart discarded heels to recreate them in dwarf sizes. Patches were made from leftover scraps and either sewn over holes on clothing or embroidered with slogans and symbols to decorate vests, jackets, and bags.

And oh man the underwear.

It’s seems weird to bring up underwear as a sign of rebellion but the church only provided the worst boxer shorts you can imagine and ill fitting ‘undershirts’ used for binding chests too big to be ignored. The first seamstress to reverse engineer a comfortable bra and make underwear that wasn’t constructed of congealed depression was regarded as a goddess. And the great thing about the underwear was that unlike their other clothing which had to be stored in the tunnels 2/7, they could wear them anywhere as long as they made sure everything was covered up and washed them out of sight. That little act of rebellion carried a lot of people through and though great creativity and care was put into all the clothing made underground, underwear were by and large the fanciest and best taken care of items.

Now back to accessories where everything was spikes. the style was meant to mimic the stalactites/stalagmites and jewelry was made with random polished rocks and fabric scraps when actual pieces couldn’t be found. Makeup was little more than getting creative with charcoal for eyeshadow and lipstick (it had to be something that didn’t stain easily and the dregs of old makeup they would find caused enough eye infections and cold sores to be undesirable at best unless you were really willing to risk it for that great pop of color) but eyelashes were more important. Dwarves naturally have long eyelashes but they were ordered to trim them to prevent gender ambiguity so of course this meant that super long false lashes became a big thing. What else were they gonna do with all that beard hair they were shaving off?

Art- Outright rebellion would have meant death for every Mander Drop dwarf, so all Lunk activity was on the down low to a degree that it might as well have not existed to humans not in the know. It was very easy to tell where humans weren’t hearty enough to work though because there was Lunk graffiti everywhere. Most graffiti was chiseled or scratched into available surfaces with re-purposed broken work tools or pocket knives. A lot of it was standard sentient species graffiti, tagging, poetry, declarations of love/hate, badly drawn pornography, puns, calls for regicide, memorials, cryptic messages, well drawn pornography, ect. But there were also a ton of illustrated instructions. Popular clothing patterns in different sizes were etched into the walls of the Ironing Board by seamstresses. Important instrument parts and building shortcuts were sketched out for crafters to reference. Tips for smuggling contraband, finding the best garbage, and lists of which humans were to be trusted (and who was to be ignored if they happened to fall down a mine shaft one day) were also present. A lot of this art was lost in the ensuing escape cave in, but now that dwarven archaeologists are allowed to venture into the mines again much is being found and displayed in Woodland museums.

Tattoos- Tattoos were very important before the flood drove them topside but the church declared the dwarves’ traditional designs blasphemous, going so far as to decree that those that couldn’t be hidden at all times be magically removed. If they really really wanted a tattoo in Luxterra it had to relate to Rolism in some way. This meant that most dwarves did not have tattoos unless coerced into doing so to prevent punishment. So while makeup and drawn designs like the Mander’s Drop (the raindrop and circle worn on the forehead) were frequently used, tattoos weren’t a thing in Lunk culture until after the war. After the war, when they didn’t have to worry about hiding identifying features and they had the freedom to choose what designs they wanted, a lot of dwarves got inked up. Tbh, the result was less desirable than the absolute high of real choice but being able to get their Drops properly tattooed instead of drawing them on in secret every day helped soothe the identity problems some dwarves came out of this mess with.

New Blood - While the Mander Drop dwarves took solace in their music, King Regiis The 28th and head priest Adam III were working on plans to take their forefathers’ conversion of the demonic touched races a step further. It obviously worked for the dwarves, why not send missionaries into the Woods and actively enlarge their congregation? Or failing that, why not kidnap dwarven travelers and stick them with the tamed-I mean pious dwarves until they shape up and join the church? That should work.

It didn’t work.

The new dwarves, upon waking from the heavily drugged sleep brought on by the free food from the previously mentioned missionaries and getting an inside look at this whole Situation give a healthy internal scream and started planning their escape. Their goal was to warn everyone in the Woods that those kind of annoying human missionaries were a vanguard for something much worse and nip this in the bud before it got (more) out of hand.

They kept their distance and didn’t really trust the Mander Drop descendants at first as they assumed that they were brain washed weirdos. They eventually came around after then elder, Thorgold Buckmarble (a common and ‘traditional’ dwarven name from the Bestiaries I swear) was instrumental in making sure the new blood didn’t get murdered by guards for demonic behavior within a week. With her help they were able to gain the other dwarves’ trust and realize that their pious behavior and shows of loyalty to the crown was all an act.

Thorgold was the one who introduced them to the lunk scene, and with her gentle guidance and constant threats to ‘come over there and chuck you idiots down a mine shaft if you don’t cut it out’, everyone was able to get along. Mostly. The newcomers’ insistence on escape and tales of dwarven culture outside of Luxterra intrigued the locals, and as they became more involved with each other lunk started to change from a simple music scene, to a movement.

