#iceberg empire | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freelancearsonist · 3 months

Text

Some Fools Fool Themselves

➔ Javier Peña x fem!Reader - 2.7k

➔ You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨ [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

The bright, glaring yellow waves of sunlight reflect off the surface of lapping pool water and cast it in a nearly green light. Javi’s dark eyes are transfixed on it through his polarized sunglasses as he marinates in the beating hot Colombian summer sun.

Javier has never questioned his dutiful determination before. He’s never wondered if the ends actually do justify the means. He’s been in the palm of Uncle Sam’s hand for so long that the lines have become blurry—that the consideration of moral superiority doesn’t cross his mind anymore. Not that it ever really has; that’s why he’s so well-suited for the job he’s in. He follows his orders, no matter the cost.

And that’s why you pose such an issue to him. You make him question everything. Every move he’s made, every goal he’s been so set on accomplishing for so many years. If he sends this shiny-sinister iceberg of a drug hierarchy tumbling down the way he’s always believed it should, you’ll be buried in the debris. And maybe, at first, that knowledge didn’t bother him. Maybe he even believed that you deserved that—to be crushed by the weight of your own empire.

If he did, he certainly doesn’t anymore—and it’s killing him.

He’s never been so shaken and unsure. Maybe that’s why the water has caught his eyes—it’s a visual representation of how he feels. Rippling and indecisive, desperate to cling to you yet eager to let you go just like the droplets that part from your form as you lift yourself onto the concrete lip of the pool.

You stride toward him with slow movements, and the dilemma vanishes completely from his mind.

”You look stressed,” you murmur as you kneel beside the lounger he’s sprawled himself out on and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

”Just tired,” he hums in response. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the back of your hand in an unconscious effort to sooth your worry over him. “Long night at work.”

You don’t know what he actually does—as far as you’re concerned, he’s just a lowly janitor at the embassy. You can imagine that such menial labor is thoroughly exhausting, though, and you’re determined to help ease his sore muscles.

”Flip over,” you instruct—and like a good agent, he follows orders.

For fingers that he’s noted time and time again are so much daintier than his own, they work wonders on his sore muscles. They work with skill and intuition, magnetically drawn to the worst knots in his back. The pressure is perfect, and it has him practically drooling.

When those skilled fingers of yours hook into the waistband of his swim trunks and start tugging them down, he doesn’t even think of resisting.

You’ve learned to do something that no one and nothing else has managed to accomplish in all his lifetime—you quiet his swirling mind. There’s nothing beyond the bubble of you and him. Nothing to worry about, nothing to accomplish. No ulterior motives to his presence here, shirtless and lounging like he owns the place. Like this isn’t your husband’s house that he’s supposed to be searching for intel.

You coax him to roll over again onto his back. He can’t miss the heat of your gaze—the way your eyes shamelessly skirt down the broad expanse of his torso to take in the softly swelling length of his cock. He knows you relish in these moments—when all you have to do is look at him to get him going. You’re proud of yourself for it, for the effect you have on him.

It’s easy to forget, when you have him completely at your mercy like this, that you’re just as weak for him as he is for you.

”Missed you,” you mumble into his lips as you straddle his lap.

He takes your hips in his steady grip—guides the pace as you rock against him. “It’s only been a couple days.”

”I know,” you whisper. You grind down harder than he means to allow you, drawing a deep groan from his diaphragm. “Still missed you.”

And then, because he finds it nearly impossible to lie to you: “I missed you too.”

He licks eagerly into your mouth before you can say anything, and you accept his tongue without complaint. Your fingers now move to his face, practically clawing in desperation to pull him closer and deepen the already heated kiss.

It’s been nearly a year of him hanging around here, playing his role in the act of your affair. He has you figured out to the most minute details—he knows all your wants, all your needs. He knows the exact sounds that he can draw from you when he sucks over the pulse point on your neck: a squeal as you begrudgingly push him away and mumble something about not leaving marks. He smirks and moves on to the next spot, knowing that you can’t resist for long. Knowing that you don’t even want to in the first place.

He knows that you’re eager for him in the same way he is for you—to please, to take care of. He sees it in action when you reach down and wrap your fingers around his length; when you let out a little breath at the way your fingers can’t quite fit all the way around his girth. You act surprised every time, no matter how many times he finds you in his lap like this. And he loves it—loves the way you practically soak through your little bikini bottoms at just the feel of him in your hand.

“That’s it, bebita,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum your appreciation at his words, a silent thank you in the twist of your wrist and the tightening of your grip. It makes his hips jump, cock throbbing under your touch as he tries to fight your slow pace in favor of more intense stimulation. But you aren’t having it—you pin his thighs down with your weight so you can languish in torturing him.

He actually growls as your pace slows—a deep, rumbling, animalistic sound that goes straight to your panties. His restraint is slipping second by second the longer you tease him. He’s throbbing, aching in your grip; he would be embarrassed over how quickly you’ve reduced him to such a primal state if he had any blood left in his brain.

”Dámelo.” There’s nothing pleading or polite about his tone. This is a command, an instruction; an order you don’t dare disobey.

You pull away quickly, but you’re back before he can even process your absence. You’ve shifted to the end of the lounger, face deliciously close to where he’s aching to feel you.

”Relax, Javi,” you hum pleasantly. “Déjame cuidar de ti.”

”Then don’t be a fucking tease.” There’s an evident smirk in his tone, and it makes you smile as you slowly trail your tongue along his length, from the seam of his balls up to swirl around the thick, leaking tip of him.

He grunts as your lips seal around him, one thick-fingered hand coming down to gently urge you deeper. He’s not shy of being greedy with you; he knows how much you love the authoritarianism of his dominance. To let go of your mind and let him take the reigns. As much as you love to play at a power struggle, this is what you want in the end. To be controlled, to be guided. To take exactly what he gives you, exactly the way he gives it to you.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans with a buck of his hips that pushes him against the back of your throat. “Take it all.”

And always eager to please, you try your best to do exactly that. You open your throat as much as possible to accommodate his girth and do your best to tamp down the gag reflex that he’s bullying awake. Your nails dig into the meat of his hips as you let him guide you deeper, further—he’ll admire the little crescent moon marks later, alone in his government-issue apartment.

His unoccupied hand slips down the back of your neck and tugs at the string of your bikini top. He doesn’t get quite the view he wants with you choking on his cock, but reaching down to gently pinch and tug at your nipples is enough for him—especially with the little moans and vibrations you let out around his cock.

