#disingenuous politicians

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Listen, friends.

Someone is going to be elected president in November. There are going to be two options. There is no world in which someone who is not Biden or the GOP nominee -- presumably, somehow, Trump -- win the election.

Is Biden my favorite politician? No.

Has he accomplished a ton of good things in the last three years? Absolutely yes.

Pretending otherwise is disingenuous and dangerous.

If you do not vote, you are voting for fascism, full stop. Because you know who always shows up to vote? Your shitty racist neighbors, and the white nationalists trying to stop affirmative action, and the homophobic gun owners who want the party that's made dismantling marriage equality and civil protections for queer people a part of their platform, and religious fundamentalists who believe that women should be the subject of their husbands. They vote in drives, because they don't demand perfection from their candidates, just that they hate the same way they do, and do it loudly.

This left wing thing where people yell about how voting for a candidate that doesn't check every box is a valid political protest is deeply stupid and absolutely wrong. All this accomplishes is to discourage voting and make people stop trying to push for better from our politicians.

Not voting for a candidate that doesn't do everything you want them to is giving a point to the one that wants to bring out loud fascism to the US.

There will be a winner in November, and it's going to be A or B. The system sucks, but it's the one we have, and if we don't vote for the one who is actively working for at least some of the right things, we're going to end up with the one that's working for stripping rights away from the majority of Americans.

Just fucking vote.

#vote #vote blue #us politics #this was more eloquent in my head but whatever I'm so fucking scared and angry #block me babs

[apollo-cackling]

jesus christ will people learn to maybe understand what someone's saying within the context of their argument or at least not immediately react with the most uncharitable and/or hostile reply ever

#my rambles #on this post https://www.tumblr.com/txttletale/700253238038003712 #someone replied with like examples of police brutality against protesters in the USA and finished it off with go back to skyrim #or something like that #*bc they balked at the 'bloodless' part #which is #so fucking dumb on multiple levels #OP herself specifically brings up the assassinations(?) of leftist politicians in south/latin america #often supported by the USA #like yea the treatment of socialists in the anglosphere isn't necessarily good either #but it's so disingenuous to pretend it's on the same level and frequency as in south america #anglosphere/south america I think being what OP meant by bloodless/not bloodless #or maybe I'm reading OP's meaning more charitably bc I read this rb chain #https://www.tumblr.com/txttletale/704295316794605568/ #but hey maybe that's what not assuming everyone means the worst(/most pwnable) thing is fucking for #maybe the person you're talking to isn't as stupid/uneducated/evil as the statuette you made in your head have you fucking considered that

[decolonize-the-left]

Is anyone else just completely disillusioned? Done?

I could not think any less of people still talking about celebrities or how their biggest issues are not having a Starbucks cup that's $50

Like why are we as a collective letting people like that run the lives of everyone on the planet? A planet rife with unnecessary conflict and greed? People who can't be bothered to just Not go to chick-fil-a?

Why are people who clearly value profit over humanity in charge of humanity, ykwim? How the fuck did that become a majority opinion?

I drive thru my nuclear town, I go to our community events, our local small businesses, I try to support my community in ways I can everyday. But I can't help but notice that So Many of the people who do that alongside me, don't show up to protest for the rights of the people they claim to support.

Its all so incredibly shallow and one dimensional and obviously disingenuous and why the fuck are the rest of STILL begging for the ability to make changes within the framework they built?

Why are we still making educational posts for them and trying to make them understand when the first thing we are taught about reaching understand is that you must first be willing to listen and they refuse.

The ruling classes never listened. Never, ever have they granted anyone any oppressed group rights that they asked for without the group needing to fight for it. And it's always after generations of oppression.

I'm fucking tired of being nice and pretending the laws they made up matter and like their socially constructed bureaucracy is the only way to make change to be quite fucking honest.

They're LUCKY we use it EVER and now they don't even fucking listen to our voicemails?

The only things stopping me from taking what's mine are disabilities and I'm Dying to know what everyone else's excuses are.

Or is that?

Are we all physically too incapable? Is every single able bodied person actually a liberal fascist?

Asking for the disabled Turtle Mountain Ojibwe person typing this who's life literally depends on y'all caring enough about other people to make life anything but a list of systematic circumstances I'll suffer from until I eventually die early of an illness I can't afford medical aids for and which are not provided for me either.

And if you're able bodied and you feel the same... Start working outside that framework and stop asking so nicely. Stop giving a shit if you don't have the support of the oppressors and their liberal foot soldiers.

Stop worrying about what CNN is gonna say about you because I promise that the people who matter and Understand you will be inspired to follow in your foot steps and supportive.

Get active in your co-ops, mutual aid groups, and consider training like you're black bloc.

Learn what direct action is and how to do it and start doing it. Just reading theory era is over.

More of this

less whatever the level of cognitive dissonance this is

Imagine saying 'i voted so I did everything I could' like the suffragettes didn't have an arson and bombing campaign because the people who Could vote were people benefitted from their systemic silence and thus did almost Nothing to help them get voting rights and they Refused to let oppressor laziness be their obstacle.