Spread The word - The Mander Drop dwarves didn’t know any dwarven and the newcomer dwarves only barely spoke Luxterran but both sides were eager to learn. The misunderstanding were making things more difficult than they should be. The exchange had an unintended effect however. The few trusted human acquaintances ended up learning dwarven too. And dwarven turned out to be a pretty good language to be treasonous in. And treason was starting to sound pretty cool for the small population of people who weren’t keen on what was shaping up to be a bloody crusade over a religion that they didn’t really believe. Of course the dwarves and their sympathizers didn’t want all this treason traced back to them, so they created a code to talk trash in and tentatively labeled it Lunk-Speech. This new code language was used for more than light treason though. It was also used for elaborate escape plans and HEAVY treason. With the king growing more paranoid by the day and war becoming more likely, the dwarves used their human comrades to sneak Lunk S.O.S. messages into The Woods. Lunk code was also used to make literature criticizing the king and the church, which made the ranks of sympathizers swell dramatically.

The king did not like this.

He only heard the barest of doubtful whispers. Even with the secret growth of the lunk movement, most humans in Luxterra were sippin’ the same flavor kool aid that he was. He had no real reason to be concerned about a few weird notes but paranoia sure is a thing. The demonic forces had clearly crossed his borders. No more missionary trips. No more acclimation experiments. It’s holy war time.

The Second Jewel Towne Fire - Faking their deaths seemed as good a plan as any. There wasn’t gonna be a search for dead dwarves.

The messages did their job and rescuers in the Woods got to work. The least crushed bits of the abandoned Mander Drop cave system was rediscovered and tunnels were connected to one of the dwarven-only work areas of the smaller royal mine. As soon as the escape route was open the signal was sent to every dwarf. 3 days.

By the time the king got word of the flash fire at the dwarf village, now called Jewel Towne, the flames were a wall of rainbow fury from the metallic dust burning off of the clothes and buildings left behind and the thought that anyone could survive the inferno was laughable at best. Instead they focused their efforts on saving the monastery and other adjacent human buildings.

Meanwhile, the dwarves were making their way through their escape tunnels. Their last act was to detonate their exit.

It had taken three generations, but the Mander Drop dwarves were free again.

Free Agents - So the Mander drop dwarves faked their deaths. Now what? Freedom was amazing but it wasn’t smooth sailing. They never completely fit in with the Woodland dwarves after their ordeal, and while they appreciated the help from the outsiders who freed them, they felt iffy about moves to coerce them into the Woodland army. This led to them being a pretty solitary nomadic tribe. They did their part though. It’s not like they magically stopped hating the king, they just didn’t want to give anyone else a chance to use them. During the war they worked alongside woodland forces as spies, info dealers, assassins, and Luxterra experts. They were a boon for anyone looking to infiltrate enemy ranks, pose as slave traders to free captives, or safely escort refugees. They also served as an early warning system for different communities and provided hand transcribed copies of The Bestiary so that people could hide ‘demonic behavior’ from roving Luxterran forces looking for an excuse to go after them. These blasphemous reproductions included translations for common Luxterran phrases, inventive curses to yell at captors/raiders, beauty tips, song lyrics, and a variety of very raw comix. The info didn’t always work because if someone really wants you to be guilty you’ll always be guilty and many holy raids were just cover ups for land grabs and kidnapping, but they helped a lot and were pretty much how zines in the Woodlands were born.

You would think that trying to stay out of direct combat would mean they were relatively safe, but many Mander Drop dwarves fell during the war. They were most often the first to warn towns of approaching Luxterran forces and last to leave, which meant they got into a lot of skirmishes. They also had a habit of always trying to rescue P.O.W.’s , kicking in the teeth of slave traders, and generally freeing anyone they could from the Rolism colonies (it seems dwarves weren’t the only people that the church had captured and tried to convert). Very touchy on the subject of stealing people those Mander Drop dwarves. Very willing to risk their lives for any opportunity to stomp on a Rolism priest’s nuts.

And besides all that there was the fact that now that they were free, they were very loud and open about their seething hatred of Luxterra. They couldn’t let the enemy forces know that they were their former captives since they were still pretending to be dead (and in fact had stopped using the Mander Drop title in exchange for just calling themselves Lunk dwarves and adopting new names for themselves) , but they spread the tale like wildfire and turned a lot of would be allies against the Luxterra. Most of the groups that were the loudest, most widely spread, and biggest pains in the collective royal ass were led or assisted by Mander Drop dwarves. It was so much of a thing that in the Lunk scene people used bounties and wanted posters like stylish accessories. This of course meant that anyone with a heavily styled beard and a mohawk was enemy number one.