He tugs your hair a little harshly to pull you off of him when the pleasure compounds. You whine at the loss of his taste, and he groans at the shiny spit that links your swollen lips to his cock.

His breathless moan goes straight to your neglected cunt and makes you squirm with arousal. “Shit, sweetheart. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You shake your head and muster every ounce of seduction your lust-addled brain can generate as you trail open-mouthed kisses over his clenched thighs. “I’m real, Javi. And I really want you.”

Normally, he would want to get his hands on you. He would want to press his fingers deep into your cunt and languish in the embarrassing squelch of your arousal as he works you open for him. He would want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until the pleasure is so blinding that you can do nothing but slump into his arms and take it. But you’re impatient today; it’s been more than a week since you last saw him, and that means it’s been more than a week since you felt anything remotely pleasurable. Your husband didn’t marry you for love, or even lust—he married you for convenience, for security. For cover to keep up appearances.

Maybe Javi’s been taking advantage of that all this time—how deeply you crave the connection that you’re constantly deprived of. Maybe he should call this off now, before he takes anymore than he already has from you.

But he’s not selfless. He has his flaws, and his biggest one is that he’s irreversibly fallen in love with you. He craves that connection just as deeply as you do.

Your desperation bleeds into his veins and makes him dizzy with arousal. He nods as his throat bobs around a deep gulp. “Alright. Dealer’s choice.”

You only have to consider for a moment before you flip in his lap, bracing yourself forward on your arms in between his legs with your ass pressed snuggly against his cock. You grind lightly against him, and it’s almost enough to make him lose his head.

But just as quickly as his sensible thought leaves, it’s right back where it belongs. He grabs your hips harder than he should to drag you against his solid length and relishes in the deep moan you emit.

”Take what you need, baby,” is all the encouragement you need from him. You take him into your hand again and rise up onto your knees so you can tease his spit-soaked tip against your entrance. You look over your shoulder so you can see his reaction as you trace him around your slit; you relish in the hard set of his jaw, the clenched teeth that you can see through his parted lips as he fights the urge to slam you down hard onto him. He’d only be feeding into the bit—he knows your sole mission is to make him lose his composure.

But it’s so hard not to when you’re looking at him like this—like he holds your very soul in the palm of his hand. The trust, the admiration, in your gaze is nearly enough to make him choke.

Thankfully, you choose this exact moment to sink down the length of him.

The sheer size of him is overwhelming on a normal day, and even more so today when you’ve not had your usual preparation. He bullies his way deep enough to fill your chest, stretching you to your very limit and maybe even past it.

But he’s prepared for it, for how staggering he can feel at first thrust. He grounds you to him with heavy hands on your hips and fits you snug against him. He whispers up at you, little encouragements and sweet nothings. His praise rings sweet and clear as he tells you how good you feel, how warm, how tight, how wet. He basks in the feeling of you soaking him all the way to the very base—in the feeling of your sweet juices dripping down him to soak the coarse patch of hair above his cock.

You pause when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, moaning in tandem with Javi at the way he twitches within your snug walls. It’s like the first time every single time you take him—you wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back for more. You’ve never heard him say he loves you, but you could believe it when you’re like this; when he starts rocking up into you with the sole intention of finding that one little spot that’ll have you shaking and sobbing in his arms.

”You’ve got this, baby,” he grunts in reassurance. “You’re takin’ it so well, honey. Tan perfecto.”

The praise runs up your spine from where you’re connected with him and lodges itself in your brain—it plays on repeat while you start bouncing your hips in an effort to match his pace. It draws a deep, heady grunt from him and pulls him into action. One hand grabs a harsh handful of your ass while you spear yourself on his length, and the other hand slides up the curve of your waist to find a nipple to roll between his expert fingers.

It baffles you, his ability to multitask. When you’re like this—filled to the very brim—all you can focus on is the delicious friction of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. But Javi has a precious ability to attend to as many erogenous zones as he can all at once—something you admire more than you can put into words. His ability to rip you apart is completely unrivaled.

There’s a desperate fury to his touch as his hand slides over your hip from your ass, wrapping around you to circle your clit. It’s harsh and fast—the exact pressure that makes you tremble and scream.

And you do; you come with a cry of his name, cunt clenching around him in a vice grip that almost makes it impossible to keep up the pace. But he tries anyway—anchors your hips in his large hands so he can thrust up into you through your high.

The lounger creaks dangerously beneath you, but the sound is lost to your ears when you’re so thoroughly blinded by your pleasure.

Within a few moments Javi follows you, growling deep in his diaphragm as he spills himself hot and thick into your soaked pussy.

You don’t think it’s ever been this messy before. All you can focus on is the hot, sticky mess slipping down your thighs. Javi can tell that it’s uncomfortable for you, so he reaches down and grabs your discarded bikini top to wipe away as much as he can. You’ve got plenty of others—and even if you don’t, your husband will buy you a new one without question.

He discards it back on the burning concrete once he’s satisfied with his clean up job, then leans back on the lounger and grabs a cigarette from the open pack on the table next to him.

He tries not to smile too much when you stay in place and snuggle into his chest. He really wasn’t a cuddler before you—but now, all he wants is to feel your warmth and weight against him.

It’s not nearly long enough before you look up at him with your pretty eyes and say, ”He’ll be home soon.”

”I’d better beat it then.” He flicks the ash off of his cigarette and pushes himself slowly to his feet—finds his swim trunks discarded on the ground at the foot of the lounger.

”Hey?” He pauses, brow furrowing at how small and timid your voice sounds in just that one word. He’s never heard that quality to your tone before, and it worries him.

”Yeah?”

”Just… please come back sooner,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

Javier Peña is a weak, weak man within these walls. He smiles the softest smile he can muster and pulls you into his arms to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. For a moment, he forgets that you’re not really his. “Okay. I will, baby.”

And he means it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

THE END

➔ Translations: bebita - baby dámelo - give it to me déjame cuidar de ti - let me take care of you tan perfecto - so perfect

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 title is from “love hurts” by nazareth

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :)

#pedro pascal #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena one shot #javier pena smut #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut #pedro pascal smut #cece writes

258 notes · View notes

gassyandnasty · 2 months

Text

The Jock Formula - 1.2

FLASHBACK

Andrew had complicated days before. Wedgies, wet willies and swirlies were the tip of the iceberg of all the torture he had to endure, he thought after school things would get better, but studying on the same campus with the most gross frat ever was a challenge, and being an easy target was even worse, nor his flail arms or his whimp friends could help him out.