Yeah, they don't teach you that in Voting Matters School the suffragettes were bombing the UK just a year or two before they got their rights do they?

The only language oppressors will listen to is their own.

And I'm Tired of pretending otherwise because that delusion is what makes the privileged feel like they don't have to do anything but vote and makes them feel they're justified to criticize those of us that fight back through other avenues.

And maybe if we had politicians that gave a shit about any of us then those votes and movements and public sentiment would have a bigger sway in government, but they don't.

They don't fucking care.

Why are we still giving them power over any of us and letting them tell us what to do and demonize us when they use that power allowed to kill us and bury us in unmarked graves in some field in Mississippi? And make everything so expensive that the richest citizens on earth struggle to pay their bills?

Why can a government only "condemn" a state agent's right to shoot an unarmed protester 57 times, but they can bypass Congress to send Israel billions upon billions worth of weapons?

I'm tired of pretending this country is anything but a front for White Supremacists when every liberal I see is trying to gaslight everyone into thinking genocide is acceptable.

Shut the fuck up and get out of my equality tags, fascist.

#Whiteness #white Supremacy #decolonize #decolonization #colonialism #imperialism #direct action #leftists #fascists #fascism #settlers #colonizer #indigenous #ojibwe #native #ndn #solidarity #mutual aid #lgbt #capitalism #leftist #usa #liberals #progressives #voting #biden #joe Biden #Palestine #gaza #Americans

[nothorses]

if joe biden is so supportive of trans people, name one thing he's done for us during his presidency

I think there's a lot more he could be doing, but the fact of the matter is that he is the most trans-friendly world leader at the moment, and he has done shit, and tried to do shit, and promised to do shit, to support trans people. That's a lot more than we see from the vast majority of politicians.

That doesn't mean we shouldn't keep pushing for more, demanding more, and pointing out the flaws. But it's disingenuous to say he's "just as bad" as republican candidates, or to use that falsity to argue against voting for him should he be elected the democratic nominee for 2024 (which is extremely likely).

[fairuzfan]

“Temple denialism” as a concept, is made up anon and lacks any coherent internal logic. Why do you think the mosque was built there specifically? Randomly? Do you think the muslims who built it, muslims who acknowledge in their holiest book that their religion is a continuation of Judaism and Christianity, were simply unaware of its religious value? That they picked a spot by random? Absolutely 0 Palestinians meaningfully deny that the temple once stood there. What Palestinians deny and refute is the idea that because an ancient structure once stood there prior to al Aqsa, that it is justification enough for the demolition of their cultural heritage and the erosion of their rights that always follows, which is exactly what every Israeli politician who is rhetorically fixated on the Temple Mount explicitly intends to do.

‘Temple denialism’ is a buzzword intended to illicit the familiar emotional reaction one gets when they encounter atrocity denialism by using disingenuous framing to make them appear comparable. Just because you can google it and get results does not make it any less made up. ‘Temple denialism’ as a framework for discussing Palestinian resistance to cultural genocide is a product of the fact that the demolition of al-Aqsa is a cornerstone goal of right-wing Israeli politics and intends to smear Palestinians as bigots for resisting this. It does not describe a real phenomenon that exists.

As I was looking into denialism I realized they only cite like 2 Palestinians, Arafat and the current Palestinian president that no one likes.

Now I'm not sure islamically why they chose that site.... I can't speak to it. Prophet Muhammad is believed to have ascended up to heaven to speak to God from there actually, which is why it's the third holiest site in Islam. I believe that's the reason AlAqsa was built there... but I don't want to say for certain.

But yes you're completely right, it's intended to erode Palestinian nationhood and also militarize the rest of Palestine. For us, AlAqsa is the last symbol of nationhood and you can't deny that if Israelis were allowed in there, it would become a highly militarized zone.

People always bring up the ummayad dynasty as a way to deligitimize Palestinian ties — as if the concept of Palestine started then but that's completely ahistorical. Palestine was a thing BEFORE Islam and arabization even. Palestine has been a concept for millenia (if you read Palestine: a 4000 year history, this discusses this more) and its the intent to enact the final stages of settler colonialism by denying the concept of Palestine through the settlement of AlAqsa. I think it's a shallow analysis to say "what does the ibrahimi mosque have to do with anything" but Ibrahimi mosque is also one of the most important mosques in Islam and now Muslims are barely allowed there. Many believe it's the template for what they want to do in AlAqsa.

There's more but like, it does feel like saying "Well Muslims built AlAqsa on Temple Mount. It's their fault we want to demolish it." But then ignore the fact that most Islamic and Christian places of worship are essentially confiscated from Palestinians and their existence as Palestinians is criminalized even in their own homes, as theyre under threat of being arrested in the middle of the night. And there's not the same level of outrage for basic apartheid laws. In my opinion, you should be more concerned with that than the one place Israelis are not allowed.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Summary: After the incident things were looking pretty bleak, but the one thing you thought would make everything worse ended up saving you.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide and self harm, mentions of guns and gun violence

Author’s Note: So I wrote a one shot because I cannot, for the life of me, stick to a consistent writing schedule. Enjoy!