Some Woodland forces pegged this as reckless and suicidal behavior, but they won more than they lost and their work with the goblins who created the Guides saved a lot of people so no one really said nothing to them. Plus Lunk musicians were still making tons of morale boosting music in between missions and were regarded as some of the greatest war bards the Woodlands had ever known. You came to their shows talking smack and you had better have had a good reason or great brawling skills.

End Of The War- Stomping on slave trader necks was fine, but it was the spies that really helped bring an end to the war.

Intel from human allies still living in Luxterra revealed that the king was going to try revive his weird dwarf collection and use them as spies. This would be his downfall however, as it gave a few of the top Mander Drop spies a way to get in there and just mess things up real good.

The ladies who took on this mission were Basaltherick Boulderboar, Thorgold Buckmarble, and Brickarth Dirtraven. They posed as miners who had been trapped by a cave in right before the deadly fire, claiming they’d been wandering the underground for over a year, surviving only on water and mud (which The Bestiaries totally said they could do in hard times). It was almost suspicious how quickly they were believed and offered the job. If there was any Divine meddling going on, it definitely wasn’t for the king’s side.

It takes another year, a lot of sabotaging the hidden camps holding the heavily guarded healer P.O.W.’s that the Luxterran forces had been using the keep their army borderline unkillable, the accidental seduction of the king’s cousin, the death of a brave comrade, a few murders here and there, and getting a real tasty peasant uprising going, but eventually the crown was scooped up off the floor next to the guillotine, dusted off, and placed on the head of King Renn. His two dwarven advisers, Ladies Boulderboar and Dirtraven, stayed in Luxterra for the rest of their lives, and later became peaceful dignitaries. To this day they are still a constant presence in the Luxterran courts in what totally isn’t keeping an eye on on whoever they didn’t kill/get killed the first go round. They are also founders/joint leaders of the less peaceful secret society who totally are making sure that that bullshit never happens again.

Dwarves age amazingly but they both look very young for their respective ages. Just a fun fact.

Also they are still spiking their beards.

Post War - Everyone kind of expected the Lunk scene to die out once the war was over, but changing out a king doesn’t entirely change out the ideas implanted in his people so even today there are still pockets of Rolists causing trouble so in turn there are still Lunk girls carrying on the family tradition of stomping on their nuts. It was eventually revealed that the Mander Drop dwarves had faked their deaths, and negotiations started on declaring their ancestral cave system as dwarven land entirely separate from Luxterra. Today the system is mostly restored and serves as a dwarven historical landmark but few people took up residence there right after the war. They were happy to have access to their home again but the feeling of being in Luxterra borders was just��too much. The majority of the Mander Drop survivors decided to spread their wings a bit and explore the Woodland on quests for insight into free dwarven culture. The bands that were still whole and didn’t hate each other toured wherever folks would have them, picking up new musical skills and spreading the Lunk sound across the land. The fractured bands did similar, banding together or training up new members from other cave systems. Seamstresses used their skills to transform the post war fashion industry into something weird and wonderful (and one has a granddaughter who’s the current talk of the non-human fashion world with her Chainmail Bikini brand). Some of them went into crafting apprenticeships. Some helped rebuild Mander Drop.

Some, maybe more than people talk about when discussing the Woodland’s victory, never recovered from Everything and it’s a shame what happened to the ones who got smothered by all that ugliness. That’s what these things do to people though.

There are worse happy endings than this.

#fashion dwarves #dwarf #small guide #dwarves #lunk

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the-irish-mayhem · 5 years ago

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Happy Fosterson Week Day 2: Outside POV! This fic stemmed from my love of fake academia, but also my absolute desire to never write an academic paper ever again. So I found a bit of a middle ground. Fair warning: Both Jane and Thor have passed away in this. But never fear, their life together was long and happy.

A generation later, a budding social scientist tries to figure out Jane and Thor.

Read on AO3.

Legacy.

Post Thread Created: 1/23/01 Originally Posted: 1/23/01 Post Edited: 10/30/04

Edit 10/30/04: WOW, I did not anticipate that this post series would blow up the way it did! Thank you to all who shared this and supported me in this journey, and if you’re wondering, yes, my book is now out! You can get your copy of The Dynasty That Never Was: A Biography at your local retailer, the Bionic Press cloudstore, or at your local library.

Just a little bit of context: this was very early in my thesis writing process, back when Jane and Thor were only planned to encompass a single chapter of my book (ha!) and I was planning on writing a straight cultural analysis rather than the cultural analysis-slash-biography it became.

Okay, now on with the original post!