That's why George came up with the 'jock formula', there was no escape. But his research led to peculiar ingredients, some were easy to find, but others…

George had the brilliant idea to sneak in the locker room and collect some of their sweat, but they were having a match, so all of the gear was being used, and the sweat was being produced.

"I have been observing them for a while now, nobody uses this and that locker, let's stay in there and wait for them to come back. They always forget dirty socks and… underwear, but those have enough material to the formula… at least I believe" George planned.

"What if they discover us?" asked Andrew.

"They won't. A football team is loud enough, nobody will hear anything, and… they are so dumb." Underestimated George.

"I know… It's just… if they spot us, we are screwed."

"Everything will come to plan… now shush, because the match is almost finished, soon they will come."

And with a loud bang, all the football team came loud and obnoxious into the locker room. Soon a strong smell invaded their space, too much sweat and testosterone in the air. Andrew observed them through the cracks of the door, all stood proud, bulging muscles everywhere, true alphas... but one contrasted out of the bunch: Josh.

Josh was a true UNIT of a man. Dark hair covered his face and many parts of his body, that looked like it was sculpted by a god: defined biceps, back and abs, his pecs appeared to be made of stone, bulging out of every shirt he put on, while his legs could sustain an empire, huge thighs and two mounds of the plumpest ass Andrew has ever seen. On top of that, he got an intimidating and charming look at the same time, where he passed, you could hear people swoon over him. If the "jock formula" worked, he would be happy to be even a third of all this.

"Alright guys, let's pack it up" Josh's voice boomed through all the room. "Got so much gear that I need another locker."

Andrew spine freezed, what if he picked his? There was no way to run, and being locked with a bunch of stinky jocks was proving to be lethal. While he gazed through the cracks, he spoted George trying to collect some drops of sweat on the floor while they weren't looking. He sneaked a syringe by the cracks of his locker while Josh was looking for a place to put the rest of his gear.

The scene was terrifying. The overpowering lights reflected on the white tiles and camouflaged the transparent syringe, but what George couldn't see is that Josh was approaching, and when he least expected, the syringe was crushed by Josh's heavy feet.

"Yo! what is this?" Josh questioned as he stepped on something. He noticed that the syringe found it's way back to the locker and asked: "Hey! Who's in there?" he complemented with a powerful kick in the door, making everyone pay attention to what was happening.

All of the boys turned their eyes to the locker George was in, and he was in MAD trouble now.

"What is that, dude? Chill" Sal said. Andrew knew this voice too well. Sal was a very famous playboy, he got all the chicks with his 'latin spice', as his tanned skin and eternal smirk were fine additions to his perfect body. One of Andrew's nerdy friends said that his gas was fiery, and burned his eyebrows once.

"Maybe it's just another of the rival team's prank" added Jongho, the new exchange school guy. He came from Korea and quickly got along with them cause he is so good at everything: best grades, top athlete and a very toned body. This time Andrew seen himself, as he tried to share some thoughts on math class, and was greeted with the longest belch he ever heard of.

But his thoughts were interrupted when Josh's threatened the locker again. "Reveal yourself or I'll rip the door out!"

Slowly, George surrended and opened the door. He was even wearing a lab coat, accessorized by his big glasses and slicked back hair. He was truly ridiculous. He was greeted with a choir of laughs by all the sides of the room, George was almost pissing himself.

Andrew thanked God it wasn't him in that place, but George pretty much asked for it. He could have waited till they left the room, and now...

"Oh, look what we have here!" Josh teased, ensuring more laugh by the other boys. "Taking notes, loser?"

"Ugh...I was... hiding from P.E...erm..." George didn't know what to say. He couldn't give away about the formula, but the broken pieces of the syringe on the floor pointed out that he was doing more than hide.

"Huh, I see..." Josh inspects, and spots the puddle of sweat that George was trying to collect from. He connects the dots, syringe, lab coats, samples... He didn't get to any conclusion cause he is too dumb for that, but it was sufficient to pick on the nerd for anything he was doing.

"Were you trying to do experiments with us? Where are those samples going, huh?" Josh intimidates, through the gap of the door, the Andrew could only see his toned legs towering over George.

"No, no, those were my homework... It got nothing to do with-" George was trying to explain himself as he was cut of by the alpha jock:

"Nothing on that bullshit, nerd." Josh said as he turned around. Now he was facing Andrew, the tiny locker that George was hidden was on the bottom line, so Josh started to bend over.

"Why don't you collect this sample?" Josh teased as he put his ass inside the locker George was. Andrew saw him scrunching up his face and clench his fist, with a loud grunt, Josh released hell on George's face.

"HNNGG... PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT"

That has got to be the most powerful fart Andrew ever witnessed. Even if it was inside the locker, was loud and clear, so deep that even vibrated the locker walls. It simply exploded for so long that Josh's veins were bulging out for forcing it, and on a final wet note, his ultimate demonstration of power ended.

"Aaaaaah, god DAMN! That was a monster! Don't you think, nerd-" Josh sighed in relief after almost exploding the room, and is surprised by the sight of George completely passed out.

"Haha, couldn't even that take, loser?" Josh worked up a huge wad of spit and fired on George's uncouscious face, making all of the jocks laugh and high five him.

"King! King! King! King! King" his friends chanted, while they got out of there. One day, Andrew wanted to be 'King' too.

And boy, it STANK. The pungent smell invaded Andrew's nostrils like no other, and he carefully got out of his locker to help his friend. He came next to him and his situation was miserable. But out of all that humiliation, Andrew collected the spit that was covering all of Josh's face so they could proceed with the formula.

When Andrew tried to get his friend out of the locker, he noticed that George indeed pissed himself.

#jock #male farts #muscles #dumbing down #thejockformula #male biceps #male pecs #male butt

68 notes · View notes

blueiskewl · 9 months

Text

‘Extremely Rare’ Roman Temple Discovered in Italy

Sarsina is a sleepy, rural town of barely 3,000 residents straddling the pristine Apennine mountains in Italy’s Emilia Romagna region, surrounded by stunning views and grazing sheep.

While it has a glorious past, as a strategic defensive outpost for the Roman Empire and the birthplace of the famed playwright Plautus, today there’s not much to do beyond hiking and birdwatching.