---

You never expected anyone to feel sorry for you. That had been a pretty consistent theme throughout your life, why would anyone feel sorry for the kid who got everything they asked for? Granted, the only things in your past that might have sparked an ounce of pity were trivial, like a broken ankle or a bad break up, but even after this mess you never expected much. 

It'd been a few months now since it happened, either two or three, you weren't sure exactly- enough time for seemingly everyone you'd ever met to show up and implore you to tell the story over and over again. One or two of them did appear genuinely concerned but you couldn't shake the feeling that most of them just wanted the gossip, desperate for anything to make them the most interesting person in the room at their next garden party or champagne brunch or ambassador's reception. Every single painful, repetitive, disingenuous conversation you had to sit through served as a further reminder of why you’d left this life behind as soon as you had the chance. Now you were stuck back here for god knows how much longer, and everything just felt bleak.

A soft knock rapped against your bedroom door. You didn't bother answering, they'd just let themselves in, they always did. The knob turned and the door creaked open, your father's timid face peering in.

“Are you busy?” It was nice of him to ask, but it was also unnecessary, because you hadn’t left your couch to do anything other than pee in weeks. “Your aunt Carol is here. She brought you some gifts, I thought it might make you feel better.”

Both of you knew very well that it would have the opposite effect, the only thing you'd ever resented your mother for was bringing that vapid bitch into your life. Well, that and accidentally letting slip that the tooth fairy wasn’t real on your third birthday. 

Carol careered round the door and past your father in her typical pantomime dame dress and makeup. You smirked, thinking to yourself that, in dimmer light and with some sinister music, it would've made an excellent scene for a horror film. Ever since your mother passed she’d been sniffing around the house more and more, you were convinced she was trying to seduce your dad to get his money but you couldn't prove it. Thankfully, he had enough sense to stay the hell away from her.  

“Oh, look at you, you poor thing. You look awful.” She clunked the wrapped box and card she was holding down on the table and joined you on the couch, her offensive perfume making your nose begin to itch. “Come on, auntie Carol is here for you now, tell me everything darling.”

You gave your father, who was standing by the door looking very apologetic, a harsh glare. 

“There's not much to tell. Dad was mid-speech when some guy in the audience stood up, next thing I knew he was getting tackled and there was a loud bang. I look down and I'm bleeding.”

“Oh my, who was he?”

“Just some crazy, nationalist, militia guy targeting politicians, apparently. They have no idea if he was alone or with a group so it’s safer for me to stay here for now. My apartment is too much of a risk.”

“Bless you. It's so difficult being in the public eye, but you are so brave.” She pointed down to your stomach, “and don't worry, I've got some magic serum that'll clear up any unsightly scars ready for bikini season. I'll send you my diet plan, too.”

You turned the dial up on the daggers you were shooting your father every time she looked away, and he finally took the hint. 

“Okay, Carol. We should let her rest now.”

“Alright, love you so much baby. Look after yourself, okay? Maybe run a comb through your hair or something. Very frizzy.”

You rolled your eyes at her back as she left and reached over to grab the card. There was a sad puppy on the front, sitting beneath the words sorry you’re having a hard time. You figured that Hallmark probably didn't stock a sorry you got shot by a psychopath card.

Your father was lingering. He never lingered. 

“Everything okay, dad?”

“Yes. Although, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I've hired someone.”

“Right.”

“For you,” he noted your confusion, “to protect you.”

“A bodyguard?”

“No, he's not a bodyguard.” You raised an eyebrow. “He's not just a bodyguard.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Wiping the sweat from his palms onto his trousers, he strode over and took a seat beside you, preparing himself with a deep breath. This was serious. 

“The last time you saw Dr Burke she recommended that we… don't leave you on your own too much. So, he's going to be looking out for your welfare, going to be spending time with you.”

“Ah, I see. Suicide watch. Great.”

“I’m worried about you. You barely eat, you don't move from that spot, you haven’t showered for weeks. I know you miss being in your own place but,” he put his hand on top of yours, “I’ve already lost your mother, I can’t lose you too.”

Well, that hit you like a punch in the gut.

“Okay, dad. If you think it’ll help.”

“I do.” He stood up, giving you a light kiss on the top of your head before turning to leave. “He’ll be here in a few hours.”

---

You were woken from a light sleep by another knock on the door. The only thing you hadn’t been struggling with recently was sleep, it was the only way you could make your days pass quicker.

Again, the door creaked open before you answered. Your dad stepped in followed by a man you assumed to be your new long-term babysitter. You’d expected someone more stern looking, someone dressed like an extra from Men in Black, but he just looked like a normal guy. He had a strong face, broad shoulders and deep brown hair. If you’d been in a different state of mind you might even have considered him attractive, but you were far too tired for anything like that.