Good morning, fellow New Asgard Anthropologists. For any newcomers, my name is (future Dr.) Melanie LaComb, and the purpose of this blog has been to share my research on a little more of a ground level, record my process of writing my thesis, and talk/write through some problems and put them up for community collaboration. It’s also nice to be able to shed the academic discourse for just a few minutes and write informally. So much freedom! So many exclamations and I statements! Anyway, I’m writing this new post to talk my way through a bit of a new thorn in my research. The late Thor Odinson and Jane Foster.

A lot of academics have kind of scoffed at this problem of mine—they were two extremely famous individuals! Integral to so many galactically significant events! Of course there is absolute mega loads of information on them! There must be dozens of biographies and at least two definitive autobiographies for beings of such impressive historical stature!

This may shock you, but NO there actually isn’t. Or, I suppose in some ways there is but not in the ways that would be most useful for me. For Odinson, who grew up on Old Asgard, the destruction of the planet meant the destruction of many records kept from his years before the Greatest War Against Thanos. His years afterwards are better trackable, but hardly centralized and hardly the more personalized records I am (now trying to get at. Foster, known on Midgard as Dr. Jane Foster and colloquially throughout the galaxy as “Jane the Thinker” or “Jane the Brilliant,” is surprisingly easier to get a handle on. Her fame wasn’t contingent upon her marital status, and she was well-known in scientific circles even before the first battle of the War in the year 2012.

So the root of my problem is this: fitting this pair into my New Asgard diaspora research. Because they are….. how do I say this…. not fitting? With my methodology? (I went to the school of redundancy school, but F*ck I’ve been writing and writing and writing for like 8 hours today already and I’m not changing it so THERE.)

So most of my research deals with the formation of a New Asgardian identity, and it relies heavily upon the shared cultural experiences of the Dark Elf Invasion of Old Asgard and the death of Queen Frigga (an aside, but one of my classmates, Korla Majer, wrote a really stellar article on why the Dark Elf invasion should be included as one of the major battles of the Greatest War, and how the dismissal of the event by most historians actively hurts our understanding of galactic politics at the time and I absolutely 10/10 would recommend you go read it after you finish this blog post) as well as the battle for and destruction of New Asgard. For beings so long lived as us, Asgardians have proven that we can make our memories as short as we need to, and those two events seemed to create the largest basis for the new cultural identity forged on Earth. (For some obvious reasons, namely being the events that led to the planet being destroyed and necessitating the move to Midgard, but ANYWAY.)

But I can’t really deny Jane and Thor’s place in the New Asgardian identity because their effect on the masses is well-documented. There are libraries full of memes, old paper magazines with paparazzi photos paired with barely-real stories that say a lot more about the readership than they do the subjects, even some old FanFiction that I was able to dig up that is in some ways more helpful than all the academia from that time period combined XD

In my roundabout way, the problem I’m trying to sort through is this: HOW do I tackle the Jane/Thor chapter?

Because in my original outlining of my thesis, I had planned on their chapter being a quick summation of how they met just before the Greatest War’s beginning, courted through the course of it, and married at its conclusion. Then, I’d give some context on their influence on galactic politics (because despite what some people erroneously think, they actually were not the monarchs of New Asgard. They remained advisors only after Thor abdicated the throne and named Brunnhilde [of house Dragonfang, an extremely old and well-respected Old Asgardian family] his successor. There was the five year gap of the Blip where Thor was officially King, but it was hardly a politically significant time as for much of this period Thor was gone from New Asgard), how some political maneuvers affected the general New Asgardian populace, and then move back to the cultural study portion of things. But the more sources I gather about them, the more I think this chapter might need to be extended, or made into some… sub point of my main thesis.

Because while I said earlier that information on them is hard to find (because it is!!! You try making document requests to 17 different universities on 15 different planets!!!! Alfheim literally delivered what I asked for in a light spectrum file format!!!!!!!! Like WHAT!!!!!! AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS????? HOW DO I CONVERT THIS INTO A PDF OR EVEN JUST MAKE IT COMPATIBLE WITH HOLOREADERS) it’s not always the quantity that’s the issue, it’s the content. I found myself longing to know more about who these people were and why they did the things they did. I’ve always found that I've done my best research when I follow my gut feelings, and research things that I’m passionate about. New Asgardian diaspora culture? I’m living it, baby! I’m very interested because my generation is the first generation to have never set foot on Asgard, and that’s something worth exploring!

And now here I am weirdly fascinated by an almost-king whose magical powers are pretty legendary who was banished and fell in love with a woman (who was 100% human at the time, by the way) whose scientific theories were so advanced that her own people thought she was a bit of a kook until all of her theories started getting proven right. From a non-academic perspective, that sounds like a freaking romance novel or epic movie or something. (Which, by the way, it was! There were at least 6 separate pieces of media [film, novel, television show] that were based on their story that I can find on record.) So on a personal level, here I am wondering why two people in the past got married in spite of wildly different life circumstances/why one of them abdicated a throne that was his birthright, and on an academic level A) trying to figure out how to fit this weird fascination into my thesis B) how did these two political and cultural figures shape the cultural landscape C) was their effect on the cultural landscape more or less significant than the two events which have been taking the most of my focus for the last year? D) how productive is it to even ask the question of more or less significance?