And though both locals and holidaymakers would agree that a rustic, slow-paced lifestyle is part of Sarsina’s charm, its residents were nonetheless excitedly awaiting the construction of a development including a new supermarket, fitness center and playground. But it was not meant to be — at least, not as originally planned.

That’s because workers at the site on the outskirts of town in December 2022 unearthed the ruins of an ancient Roman temple — or ‘capitolium’ — dating back to the first century BC.

In early July, a first look at the underground treasure came to light: a single imposing structure of horizontal sandstone blocks and marble slabs, 577 square meters wide, which researchers have identified as the podium above which the columns and walls of an ancient temple were built.

And what has come out of the ground so far could be just the tip of the iceberg.

“We have unearthed three separate rooms, likely dedicated to the triad of gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva,” lead archaeologist at the excavation site Romina Pirraglia said. “The excavations are still underway… and we have already identified an older, deeper layer of ruins dating back to the 4th century BC, when the Umbrian people (an ancient Italic tribe who predated the Romans) lived in the area. The entire temple could be even larger than what we now see.”

According to Pirraglia, the discovery of a capitolium — the main temple in an important Roman city, and a hub for trade as well as religious and social interactions — further confirms the strategic role Sarsina played during the Roman Empire. The town was built in a key mountainous area close to the Tuscan border and overlooking the Savio river, an important waterway connecting central and northern Roman cities.

The discovery of the temple has pushed local authorities to revise their building plans. Federica Gonzato, superintendent of archaeology, fine arts and landscape for the provinces of Ravenna, Rimini and Forlì-Cesena, which includes Sarsina, is adamant in wanting to preserve the ruins and further research its great past.

“We will not tear it down to make room for modern structures, this must be very clear. Previous urban plans will be changed, we will find new construction sites for recreation and sports,” Gonzato said. “The temple is an incredible finding that sheds light on how ancient Roman towns rose and fell across time.”

What makes the discovery exceptional is the temple’s unique state of preservation. “The marvelous quality of the stones have been spared from sacks, enemy invasions and plunders across millennia thanks to the remote location of Sarsina, a quiet spot distant from larger cities,” Gonzato added. “Temples such as this one (were) regularly plundered, exploited as quarries with stones and marble slabs taken away to be re-used to build new homes. But Sarsina’s capitolium podium structure is practically untouched, with its entrance staircase well-preserved, and this is extremely rare.”

Gonzato believes the discovery will further research on demography and urban transformations in ancient times. And there’s more to the site than just the temple’s podium. Pirraglia said there are signs that the building was reused in medieval times. An ancient water drainage system was found alongside medieval tombs and hearths indicating that locals likely inhabited it, or used the site for other social purposes.

“This is the beauty of Italy: wherever you dig, some hidden treasure comes out of the ground. Wonders never cease to amaze us,” said Gonzato.

By Silvia Marchetti.

#‘Extremely Rare’ Roman Temple Discovered in Italy #Sarsina Italy #capitolium #ancient temple #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art

359 notes · View notes

stupid-sloot-headcanons · 3 months

Note

Thinking about Black Mask with a Darling who has accepted their situation and actually returns his affections, and gets jealous when they (mistakenly) assume he’s seeing someone on the side. Roman thinks it’s adorable. But don’t push him about where he goes or what he does, he has a criminal empire to run after all.

Or on a darker note...a Darling who is desperately trying to get Roman’s attention off of them and does things like suggesting threesomes with other beautiful women, hoping his focus will turn elsewhere. It doesn’t work and he sees right through it, but cute attempt. “No one is taking your place, doll.”

He just smirks and squeezes them. "You think I'd have a gumar now that I got you? What kinda fuckin idiot would I be to downgrade to any other dame when I've got the best one in the world every day and night?"

And he can be genuinely romantic and loving too. If Darling got upset and broke down because she thought he was cheating, he'd tilt their chin and go "Hey. I keep a lot of shit from you about my business, about what I do. But I am never keeping other women behind your back. You ask if you're the only woman in my life? A'course you are! You're mine and I'm yours. You think I'd let anyone else be this close? You ain't in my life, you ARE my life...sheesh, makin' me get all sentimental here with just a bit of you turning on the waterworks. See? You got me fuckin' whipped, here!"

And he doesn't do threesomes with Darling because he doesn't want anyone, man woman or otherwise, to have her.

"I'm chivalrous but there's a limit. I'm a jealous motherfucker. I ain't gonna deny my flaws, I'm introspective, you know? I see ANYONE looking at my woman, whether they're a man or a broad, I'm ripping their fuckin' eyes out. To tell you the truth, that night at the Iceberg Lounge when Catwoman had the balls to put her hand on your shoulder I wanted to rip her fuckin' acrylics out and shove 'em down her throat. Fuck, if I see a baby eyeing your tits I might think about throwing their binky into traffic...ayyyy, come on, it was a joke! I'd never! I'd just think about it for a second! C'mon!"

#.black mask #.dc #.arkhamverse #he would think about it for a microsecond tho #unless it was his kid. but any other rugrat? no.#cmon the man tortured a teenage girl to death (until it was retconned to be near death)#yandere dc #yandere arkhamverse #yandere black mask #thots #.myshit

60 notes · View notes

raimagnolia · 5 months

Text

"The love story between Olrox and Mizrak is rushed"

No, yall are just wildly impatient. They weren't even in love for fuck sake.

Enemies to lovers doesn't happen over night,

and no,

just cuz you fuck someone doesn't mean you love them-- we're not children here, no matter what domestic fluff coffeeshop AUs you're into, it should be fairly obvious that Mizrak has problems with his identity and faith conflictong with one another, making EXTREMELY hypocritical judgements that are literally called out WITHIN THE STORY.

He's nowhere even remotely NEAR ready for a relationship with a species he literally thinks is SOULLESS and incapable of caring for another human being. Yet, "their love story is rushed!!"

Not to mention the potentiality of a Christian man calling an indigenous person "an animal" is an unsavory reminder of what the conquistadors used to call his people during their violent settlements.

And then, with Olrox, he's going to need to BELIEVE again, after putting faith in something that was immediately killed.

He's seen hopes, dreams and empires, rise and fall, over and over again. He's afraid of taking risks, and that's HIS character arc this season.

Loving Mizrak IS a risk. That's why he's stopping himself.

It's called a slowburn, people; this is only the tip of the iceberg.