“Sweetheart, this is-” Your father looked blankly over to his companion, obviously already having forgotten his name.

“James. Nice to meet you.”

You mustered a faint smile. There was a brief, awkward silence as your father’s eyes flicked from you back to the composed looking guest, whose huge arms were folded over his chest. 

“Well, uh- I have a call in a few minutes. I suppose I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” he clapped a hand on James’ back, “just let me know if you need anything.”

Then, just like that, you were alone with a complete stranger. Your eyes stayed firmly fixed to the movie you’d slept through half of but were suddenly incredibly interested in. You heard James shuffle forwards, his broad frame eventually scooching into the edge of your vision.

“Look, I get it. You’re a grown-ass adult, I wouldn’t like having some stranger keeping an eye on me all the time either. If you want, I can just stick to the corner, stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

That actually sounded like a pretty sweet deal, but you’d feel incredibly guilty having him perched on the other side of the room like a piece of furniture. The least you could do was be a little friendly.

“That’s alright, you can have the comfy seat,” you faintly motioned your head towards the nearby armchair, “but I’ll be shitty company.”

He happily settled himself in. “Makes no odds to me, I’m getting paid to be here.”

A short breathy chuckle escaped your lips, taking you by surprise. It’d been a long while since someone had made you laugh, all the conversations you’d had in the past few weeks had been unbelievably morbid and condescending, most of them with people you had no interest in talking to in the first place.

A couple of silent hours passed. You‘d gotten so used to being alone that you kept forgetting he was there, the odd cough or movement making you jump out of your skin. Eventually, Elaine pounded on the door and announced that she’d brought dinner up for both of you, so James jumped up and helped her with the cart.

Elaine was your father’s housekeeper and the only thing that had prevented him dying of starvation or exposure since your mom died. She was kind and patient, you liked her alot. Her food was always incredible, you felt awful for barely eating it over the last few weeks but the pain from your stomach wound combined with zero expenditure of energy had just killed your appetite.

James looked from his plate over to yours, his knife and fork poised. “You not eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Someone had been talking to dad. 

You shrugged. “This morning, I think.”

“Bullshit.” Your eyes snapped in his direction. “You know you’re not gonna get any better if you don’t eat, right? You’ll just have to put up with me bugging you for even longer.”

“Thought you were gonna stay out my way?”

“Mostly.” His mouth curled into a faint smile. “How about this, you eat a couple bites, I’ll eat the rest and we’ll tell your dad you ate the whole thing.”

You considered for a second. Not a bad offer, getting your dad off your back for a while would be pretty great. You knew what game he was playing but you were more than willing to play too just as long as the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

“Deal.”

You expended a tremendous amount of effort leaning yourself forward and grabbing the plate, feeling James’ gaze tunnelling into the side of your face as the two of you began to eat. You had to admit, you enjoyed the food much more than you’d expected, half the plate had gone before you felt full. James looked pretty smug while finishing off the rest of it.

The sky outside slowly turned dark and you could feel yourself getting sleepy, so you settled deeper into the couch for your third sleep of the day.

“Hey,” James leant forward in his seat, “you need help getting to your bed or anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. I usually just sleep here.”

He gave you a puzzled look. “There? Is that comfortable? Can’t be good for your back.”

“Probably isn’t, but I don’t have the energy to move.”

“You don’t need the energy,” he sprung up from his seat, “you’ve got me.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, James had an arm anchored around your upper back and was inching you upwards, away from the safety of your sad-zone and onto your feet. A few mild pangs of pain shot through your stomach but it wasn’t enough to make you fight back, so you just gave in, relaxed into his grip and let him walk you across the room.

Your mattress was unbelievably comfortable and you felt knot after knot untying in your back as you stretched out flat, but you didn’t need to tell him that. Who was this magical asshole, anyway, showing up and suddenly knowing what would help you better than you did?

“I’m just gonna crash on that armchair, if that’s all good with you.”

“There?” You carefully rolled onto your side so you were facing away from him. “Can’t be good for your back.”

A deep chuckle came from behind you. “Smartass. Shout me if you need to go to the bathroom or anything.”

You just grunted, already half asleep. It was only another minute or so before you drifted off peacefully and got the best night of rest you’d had in weeks.

Maybe this babysitting thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

You woke to the sound of soft snoring on the other side of the room. Light was bleeding in around the curtains and you could hear footsteps in the corridor, probably your father heading downstairs for his coffee and newspaper. Coming to your senses, you rolled over and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to pee. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked over to see James’ limp hand hanging over the edge of the armchair. 

You didn’t need him, you could do this. 

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and hoisting yourself up was easier than expected but that, unfortunately, made you a little overconfident for the rest of the journey. After a couple of steps the pain started. You felt pathetic but that amount of effort had actually winded you, all you could do was lower yourself to the ground to catch your breath. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t even realise he’d woken up, you were too busy wheezing. 