*screaming*

A few people have asked me if I should just switch my track to talk about how they affected Brunnhilde’s rule over New Asgard (which, in case you missed previous posts, Brunnhilde is a huge part of my current thesis as she essentially presided over what I’m terming “The New Asgardian Cultural Renaissance” and was absolutely critical to how things were shaped.) I’m hesitant to do this because this has actually already been done. I’ll stick JSTOR links in the endnotes, but Dr. Hamel Radley literally wrote this. “A King For the Ages: Brunnhilde’s First Three Decades.” Also, Dr. Leslie Storn’s “A King’s Court: Brunnhilde’s Advisory Council.” AND Dr. Jorseph Naulty’s “King Brunnhilde’s Surprising Advisory Council: Steady Hands, Scientists, Military Minds, and Galactic Politicking.” Look, there’s a LOT on Brunnhilde’s rule, and a LOT written on her advisory council. She was the ruling monarch, so it’s pretty par for the course.

But for how politically and culturally significant they seemed to be, there’s not really much specifically on Jane and Thor. Their cultural influences are given lip-service, and that’s it. (Again, Jane has been scientifically significant in a way no one has achieved since Albert Einstein, so in that way she’s more famous than her husband, but scientific notoriety isn’t the same as recognizing the fullness of her cultural contributions.)

I brought this stuff up to my advisor, and she said to keep pulling this thread because I’m on to something here, I just need to figure out what.

So my next research goal is to reach out to their descendents. They have a few children and grandchildren living, and hopefully at least one of them is willing to speak to me about them as people so I can get that portion of things nailed down before I go insane.

My almost-insanity probably bled into this post a little bit because it’s redundant as heck and you can bet your bum I am not spell-checking or proofreading. I need a break from that garbage. The life of a doctoral student continues.

Here’s to pulling the thread. Hopefully something useful unravels.

-(Future Dr.) Melanie LaComb

Reply posted by: Winsome34, 1/23/01 08:23

Melanie--this is a super interesting track, and your advisor was absolutely right when they said to follow it. I think it would be really interesting to read a sort of half-biography, half-cultural analysis piece. Would be really unique, and I’m sure any doctoral committee would find it an engaging topic.

Not sure if you’ve tried the Avengers Museum and Historical Library yet, but that might be a good place to go for some more primary sources, since Thor was a founding member and Jane was closely tied to them throughout their life. They have a really solid amazing librarians there who know the stacks backwards and forwards. I relied heavily on them when I was researching my last paper about racism against superheroes of color in the early 21st century.

Reply posted by: KorlaMajer, 1/23/01 10:22

Thanks for the shoutout boo ;) Your thesis is gonna be amazing!

ALSO: I have a light spectrum file converter from my dad. He does a ton of business with Alfheim and they are NOTORIOUS for sending incompatible LSFs.

Reply posted by: Chloe Durbin, 2/2/01 20:40

Hey! My mom is actually really tight with Thor and Jane’s oldest daughter Valkyrie. I think they knew each other from school or something back in the day, but she’s really awesome and basically my aunt, so if you need an intro or a number to call, I’ve got you! Just shoot me an email [email protected]. She’s really approachable if you don’t mind walking up to a lady who is literally 6’8” and looks like she literally HAS killed a man with her bare hands. But super nice though!

Universal Reply posted by: Blogmaster, 5/3/01 06:27

Thank you everyone for the tips! It’s going to help so much! The Avengers Library has actually been majorly helpful (I never even thought to look there, honestly!) and Valkyrie has agreed to sit down to an interview (of sorts) so everything is seriously looking up. And THE LSF CONVERTER WORKED LIKE A CHARM.

#fostersonweek #fostersonweek2019 #fosterson week #2019 day 2 #fic

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sustainabilitysarah · 5 years ago

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Progress in Food Production Illustration

In 1968, when I was and impressionable six years old horrified by what the television was showing about the Vietnam War, listening to the Beatles sing 'All you need is love', my parents bought a book called "The Population Bomb" by scientist Paul Ehrlich. It suggested that we were running out of resources because our population was growing too fast and we were consuming our earth's life support system faster than it could

regenerate. Two years later, on the first Earth Day, I began my activism, rounding up the neighborhood kids and staging a clean up of the polluted stream behind our apartment that ran into the Hudson River.