#Sooooo fucking sick of this complaint #yall never heard of FUCKING before??#NO it's not your taylor swift love story yet ya dumbasses PAY 👏🏾ATTENTION 👏🏾TO THE👏🏾STORY!👏🏾#Olrox #castlevania: nocturne #Mizrak #olrox/mizrak

86 notes · View notes

librarycards · 5 months

Note

Hello! Your posts are very enlightening and I'm inspired by how much you read. Might be a weird question and I'm sorry if it is but do you have any good book recommendations for a USAmerican trying to expand their worldview? I.e., histories of other countries/global regions, imperialism, etc.

i have some, but also recommend looking through @metamatar / @fatehbaz / @lafemmemacabre / @killy / @sawasawako / @handweavers (these are the mutuals that stand out to me but just the tip of the iceberg) &other blogs that have a more robust collection of resources –– i have learned a lot from them over the years!

that said, here are some books and authors whose oeuvres/at least multiple books i strongly recommend. different genres, and i'm not delineating between them as i am ideologically opposed to Doing That/creating epistemic hierarchies. obviously, that is particularly true given the nature of this ask. but it should be pretty clear what is considered a standard 'political/historical nonfiction' book and what...isn't!

authors:

Lisa Lowe

Jasbir Puar

Laila Lalami

Sara Ahmed

Trinh T. Minh-ha

Jamaica Kincaid

b. binaohan

Larissa Lai

Edwidge Danticat

Harsha Walia

Bhanu Kapil

books:

Atef Abu Saif, The Drone Eats With Me: A Gaza Diary

Tsitsi Dangarembga, Nervous Conditions

Pankaj Mishra, Bland Fanatics: Liberals, the West, and the Afterlives of Empire

Leila Khaled, My People Shall Live

Susan Williams, White Malice: The CIA and the Covert Recolonization of Africa

Minae Mizumura, The Fall of Language in the Age of English

Chandra Talpade Mohanty, Feminism Without Borders

Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, Not a Nation of Immigrants

Saidiya Hartman, Lose Your Mother

Mimi Sheller, Mobility Justice: The Politics of Movement in an Age of Extremes

Marwa Helal, Ante Body

Aviva Chomsky, Central America's Forgotten History (NB: forgotten by usamericans, that is)

Raja Shehadeh, Palestinian Walks: Forays into a Vanishing Landscape

Moraga, Anzaldúa, and Bambara, eds., This Bridge Called My Back

Poupeh Missaghi, trans(re)lating house one

Marisol de la Cadena, Earth Beings

Kathryn Joyce, The Child Catchers: Rescue, Trafficking, and the New Gospel of Adoption

Bonaventure Soh Beje Ndikung, Pidginization as Curatorial Method: Messing with Languages and Praxes of Curating

Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples

again, this appears as a long list, but is truly just a taste of what's out there. i hope it helps!

#ask #book rec #if u don't want to be tagged just msg me and ill untag you!#and also feel free to add on #anonymous

79 notes · View notes

hylialeia · 8 months

Text

thoughts on the Daevabad Trilogy, short version: holy shit that was good

longer version:

holy shit that was good.

I adored the writing style, the imagery, the worldbuilding, the characters, the character dynamics, and the pacing all the way through. I first picked up this series because of how Global Medievalism talked about it as a stepping stone away from Eurocentric medieval fantasy and it definitely delivered. this is tied with Spinning Silver for my favorite recent reads--which is even more impressive since SS was a standalone, meanwhile this series kept up a consistently high quality across three separate books.

after Fourth Wing masquerading as a rich, complex adult fantasy and then being What It Actually Was, this was an immensely satisfying series to pick up. it skirts the fantasy staple of the Inherently Evil Race/Species that so many works fall into (even asoiaf with the Others) and instead opts to explore in-depth religious and racial prejudices, revolutions, bigotry, power, and privilege in ways that can be frightening for a lot of authors (and readers). I can see why this series would frustrated a large swath of fantasy fans and not just because it steps completely away from the Europe-but-slightly-to-the-left settings that they're so familiar with; people looking for escapism and a palatable black-and-white conflict definitely wouldn't find it here.

that said, I also think the narrative did a fantastic job of showcasing the brutality of oppression, as well as cycles of revenge and violence, without turning into a sermon about how anyone who fights back is Just As Bad as the oppressor. you can sympathize with any faction within the trilogy while still seeing that there's a clear hierarchy. this is a series that asks the reader to be open minded and to sympathize with a variety of people's suffering while still condemning heinous actions, crimes, and ways of thinking. portrayals of violence, swearing, and sex aside, this is where I believe the adult label is earned. the Daevabad Trilogy outshines Fourth Wing in its entirety, actually following through on promises of depth, complexity, and exploration.

I don't think the series reaches into absolutely flawless territory; on reflection, there are a lot of scenes I wish we'd seen happening in the moment rather than summarized or briefly flashed back to. this goes especially for the end of the last book, Empire of Gold, which would have enhanced the pacing quite a bit. there's a bit of rushing through the final battle, and though it's still quite fantastic and follows through on a deal of foreshadowing and character build-up, it definitely feels over too soon. there are also a few loose ends and potential conflicts when it comes to the characters themselves that the series felt too tired to actually flesh out by the end. I can forgive that chiefly because of just how well-rounded and consistent the characters themselves are, even despite those instances.

and holy shit did I adore these characters. I've only seen the barest tip of the iceberg of discourse this series caused (which I'm sure was insane when it first came out), but thankfully the 10 million+ Way More Problematic Characters (that I also love) in asoiaf has made me immune to whatever the hell was going on over there. I also couldn't get involved in a ship war if you paid me.