“Gotta pee.” You managed to push your words out between gulped in breaths.

“What did I say last night, huh? You should’a yelled.” He lowered himself beside you, placing one arm around your back and one under your knees. “Alright, brace yourself.”

“Wait, what are you-”

You choked on your words when he lifted you clean off the floor, a feat that not many had accomplished in the past. He offered to take you as far as the toilet itself but you adamantly refused, determined to cling onto your last shred of dignity while just about managing to shuffle over there, supporting yourself on the sink. 

You washed your hands and intentionally avoided looking in the mirror, moving straight over to the door and finding your minder stood directly outside.

He folded his arms. “While you’re here, why not take a quick shower?”

“I’m not supposed to get my dressings wet.”

“Again, nice try, but you really gotta do better than that to bullshit me.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Can’t you just let me rot away in peace?”

“I mean, I could, but I’m pretty sure your dad would refuse to pay me.”

“I’ll pay you to leave me alone.”

“You can’t afford me, honey.” He smirked and slipped past you. “I’ll get the water going.”

James turned the shower on and put some folded towels by the sink before heading back into your room and gathering some clean pyjamas. You just stayed where you were, leaning against the counter, as he buzzed around like an overexcited child.

“You’re all set. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Thank you, supernanny.”

He flipped you the bird. You laughed and locked the door.

Slowly, carefully, you got undressed, removed your bandages and placed them in the bin. You then had to perch yourself down on the closed toilet seat for a brief break before climbing into the shower. Standing under the water, you looked down at your wound for the first time in weeks, finding yourself amazed at how quickly it had healed. You ran your fingers over it. Never in a million years did you think you’d have a healed gunshot wound anywhere on your body. You thought back to what your aunt said, maybe it was unsightly, it certainly looked weird from this ang-

“You alright?”

James’ overbearing voice snapped you out of your train of thought.

“Yes.”

You turned off the shower and stepped out, lifting a towel to your face and savouring the feeling of finally being clean again. You couldn’t imagine how bad you must’ve smelled before. You pulled on the fresh pyjamas before taking a deep breath and wiping down the mirror, getting a nasty shock when you saw yourself. It looked like all the life had been drained out of you. Your face looked pallid, red eyes sitting above deep, dark bags while skin flaked from your chapped lips. Your hair was still dripping wet but you could tell that weeks of neglect had taken a toll on it.

It seemed like James might’ve come along just in time, any longer sitting in that misery pit and these changes might’ve become irreversible.

“Still all good?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, just trying to remember the most efficient way to cut wrists. Is it horizontal or vertical?”

Throwing your towel in the laundry basket, you opened the door to see a very unamused looking man. 

“Real funny.”

He didn’t get a chance to properly scold you before Elaine knocked on the door with breakfast, a smug grin settling on your face as it dawned on him that he probably shouldn’t cuss you out in front of your father’s closest confidante. 

The two of you settled into your designated spots. James immediately started digging into the plate that had been piled high for him but you held off, it had been a while since you stood up for that long and you needed to recover. Sharp pangs of stomach pain weren’t exactly the perfect accompaniment to a hearty appetite.

James placed his fork down on the table and leaned back in his chair, mouth full of food. “We gotta do this again, buttercup?”

“I just need a minute.”

“I thought we had a deal.”

“We did,” a bolt of inspiration struck as you realised it was your turn to get a little something interesting out of this relationship, “but I want to change it up a bit.”

“Alright, go on.”

“I’ll eat if you tell me the most insane thing that’s happened to you while bodyguarding.”

“I really shouldn’t talk about that.”

“Shame,” you dramatically pushed your plate away with a flourish, “I was actually feeling pretty hungry.”

He considered, glaring at you from beneath an arched eyebrow and rhythmically tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Fine, but you gotta finish the whole plate.”

“The whole plate.”

“Alright.” 

He leant forward again and carried on eating so you followed suit, forcing down one small bite at a time and just hoping that his story would be worth the pain.

“So, one time some rich dude hired me ‘cause his daughter was worried she had a stalker. Apparently she kept seeing someone in a black hoodie following her around, she even saw ‘em standing on their lawn a few times. Thing is, no-one else had ever seen it. I think half the reason I was hired was to figure out if she was just going crazy.”

“Was she?”

“Be patient, pumpkin. You’ll find out.” Your cheeks flushed a little when he called you that. “A couple weeks passed and I hadn’t seen anything. Then, middle of the night, everyone else was asleep and I was doing my rounds. I looked out the window to the yard and there was someone standing underneath her window in a black hoodie.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. So, obviously, I sprinted down there, but they spotted me and started running. They vaulted the fence and I would’a lost ‘em in the trees but they got snagged on the other side. I grabbed ‘em, pulled down the hood and-” He eyed the huge fork-full of food you were hovering by your mouth, “you wanna eat that?”

You rolled your eyes, shoved it all in your face and let out a muffled plea. “And?”

“It was her, the daughter.”