A year later my Beatle idol George Harrison held a "Concert for Bangladesh" to raise awareness of the suffering there. Like many kids worried about the "starving kids in Bangladesh" I asked in school why things were getting so bad. Like most school children around the world, we were told how the population bomb supposedly worked, how it ticked. The idea went back to the Reverend Thomas Malthus who argued in 1798 that "population increases geometrically, while food supplies increase only

arithmetically". This has been the prevailing wisdom for over 2 centuries and is often illustrated by the following graph:http://www.biology.iupui.edu/biocourses/N100/images/ageomgrowth.gif

http://occ.crescentschool.org/geography/human/unitvagricultural/malthusgr aph.jpg

Looks neat, right -- so mathematically precise and inevitable. The problem is that it is wrong. I felt it as a kid. It bothered me throughout middle school and high school and on in to college. The reverend's now famous "Malthusian" predictions of doom and gloom came from a man who never studied biology... we now realize that he was a religious zealot and bigot who made up theories to try and stoke anti- immigration fever, arguing that undesirable poor people were basically breeding like rats. The problem in his logic is easy to spot when you use Nexus thinking: FOOD IS A POPULATION. Food comes from living creatures who have populations. They expand GEOMETRICALLY. If you let them. If you encourage them. It doesn't matter if we are talking about Brewer's yeast or earthworms or oak trees or apple trees or chickens or ears of corn or cattle or cocoa covered ants... whatever you eat comes from living organisms that are programmed to reproduce as fast as they can... that WANT to reproduce... geometrically. Just like us. So... population increases geometrically, whether it is us or our food. Starving kids in Bangladesh or Ethiopia simply shouldn't happen, and, I will insist to you, WOULDN'T, if we allowed the organism we eat to do their thing.

The key to keeping food production in line with food consumption, I have been arguing, is to use the "food-waste-to-fuel-and-fertilizer-and-food" or FW2F3 formula wherein every molecule of nitrogen, phosphorous, pottasium and carbon and micronutrients found in our wastes in our burgeoning cities is transformed immediately, in situ, back into food through the magical transduction of anaerobic and aerobic biodigestion and urban vertical farming and micro-livestock.

Using these simple techologies to close the loops in the food/energy/water nexus, the curves on those graphs should continue to go up in lock step, until we reach the limits set by sunlight. And then we will have to figure out safe, harmless ways to grow not just ourselves and our "economy" but our ecology, and eventually help grow new planets. But even that... the promise of space stations and terraforming planets, isn't out of the question. After all, the one thing that doesn't seem to ever be in any danger of NOT expanding... is the universe."

Today’s lecture is about “Progress in food production: a new wave of ancient practices and post-modern technologies that use less water and less energy, produce less waste and can even produce more energy.”

And I believe, to paraphrase Deuteronomy 12:3, we have to start by “tearing down the altars and smashing the sacred pillars” that were erected by wrong headed Malthusians who used a gross misunderstanding of biology and a total lack of nexus and systems thinking to scare us into what I call “induced paralysis for profit”. The idea comes from what is called in economics classes “The Scarcity Model: the fundamental economic assumption of having seemingly unlimited human needs and wants in a world of limited resources, which states that society has insufficient productive resources to fulfill all human wants and needs”.

When the scarcity model is used to create fear, to create an atmosphere of doom and gloom, to predict the inevitable arrival of the four horsemen of the apocalypse (Conquest, War, Famine, and Death), political economists and political ecologists suggest that it is much easier for elite groups to manipulate the masses. They control the machinery of conquest and war, and they use the specter of famine to gain their power.

Food production sits at the heart of the nexus – every animal on this planet (and doubtless the vast majority of beings in our universe) finds food to be the fundamental. It is priority number one, for unless you are a being of pure light you need the food that grows with light to survive. And if you spread misinformation that famine is imminent, that starvation is just around the corner, you can mobilize armies.

However, looked at from a FEW Nexus perspective, this fear of famine we

have been living with since Biblical times (the four horsemen are part of the Book of Revelation of Jesus Christ to John of Patmos, at 6:1-8 in the New Testament written during the Roman occupation of Palestine) is a peculiar Middle Eastern and North European phenomenon it turns out, coming from civilizations in regions of the world where water stresses constrained food production. People in well-watered tropical regions rarely felt threatened by food scarcity and in fact were described by anthropologist Marshall Sahlins as living in a state of perpetual abundance. He postulated that hunter- gatherers were, in fact “the original affluent society” at a symposium entitled "Man the Hunter" in 1966 and this idea has been tested and found true for most peoples around the world where water was not a limiting factor. It explains why hunting and gathering and subsistence farming persist to this day, and why so many people resisted being brought into modern civilization or adopting modern agriculture methods. In fact the work of historian Anthropologist Eric Wolf, such as “Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century” and Yale professor James Scott in books such as “Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed” teach us that there have been enough failures due to the form of agriculture that emerged from the conquering civilizations that the conquered were willing to sacrifice their lives to revolt against them. Somehow, it seems, those certain schemes to improve yields were social and ecological disasters that should have been rejected by civilizations but instead were used to confirm the Reverend Malthus’ scientifically unfounded hypothesis – a classic but often neglected example of what is known as confirmation bias – which wiki defines as “the tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information in a way that confirms one's preexisting beliefs or hypotheses, while giving disproportionately less consideration to alternative