I think the first book made a good call only having Nahri and Ali's POVs not just from a technical standpoint (Dara's POV wouldn't have added much, and may have even spoiled some meaningful twists) but also in priming the reader for what is the heart of the entire trilogy: their dynamic. Nahri and Ali carry the series whether they're young, platonic best friends who should be enemies, awkward ex-friends who still get a long way too well, or best friends who are deeply in love which each other but too traumatized to admit it. they both stand incredibly well as individuals (evidenced by the fact that they don't even meet until over the halfway mark in the first book), with Ali being a particular favorite of mine from the very beginning. their opposite upbringings yet similar interests made them a fantastic duo, one where it made sense the impact each one would have on the other's journey. there's something so incredibly endearing about their inability to legitimately dislike each other despite their circumstances, one that makes sense based on their already established personalities; they propel the series' most meaningful moments.

for the elephant in the room: as frustrating as Dara's POV could be I found it a worthy and fascinating addition in the later books, one that I think a lot of people missed the weight of if they were too busy excusing him/hating him. his perspective, biased and misguided as it often was, provided so much rich exploration of the trilogy's overall themes: militarism, religious fanaticism, prejudice, free will, just war, revolution, cycles of violence, conditioning and abuse, etc. that so much of this seemed to fall to the wayside in a strive to decide if he was excusable or not (and thus a viable love interest or not) is a huge shame. his ending was, to me, profoundly satisfying; not redeemed but finally allowed to act of his own free will, no longer bound by outside magic or internalized religious obligation. I never violently disliked Dara and Nahri's romantic entanglement so much as I knew it was doomed from the moment Ali had a POV chapter.

the secondary characters were no less engaging for me, especially as their prominence grew throughout the books, antagonists or otherwise. it was refreshing to see Muntadhir and Jamshid's individual characters (and thus their relationship) become a more prominent aspect of the story--again, especially after the tokenism in Fourth Wing. side characters always seemed to have deeper personalities and roles to play, with even early character deaths like Anas having lasting impacts for our main POVs. their presence was as vital to the immersion and depth of the world as much as the setting and imagery--which are also aspects that completely blew me away. from character, technical, to thematic standpoints, the Daevabad Trilogy absolutely amazed me.

final thoughts and rating: if you give me a book where two married characters are in love with the other's brother and expect me not to give it a high rating you're insane. 8/10. maybe even 9/10. go read these books.

#spoiler warning for people who want to read this series (which you should)#thank you chakraborty for Thee character dynamic of all time #ali love of my life. apple of my eye. <3 #the daevabad trilogy

85 notes · View notes

themisteriousentity · 10 months

Text

You know, people forget that Soldier, Poet, King is a Christian song depicting different aspects of Jesus, but it sure is interesting to see that the fandom almost universally makes Dimitri the Soldier, Claude the Poet, and Edelgard the King

However, I argue a different order

*le gaspu*

Dimitri is still the soldier, but I think Claude and Edelgard should switch. I think Edelgard is the Poet and Claude is the King

Hear me out

Dimitri, we all know why he's the Soldier. I don't think we need to explain that. I don't need to get into the bible analysis, man LITERALLY tears cities down, oh lei oh lai oh lord

Edelgard is a very well spoken person. When she's actually given room to voice her ideas, despite being wrong because she's got just the tip of the iceberg of the true history, she can managed to convince almost anyone. In both games, she manages to convince most of her empire, which is FULL of very devout followers of Seiros and Sothis, to attack the Central Church and follow her lead. For a person who doesn't know much better, she's very damn convincing. She just doesn't do it very often, and she's terrible at listening when people try to counter her ideas (her argument with Dimitri and Azure Moon really highlights this when he tries to open a dialogue). But the important thing there is also that this is a role she chooses to take on in both games. If you look at the Poet, this easily relates to the start of Jesus's ministry in the bible, taking down establishments left and right on his word alone. Edelgard convinces her country to follow her on her accusations alone (as she was only 18 when she started the war and even as emperor she had to talk many ministers into following her lead or nothing would've happened without ministers like Count Bergliez and Count Hevring that she convinced), slaying the church with her tongue

Meanwhile, the King easily relates far more to Claude than the Poet. Claude doesn't really spend a lot of time convincing people of his ideals or talking them into anything aside from explaining his ambitions to Byleth and Shez, and depending on your supports in some ways to Leonie and Lorenz. Unlike Edelgard, Claude is in a situation he didn't ask for. He has a war thrust upon him and a conflict with a massive religious body that breeds prejudice to contend with. As an outsider who is deeply untrusted, he has to fight tooth and nail just to keep the Alliance whole. All the meanwhile he's constantly having insults thrust upon him by his own people, and in certain routes he's completely abandoned by one of the largest political players in his nation. The crown of thorns was not a burden Jesus chose to accept, like the burden of war Edelgard created and thrust upon the world, but was something thrusted upon him that he then had to deal with. It's easy to see that Claude never wanted to contend with this war and only stays because he HAS to, for the sake of both Almyra and Fódlan, despite knowing all he's doing is keeping things stable while not fixing the situation. But in the end he's still prepared to sacrifice everything to try and make the world better. In Houses, he even plans for his own death to protect the people of the Alliance, the people who fought against him and rejected him the most. In Hopes, he settles on working with people he fundamentally disagrees with and dislikes for the sake of protecting Fódlan. With a character progression like that, it just feels like the ruler who his brow laid in thorn, anointed in oil, that tracks to Claude much better than Edelgard

But hey, that's just my opinion. Wow, who knew being dragged to church kicking and screaming against my will would come in handy for a strategy JRPG

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three hopes #fe3h #edelgard fe3h #dimitri fe3h #claude fe3h #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #edelgard von hresvelg #claude von riegan #blue lions #black eagles #golden deer #soldier poet king #religious mentions #christianity #christianity mention

123 notes · View notes

thetomorrowshow · 4 months

Text

scars

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

i have no clue where this idea came from but here *hands you a tattooed jimmy*

this takes place about 8 months after then end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, mentions of needles, scars

“Look at that one,” Jimmy points at the screen; Scott pauses in his scrolling. “It’s a poppy. You love poppies.”

“. . . I do,” Scott says, glancing at Jimmy quickly before resuming the scroll.

“That one’s a flag, but it could be a pride flag. That’s why I saved it. The birds are a bit cheesy, but I thought I’d include them anyway.”

Scott doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrolling through the document. He knew Jimmy had been researching something, but . . . he hadn’t been expecting this.

Before him, on Jimmy’s laptop, is a three-page document that is a collage of tattoos.

Some are better than others—there’s a celtic knot that looks pretty bad, and Jimmy’s right about the birds being cheesy, but the poppy is understated and delicate, and a cute cartoon cat makes him smile.

That’s all well and good, but the problem is: Scott has no clue why Jimmy is showing him tattoos.

Jimmy points at a bundle of stars, saying something about how it reminded him of Scott, then at a feather, then a ladder, which he explains could be combined with the stars. He quickly passes over an abstract canary, hands twitching and tripping over his words, to point out an intricate subway car, then a tiny soccer ball.

Scott interrupts right as Jimmy starts to explain an iceberg tattoo.

“Jimmy, I—this is great, but I don’t think I understand. Are you wanting me to get a tattoo?”

Jimmy blinks, laughs nervously. “I—Scott, these are—these are cover-ups. For scars.”