“Fuck off.”

“Dead serious. Turns out one of her friends had a stalker and was getting a load of sympathy and attention because of it, so she got jealous and made up one of her own. She figured if I saw it just once everyone would believe her.”

“That’s so fucked. Is that even legal?”

“No idea, not my job. I got my paycheck and left the next morning.”

“Nice to know you really care about your clients.”

He laughed. “Most of my clients are spoiled assholes who never even bother to learn my name.”

“Really? Can’t be hard to learn a name as simple as Justin.” You received your second unamused scowl of the day. “Anyway, we spoiled brats have enough on our plate without having to learn the name of the person willing to take a bullet for us.”

“Nah, you’re not spoiled.”

“You think?”

“Trust me, I’ve seen spoiled. You’re not spoiled. I think you’re the only client I’ve actually enjoyed talking to.”

Interesting. Probably shouldn’t delve into that statement too deeply.

“I’d take that as a compliment but it sounds like there isn’t much competition.”

He smirked, staying silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “My friends call me Bucky, by the way. I prefer it to James. And I really prefer it to Justin.”

“If you insist,” you shrugged, “but I still think you’d make a good Timberlake.”

---

You managed to stomach a good amount of food that day and you even had a good stab at breakfast when the next day rolled around, so you hoped that Bucky might leave you to your own devices for a while now he’d got his own way.

He did not.

As soon as you’d swallowed the last mouthful of toast he announced that he was going to take you on a walk around the garden.

You looked from him to your stomach, then back at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We’ll take it slow, one step at a time, and it’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

“Can’t we just open a window?”

“Nope.” He slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair and jumped to his feet. “C’mon sweetheart, you know I’m just gonna annoy the hell out of you until you agree.”

“Is threatening me allowed in your contract?”

“It’s not a threat. It’s persuasion with consequences.”

You eventually relented. He was super keen to get going but it soon became clear that he’d overestimated how far along the healing process you were, it took the two of you almost an hour just to get out of your bedroom and down the stairs with all the constant stopping for breath. Bucky went ahead and pulled open the sliding glass door, your mood instantly lifting when the first breeze of fresh air washed over you. You were starting to hate how often he was right. 

He offered you his arm and set a bench on the other side of the lawn as your goal. The neatly mowed grass felt soft between your toes, the faint sounds of birds and planes overhead helping you relax a great deal more than the constant background noise from the TV you’d kept switched on for weeks now. When you reached your goal, Bucky helped you lower yourself onto the seat and carefully squeezed himself beside you once you were settled. Sitting this close to him felt strange, you were used to him being confined to his armchair, and the bench was a pretty small one. His thigh was pressed up against yours. You tried not to think about it.

Deeply inhaling the smell of grass and flowers into your lungs made you feel like a new person but it was also making you a little drowsy, the journey down had zapped all your energy and the warmth from the morning sun was cosy and soothing. 

The next thing you remembered was your head being gently nudged, prompting your eyes to flicker open. 

“Sorry, princess. I’d let you sleep for hours but I really need to pee.”

You came to your senses and felt the crook of Bucky’s neck against the top of your head. His arm was around you, hand gently resting on your shoulder. 

“Shit, sorry.” In your embarrassment you sat up a little too quickly, wincing at the pain that shot through your stomach. 

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Just, y’know, the ol’ bullet would.” You laughed off his concern and waved him away. “Go pee.”

“Alright, I’ll just be a minute, don’t move.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

He was already sprinting across the lawn when he shouted back. “That’s the spirit, sunshine.”

You shot a giddy grin at the back of his head. It still felt like morning but you had no idea how long you’d been knocked out for, you just knew you could very easily spend every night resting in Bucky’s neck like that.

---

Your shadow had been with you for about a week now and, contrary to all initial expectations, you’d actually been enjoying his company. He could be annoying as hell with his constant demands pushing you further and further when all you wanted to do was melt into the couch, but you could see that he was good for you. You supposed that being forced to spend every second of every day with someone gave you no choice but to recognize their good qualities. Thankfully, he seemed to have a lot of those. 

Elaine had just collected the dishes from lunch and Bucky had somehow stolen the remote from you. He flicked on some appallingly trashy reality show, your concentration faded in and out but every time you forced yourself to pay attention someone was either screaming or necking. 

You’d barely even registered the knock at your bedroom door when he jumped up and launched himself towards it like the diligent little soldier he was. You listened intently, your stomach turning when you heard Carol’s voice interspersed with his. Hopefully he’d assess her as a security threat and slam the door in her stupid face.

To your great disappointment, he did not. 

“Oh my,” she looked a little more like a painted old hag than a pantomime dame today, “who is that and where can I get one?”

“That’s James, dad hired him to keep an eye on me.”

“Do you know which agency he’s with?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t uncle Frank leave you the house and the security guard in his will?”

“Ugh, yes but he could’ve been a bit more thoughtful. I’d rather not have to look at that beer belly every time I drive through the front gate.”