possibilities”. When it comes to food production, the alternative possibility, which is persuasively argued in Richard Manning’s book “Against the Grain: How Agriculture Has Hijacked Civilization” is that monocropping annual vegetation and basing civilization on grain agriculture, on the use of plants in the family Poaceae/Graminae, that is the grasses – wheat, rice, corn, barely, oats and sugar – yes, sugar is a grass – is, to caricature the 45th president of the world’s most powerful agriculture and military empire, “ a disaster”.

History records that agriculture and famine are the Jekyll and Hyde of the long and often militarized march of civilization. The one came because of the other, says Manning. Most of us were taught the opposite weren’t we? Taught that human life, as the 17th century imperial philosopher Thomas Hobbes decried in his book Leviathan, was “nasty, brutish and short” We were told that humans lived in a state of semi-starvation UNTIL they discovered agriculture. We were told that agriculture saved our species from hunger and misery, gave us the surpluses that enabled our climb to civilization. Sounds good, turns out not to be true.

Even Harvard’s Spencer Wells, a friend of mine who is the geneticist who leads the National Geographic Genographic project writes in his book “Pandora's Seed: The Unforeseen Cost of Civilization” that when humans shifted from hunting and gathering in that original affluent society to grain agriculture the average height of men dropped from about 5 foot 7 to 5 foot 2 and women’s pelvic girdles narrowed to the point where death in childbirth increased in frequency.

These were clear signs of malnutrition recorded in the fossils. Agriculture was to blame... floodplain agriculture dependent on disturbance species that grow like weeds after a disaster because they are weeds. And they end up causing disasters thereafter because they evolved to live in disaster environments, places where floods and fires ravage the countryside on a regular basis. In effect they DEPEND on disasters for their own reproductive survival. It is as though once we hitched our caboose to the weeds and became weed eaters, we started living for them and not the other way around.

Michael Pollan talks about this in his wonderful book that reframes our relationship to addictive plants called “The Botany of Desire”.

He points out that you could look at us as the slaves of addictive plants that evolved to control us through their effect on our brains so that we would help them reproduce. This idea, which British Scientist Richard Dawkin’s calls “The Extended Phenotype” in the battle of Selfish Genes, isn’t really new.

In 1872, when Samuel Butler published his utopian fiction “Erewhon” the major premise of the people who fled Europe to live on the island of Erewhon in the hopes of creating a better civilization was that they would not allow themselves to submit to the control of their addictions or any system that makes us into its own slave. On the island they refuse to use technology like cars and steam engines and typewriters and telegraph or any machines. It isn’t that they don’t know about these things – in fact they have an entire museum where they keep them safely on display in glass cases. They tell visitors, “in your civilization machines don’t serve you, you serve them. You go to work in the morning and waste your days slavishly building more machines and oiling them and fixing them and keeping them running. It is like the bee that is the servant of the flower... flowers can’t move to reproduce themselves, so they addict the bee with beauty and nectar and perfumes and the busy bee spends its whole life toiling just to help make more flowers”. The phenotype of the bee is being controlled by the genes of the flower, not the bee. This is the concept of the extended phenotype, which finds its purest expression in parasitology.

So there are some who believe that the crops we turned to in our modern agricultural systems are acting more like Parasites that food stuffs, and that when we think we are serving food in the “restaurant service” sense , we literally are serving food – i.e. we now serve THEM, as servants.

This makes sense from the perspectives of evolutionary psychology and behavioral ecology.

Whether it was drought in arid desert regions or winter freezing water into ice, the limits to plant growth and reproduction, and hence to animal fecundity were set by the availability of water. In the Middle East, certainly, it was not energy that was missing from the Nexus. Sunshine has always been abundant in those latitudes to provide energy for food production.

In the European countries the harsh winters did indeed constrain plant productivity and famines could result in winter if care wasn’t taken to take the enormous fecundity of the spring, summer and fall and store the harvest surplus for the fallow period. But Hunter Gatherers North and South, in the cold regions or the hot ones, originally depended on agroforestry, on tree crops, on perennials, not annuals. And they depended on the animals that depended on forests – on forest boars and jungle fowl and woodland ungulates – all the ancestors of our modern pigs and chicken and cows. In the north the forest leaf fall in the fall built up incredible rich soils during the winter ready for an explosion of food in the spring and summer which created enough surplus for the mammals we ate to survive the winter. In the south the forests retained the water that fell sporadically and created their own microclimates through transpiration. They forests created environments so rich in the cornucopia of foodstuffs that our mythology now recalls as “The Garden of Eden”.