Oh.

Suddenly, there’s a lump in Scott’s throat.

“I—a tattoo is a big decision,” Scott manages to say around the lump, his eyes catching on a long scar down Jimmy’s left bicep. “It’s something you can’t change. Are you sure?”

Jimmy levels an exasperated look at him. “For one thing, I’m an adult. I know it’s a big decision, you don’t have to remind me. And I promise I’ve thought about this. I shouldn’t have to tell you that I have.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Scott starts to amend, but Jimmy forges on.

“It’s my body,” he says. “It’s mine, and I can have the freedom to do what I want with it, because I’m an adult and it belongs to me. And when you—when you asked if I was sure, it felt like you were treating me like a kid, or like I don’t own my body. And it felt bad.”

Shame curls in his stomach. Jimmy’s right, he shouldn’t have responded like that. It’s perfectly normal for people to get tattoos, and for their partners to support them in it. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “I didn’t think before speaking. I said something my parents would’ve said, and I should have considered what you just told me.”

Jimmy smiles, leans his head against Scott’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I was showing you because I wanted your opinion, and it’s all right if you don’t like the idea of a tattoo. But I would’ve liked for you to say that outright if that’s true, instead of telling me things I already knew.”

“No, I think it’s a great idea,” Scott hurries to amend. He pauses, taking a moment to get his thoughts in order. They’re working on having more open conversations, so that they don’t have repeat events of Scott’s Nightmare Situation of Last Month, as they’ve dubbed it. “I think a lot of tattoos are good,” he says eventually, “but some suck. So I’m happy you’re asking my opinion, because I don’t know if I’d be able to look my boyfriend in the eyes if he got a skull surrounded in roses on his bicep.”

That gets a laugh out of Jimmy. “Don’t think yours is the only opinion I’m getting,” he teases. “I know better than to trust a man who dyed his hair red all through college.”

“It looked good!”

They look at tattoos for a little while, Scott immediately vetoing the trio of birds and a guitar. Together, they separate the pages into ‘no’ ‘maybe’ and ‘yes’ images, dragging the little Darth Vader holding a lightsaber (a scar being the lightsaber) into ‘maybe’ and the celtic knot into ‘no’ and so on, until about half of the tattoos have been sorted.

And if they get distracted halfway through and end up making out right there on the couch? Well, they can always finish it later.

Three weeks later, Jimmy exits the tattoo parlor with the long, thin scar on his left bicep covered by a poppy, red and irritated from the procedure. Scott had been with him the whole time, holding his hand. They’d had to call for a break halfway through, but it had overall gone very well, and Jimmy had gotten into the passenger seat with a huge grin on his face.

“I thought I would be scared of the needle, but it wasn’t even that bad!” Jimmy says excitedly, twisting his arm around to check out the plastic-wrapped tattoo. “Did you hear when she said I was really good at staying still, especially for my first time? I’m going to get a good grade in tattoos, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve.”

Scott laughs out loud at the meme reference, resolving not to think about why it is that Jimmy’s so good at not moving while needles are stuck into him.

“Do you like it?” Scott asks instead, adjusting the rearview mirror before shifting the car into gear.

Jimmy doesn’t answer for a long moment. When Scott glances over at him, he’s let his arm fall, staring straight ahead, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

“Yeah,” he decides eventually. “I really do. Now when I look at it in the mirror, I can be reminded of you instead of them. And . . . I can make choices with my body. That feels really good.”

“I can imagine.”

Jimmy twists his arm around again, peering at what little of the tattoo can be seen through the plastic. “I like it,” he says, quieter. “Do you like it?”

“It was my top choice, Jimmy,” Scott reminds him. “And it looks cute on you. Much better than that fish would.”

Jimmy snorts. “You know what, since it was Lizzie’s idea, I’ll tell her I’ll only get it if she gets it too.”

“Please—if you get fish, get a different one,” begs Scott. “It was huge, it had that horrible ‘gone fishing’ sign—get something cute, not something that screams fifty-year-old midlife crisis.”

That gets a laugh out of his boyfriend, and a little tension that had been in Scott’s body since before the appointment finally dissipates, allowing his shoulders to ease and his fingers to loosen their grip on the wheel.

“I’ve been watching videos on word cover-ups, so I think I might get one of those,” Jimmy says when they’re almost home. “I’m . . . I think it would help, even though I can still trace the letters. But I’d like to try scar treatment first, so I don’t think I’m gonna get another tattoo any time soon.”

“And here I was thinking my boyfriend was about to get all inked up and awesome,” Scott teases.

“And something for words would have to be really big, and there’s not much I want that’s good for that,” Jimmy continues. He glances at Scott quickly, then turns his gaze out the window. “That’s life, I guess.”

Scott thinks that’s the end of the conversation. He’s happy leaving it there, with vague plans and ideas in mind to experiment with.

But later that evening, at home, as Jimmy washes dishes and Scott dries them, Jimmy blurts out, “Would I be wrong for wanting a canary tattoo?”

Scott pauses. “Um. No?”

Jimmy sighs. “See, it’s the only one that I think I would want that’s big enough and colorful enough to cover any words. But I don’t know that I could be okay with having it cover up one of those words, because of . . . connotations. But also. . . .” he sighs again, sets down his dishcloth.

“Scott, being the Canary was the only freedom I had, as awful as it was,” Jimmy explains, and it’s a credit to how far he’s come that Jimmy’s voice doesn’t even shake. “I didn’t love it, but I could go outside. I could literally fly. And I looked pretty cool, honestly. So if I got another tattoo, I think it would be a canary, but . . . I’m afraid that’ll cause more harm than good, with my mental health and all.”

“I . . . don’t know,” Scott says honestly, sliding a plate into place in the cupboard. “I’m not in your head. And it’s not my body. But you don’t have to decide today. You don’t have to decide any time soon. You can talk about it with other people, and with Nora. And we can start looking into scar treatment, if you think you’re ready for that.”

Jimmy picks up the cloth again, runs it under the water. “I don’t know,” he says eventually, voice unreadable. His face has set back into that guarded look, the one that Scott is now so familiar with. “Maybe.”

Whatever Jimmy’s unspoken other concerns are (and Scott knows that they exist, he can tell in the tenseness of his stance), Jimmy abandons that topic of conversation. He doesn’t bring up tattoos again for weeks.

But every so often, Scott catches him admiring the poppy, and he can’t help but feel a bubble of happiness.