“I see.”

You tried to plead for help from Bucky with your eyes but he was too busy giving a confused look to the back of her embroidered jacket, the one that you were convinced had been made from old curtains and lampshade tassels. She placed herself down in his seat, leaving him bewildered, turning on the spot like a glitched out video game NPC. He eventually just sat beside you. 

“So,” she crossed her veiny old legs, “did you like the present I brought you before?”

You did not like the present she brought you before. It was a self help book whose blurb encouraged you to 'break free from your own mental cage' and 'start being the best version of you'. That mindset is incredibly toxic, Carol. Therapists and antidepressants exist for a reason, Carol. Not everyone can make themselves feel better by getting sloppy wine drunk on their dead husband's money every evening, Carol.

“Yeah, it was great. Thanks.”

“I knew you'd love it, so I brought you something else.” She scurried around in her comically oversized purse for a while before pulling out a small white tub. “It's that miracle balm I told you about, for the scar.” 

She noiselessly mouthed the word scar and covered the side of her mouth so Bucky couldn't see, like it was a dirty word, like she couldn't bear to think of the handsome man in the room knowing about such an ugly thing. 

“Oh right, thanks but I'm not really supposed to put anything on it while it's still healing. Could get infected.” 

“No honey, if you let that thing heal on its own you'll regret it, trust me.”

“Well, the doctor said-”

“Baby, look at me.” The legs became uncrossed as she leaned in. “I'm going to be honest now because I love you. Your body is a five out of ten, maybe a six if you did a cleanse.” 

“Right…”

“Now, with this hideous thing sitting on your stomach, you're down to a three. I don't want that for you, do you?”

You were speechless for a second. The words fuck off were just beginning to form in your mouth when she cut you off, turning her attention to the equally pissed looking Bucky.

“How about a man's perspective, hmm? You wouldn't want a partner with something so ghastly on them, would you?”

The calmness with which he answered her was pretty impressive.

“Well, to be honest, I couldn't give a fuck, cause I tend to rate personality higher. Like you, for example, are two out of ten but with a few lessons in grace and courtesy, I could see you moving up to a solid five.”

Your mouth fell open. The breath hitched in your lungs as your eyes flicked between the two of them, one looking outraged, the other looking very fucking pleased with himself. The silence was tense. 

After a few seconds she leapt up and stormed out of the room, her heels rapidly clicking against the floor while she screeched your father's name. 

Bucky just shrugged at you. “Guess her own medicine didn’t taste too sweet.”

“That was amazing.”

“I'm used to dealing with assholes like that,” he followed her lead, standing up and heading for the door, “but, unlucky for her, I'm in charge of who gets access to this room.”

“You can ban her?”

“If I think she's causing you harm I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re my new favourite person.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

He’d been gone for a while when some muffled shouting started downstairs. Too invested in the situation not to investigate, you decided to slide yourself off the couch and press your ear to the floor in an effort to make out the words. It didn’t work, obviously, and you soon realised there was no way in hell you’d be able to hoist yourself back up again. You just had to wait on the ground while your dignity slowly drained away piece by piece.

Bucky eventually returned, predictably freaking out when he spotted you.

“Shit, what happened? Did you fall?”

“No I kinda… slid.” He gave you a puzzled look while lifting you back onto the couch. “Sorry, I was trying to hear the argument. What happened?”

“She won't be bothering you again.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Can I keep you forever?” You rested your head against the couch cushions. “I’ll let you watch as much trash TV as you want.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

---

A week passed and then another, and with each day you were achieving more and more. Bucky had you showering every day, eating three square meals and taking increasingly lengthy walks around the garden- when your painkillers were doing their job. He’d even spoken to your father about making sure everyone in the house waited for a response after knocking on your door. It sounded like an insignificant thing but you really valued every ounce of privacy you could get your hands on, and it did wonders for improving your mood. 

Another thing that was helping in that regard was spending most of your downtime just talking with him. On more than a few occasions you’d actually forgotten he was being paid to stick around, it felt more like you were hanging out with an old friend. 

Sometimes it felt like you were hanging out with more than a friend but, every time those feelings started to surface, you quickly pushed them back down into the dark depths in your mind. Acknowledging them would just set you up for inevitable disappointment. 

Today, you’d agreed to leave your father’s property for the first time since the incident. Bucky had offered to take you out for a coffee as a soft reintroduction back into the normal world. He drove you out in his ridiculously oversized SUV, passing plenty of perfectly good coffee shops so he could show you his favourite one. It didn’t look like anything special but you trusted him. 

He helped you to one of the outside tables, took your order and shuffled inside, giving you a wink over the top of his sunglasses. You rested your hands on the table and glanced around. The street was busy with people and cars and most of the other tables were full, it was midday so you figured most of them were working people taking their lunch breaks.

Then, just for a second, out of the corner of your eye you saw someone in the street stop. Looking over, you made brief eye contact with them before they checked their watch and continued walking. Why were they looking at you? Your eyes darted around the other faces passing by, your panic starting to rise when another of them looked your way. 