And if you want some mythological proof of the disaster or agriculture, just look at the curse we were to endure after eating the tree of knowledge and getting kicked out of the garden, “To Adam he said, "Because you listened to your wife and ate fruit from the tree about which I commanded you, 'You must not eat from it,' "Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat food from it all the days of your life. Both thorns and thistles it shall grow for you; And you will eat the plants of the field; 19By the sweat of your face You will eat bread, Till you return to the ground”. So eating bread isn’t salvation, eating bread is the CURSE. No wonder so many hunters and gatherers said, “shoot, I’m going back into the forest, no way I’m doing hard time through painful toil to eat when I can pick fruits and vegetables and trap

animals.” And the fossil evidence of malnutrition affecting the pelvic bones of women, noted by Spencer Wells in Pandora’s Seed, is corroborated in the curse in Genesis when God says, “To the woman he said, "I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you."

We can even comment on what this reveals about the emergence of patriarchal rule due to the shift to grain agriculture. My experience with hunter-gatherer populations is that the women are usually the ones who

understood the sheer abundance of biodiversity that nature offered to put into the cooking pot. I experienced it when I was living with Melayu and Dyak tribes in the rainforests of Borneo and was taken into the forest by the medicine woman who was cooking our meal and her grandson who climbed the trees to get the foods. She was called the “witch doctor” and as she laid out the huge variety of foods we collected to put in the cooking pot I had images of the witches’ cauldron with its “eyes of newt, frogs legs, bats wings” – all things that would have provided great inexpensive abundant protein but which today are shamefully associated with evil and

witchcraft. After all, women were BURNED at the stake for understanding and promoting biodiversity in diet by the European patriarchy, and children punished or mocked for thinking they could go into the forest as kids do and come back munching on lizards and grubs. Agriculture can be blamed not only for this tremendous patriarchal violence and loss of biodiversity as we simplified the landscape to a handful of weedy grasses, but for what James Scott calls the “dummification” of humanity. At one time, as I experienced among the hunters and gatherers of Borneo, harvesting food was an educational adventure that made women and children experts who rivaled the best Ph.D. botanists and naturalists who Harvard sent out. With agriculture we turned brilliant self-sufficient peasants into outdoor factory workers and, of course, quite literally when you are talking about the first 400 years of agriculture in the European colonized Americas, slaves. The violence inherent in agriculture rears its ugly head everywhere.

And it could be said that Genesis itself records the clearest indication that grain agriculture is the scourge of mankind, the source of its original sin of violence in The story of Cain and Abel. This chapter of the Bible is the clearest indictment of wheat agriculture one could imagine, and nobody seems to comment on it. Abel is a pastoralist who tends a flock of animals who wander about like ungulate hunter gatherers, eating what God has given them. His brother Cain is... a wheat farmer, somehow stupidly living out God’s curse to scratch a living in the hot sun through toil amidst the thistles and thorns that always accompany weed agriculture. Abel brings a lamb meat sacrifice to the altar of God, along with diverse fruits and vegetables he has gathered, and God is pleased.

Cain then comes with a bunch of wheat and the Bible says, “but for Cain and for his offering He had no regard. So Cain became very angry and his countenance fell. Then the LORD said to Cain, "Why are you angry? And why has your countenance fallen?7"If you do well, will not your countenance be lifted up? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door; and its desire is for you, but you must master it."...

To me this is a clear indication that the ancients saw wheat offerings as a kind of sin, the sin of an addiction, an addiction which Cain could not

master. In his anger he turns around and kills his gentle carnivorous animal slaughtering brother.

Think about it for a moment... it is enough to make Vegans go mad: The vegetarian is the killer, the slaughterer of baby goats is the gentle one.

Could it be that this ancient myths were there to warn us that wheat is a weed, that grains are drugs, that we haven’t been growing food all along, but addictive substances that will end up mastering us through the Botany of Desire?

So, to get back to Reverend Malthus, who in my opinion must not have spent an awful lot of time delving into the hermeneutic interpretation of the books he preached in his fiery diatribes against the poor and the immigrants, it is clear to me that the entire Matlhusian premise is based on a fabrication of the weed eaters, who most likely did observe that if they kept planting grains and consuming starches and sugars their own sickly but ever increasing population would outstrip the fecundity of the land and so human populations would increase geometrically while their drug-food agriculture would only increase arithmetically if at all.

But if Abel had been Abel, we might have returned to the garden a long long time ago, where food is a self-increasing population grown in permacultural symbiosis into perpetuity. The good news is, that the world as we know it IS coming to an end. And what is ending isn’t the good life, but the bad life we inherited from our dummified forebears. We can begin again. Permacultural Food Production shows us how.

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