Jimmy finally has a good reason to look in a mirror.

#empires smp #empires smp fanfic #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #021324 #yep you guessed it! im still away #if im back i'll announce it/delete these tags etc #knowing my life schedule and all that i think i'll finally feel up to coming back soon-ish #but like. as of writing these tags it is december of 22 #so take everything i say with a grain of salt #how do we feel about tattooed jimmy?#i legitimately have no idea where this came from. just all of the sudden i was researching cover-ups #and here we are #i found such pretty canary tattoos #and i think it's accurate of jimmy to be conflicted about a tattoo of a canary #bc again: canary meant freedom for him limited as it was #and that was a big part of his life that he kind of wants to commemorate #it changed everything some good some bad. jimmy's going through a part of his healing where he kind of wishes it was still happening #just bc like. a. it was easier to understand and b. now that it's this far away he feels sometimes like he's faking #like it wasn't that bad. and he wants to know that it was bad. he's trying to heal but doesnt want to let go of the hurt #bc if he covers up all the scars or they all heal then where's the proof that he went through anything at all?#somebody tell me to stop projecting #lmk what you think!#love you guys

31 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

Note

heyyyy so i’m sorry for that whole mix up😂😂😂 but you said something ab eddie recommendations 👀👀👀 mind sharing 😊😊😊 x

don't apologize!!! it's all good haha <3

and indeed i do 👀 where do i even beginnnnn

okay so @fairyysoup's crossroad demon!eddie and her reaper!eddie are fucking phenomenal. cannot sing high enough praises. i reread reaper!eddie especially just to feel something some days.

and then my dearest @hellfire--cult has the iconic "Do I Wanna Know?" which is so near and dear to my heart. one of the most relatable readers i managed to stumble across on here genuinely. i also adore "Baring Teeth" which i need more omegaverse friends to read so i have more people to scream about it with !!!!

also, is it really a rec post if i don't jump at the chance to sing my praises for my love @myosotisa? "Old Heart" is my roman empire. it combines tlou and eddie, and that just... mwuah. older apocolyptic eddie has my entire fucking heart until the day it no longer beats. and then there's "Like Real People Do" which combines hozier and eddie and also managed to devastate me and patch me back up all in one go. anything myo writes drives me fucking insane.

and then of course, there is the lovely niche but perfectly fit to this ex-directioner (am i really an ex-directioner? that boyband will always have me in a death grip) taste which is @eddiesxangel's one direction-inspired series. very sad to say i haven't gotten to properly dig in yet, but i just KNOW they're going to be incredible. it's going to soothe my baby teen heart so well i just know it. combining two things that have fundamentally changed me (for better or for worse we will never know). GAH.

this is honestly just the tip of the iceberg and i have so many more i could recommend, but also i don't wanna make a miles long post lol. this hellsite is just filled with so many creative and talented minds. we love to see it. <3

#thank u ily <3 #fic recs #fic rec #seriously i have like 3 other series im just starting that are fucking SHOW STOPPING #i love y'alls minds giving them so many smooches

45 notes · View notes

vintagegeekculture · 2 years

Text

One “conspiracy theory” I find very likely, and under-researched, is the idea that the search for the Abominable Snowman and Yeti in the Himalayas was actually a cover for Western intelligence operations in Central Asia.

Colin Dickey is the best known proponent of this in his cultural histories. The high point of all of this was the 1950s-60s, when everyone was searching for the Abominable Snowman, numerous movies were made on the subject, and most notably of all, Time Magazine put out an expedition to find the Abominable Snowman run by Tom Slick and Colin Byrne. Both Byrne and Slick have numerous CIA connections and on occasion, operated as intelligence agents openly. For example, Colin Byrne – literally the leader of the Life magazine Snowman expedition – was a spearhead in the 1959 CIA plan to extract the 14th Dalai Lama from Tibet to India.

As for the reason for all this, you have to remember that going back to the time of Rudyard Kipling and Mark Chapman, the whole logic behind the “Great Game” of spies between Britain and Russia in the Northern India and Afghanistan….if “logic” is really the right word to use in this instance, to refer to the jittery thinking of paranoid empires….is that sea-based powers like Britain was (and like the US is) cannot really counter land powers with large land routes in Central Asia, like Russia and China. China’s Central Asian autonomous regions, for instance, despite being landlocked, inaccessible and utterly unassailable, were always seen by Western intelligence as the weakest part of the Chinese empire and the easiest to peel off. Especially since they were often abandoned by the Central government to Warlord rule (notably, Western China was mainly ruled by the Ma Clan of Muslim Chinese Warlords in the Republican era). Not to mention the fact the region was a war hotspot, with numerous border conflicts of the 1950s that the nascent People’s Republic fought against India and Russia, which are often not well reported or even known in the West. In Kissinger’s book, he remembers being asked by the Soviets, as a kind of what-if, what the US would do if the Soviets were to bomb the Chinese atomic production facilities at Lop Nor (Kissinger dissuaded them).

I do remember reading an absolutely jaw dropping detail that I haven’t been able to confirm anywhere else in a history of the Russian war in Afghanistan: during the 1980s, most Soviet/Afghan war intelligence was relayed by a US intelligence base and listening post in Xinjiang. Boy, I bet the CIA still wishes they had that!

It is also true that the search for prehistoric wild men in Central Asia, despite being mostly based on dubious tall tales from oxygen deprived mountain climbers, was related to “scientific racism.” Specifically, the outdated scientific belief that different human physical/racial types evolved independently from Homo Erectus outside of Africa, have completely different intermediate lineages, and are borderline separate species. Now, if you were to find semi-humans in Asia walking erect and more like men than apes, it would absolutely clinch the idea of the independent evolution of different human types, who had different intermediate stages. Hence, Carelton S. Coon, the founder of scientific racism in the US who argued different races were separate species, was actually invited to the Byrne/Slick expedition of 1954. Coon, despite being the literal President of the American Association of Anthropologists, always had a chapter in all of his books arguing for the existence of prehistoric wild men like Bigfoot and the Yeti.

To be clear, all of this does not mean that there is no Yeti, however, the search for it in the West is intimately intertwined with intelligence services that use it as a cover, and racists who are hyper invested in them as it proves their scientifically discredited pet theories. It goes to show that the search for the Yeti is only the visible iceberg tip breaking the surface of a larger story, one of empires and politics in Central Asia.

#yeti #cryptids #abominable snowman #tibet #china

990 notes · View notes