You grabbed onto the edge of the table, your palms prickling with sweat. The quickening pace of your heart made it harder and harder to pull breath into your lungs, all the muscles in your legs started to tense and your vision blurred at the edges. 

“You okay?”

Two takeout cups were hastily abandoned on the table in front of you and a soothing hand landed on your back, Bucky’s face trying to make its way into your line of sight.

“Mhmm.”

“I told you not to bullshit me. What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I just-” You pulled in a stuttering breath. “Need to adjust.”

“Pretty hard to do that when you’re mid panic attack, no? C’mere.”

He turned you round to face him and took you through some breathing exercises, helping you get back in control. The worst of the storm eventually passed but you were pretty shaken up, and he could tell.

“Maybe this was too soon.”

“No, this is good. It probably would’ve happened even if we'd waited longer. Better to get it out of the way.”

“And what if the coffee had taken another ten minutes? You would’a just passed out while I was waiting for fucking milk to foam.”

He seemed angry, but not at you. 

“It’s okay, Buck. Really. I could’ve been hit by a truck on the walk over from the car but wasn’t, so why worry about it.”

“Still, we should get you somewhere less crowded,” he took you by the hand, which was unusual, cause he usually just guided you with a flat palm on the back, “probably should’ve started with that.”

You headed back to the car, Bucky somehow juggling you along with two hot drinks, and drove a few miles out of the city. He said he knew of a short, flat hiking trail out in the woods that was only ever busy on weekends. It wasn’t exactly the reintroduction into society that the two of you had planned but, at the very least, it was a step above walks around the yard. 

He calmed down once you began walking, the jolly, laid back, Bucky that you were used to quickly resurfacing. It was a huge relief, him being on edge made you on edge and that wasn’t exactly the optimum mood for avoiding another panic attack. 

He kept a firm arm around you most of the way, anchoring you to him and protecting you against potential falls. You were pretty sure they were the only reasons.

“I must look fucking dreadful,” you chuckled, “if we bump into anyone they’ll probably think you just found me in the woods.”

“Shut up, you look great.”

“For a three-week-old corpse.”

“A corpse wouldn’t argue back so much.”

“I’m just keeping you on your toes.”

“Damn right you are.”

You smiled to yourself, hearing the warmth in his voice, and decided now was a good time to finally ask him a question you’d been thinking about for a while.

“So, you’ve really never had another client you’ve enjoyed talking to? Not even one?”

“Not that I can remember.” He shrugged slightly. “Why are you so surprised, anyway? We both know how many assholes there are out there.”

“True. I just think you’re easy to talk to, I guess. I’m surprised no-one else made the effort.”

“That’s sweet of you doll, but you should know that just letting me sit by you was completely new for me. I usually don’t even get a chair, never mind a conversation.”

“Brutal. I’m glad the shelter rehomed you with us.”

“Me too.” 

You laughed for a second before realising that all this talking had used up your pitiful lung capacity. You came to a stop, Bucky quickly moving to stand in front of you. 

“Something wrong?”

“No, I could just use a break.”

“Take as long as you need,” he placed his hands on your upper arms, “we can sit for a while if you want.”

“I’m good.”

Without thinking, you placed both hands on his chest to steady yourself, immediately realising that it was kind of a weird thing to do. Your eyes shot up to his but he was just smiling softly, seemingly unbothered. 

The two of you held that position for what felt like an age. 

Then, slowly, cautiously, his hands moved down to rest on your lower back, just above your hips. He stepped in closer and your hands tensed, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt. He lowered his head, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. You eagerly reciprocated, curling a hand around the back of his neck in a feeble attempt to keep him there as long as you could. It fell, however, when he abruptly pulled away, your arms going limp at your sides.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, I-”

“It’s not. Jesus, I’m supposed to be looking after you.” He rubbed his eyes. “We should get back.”

“Can you just wait for a second? I’m not-”

“No.” He was stern, he’d never talked to you like that before. “We’re going back to the car, now.”

You were too shocked to argue. The walk back was tense and the drive home was the same, you looked over at him a few times but his stony expression encouraged you to keep quiet. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, and neither had he in your eyes, but you really had to keep reminding yourself of that. It felt like you’d committed a crime. 

Once home, you headed up to your room but he didn’t follow, which was unusual. When your father knocked on your door later and told you that Bucky had removed himself from duty, you weren’t surprised. He claimed that a big job had come up out of nowhere. 

He never even said goodbye.

---

You hadn’t so much as heard from Bucky since he left over a month ago. You’d maintained all his rituals and kept your healing process on track, adapting your daily walks so you could do them alone, sticking nearby walls and railings. It was a real struggle, emotionally and physically, but you were determined not to let him abandoning you knock you off course. You didn’t even let yourself cry when he left. You were just angry. 

So, naturally, when a chance for you to prove to yourself how far you’d progressed without him came around, you jumped at it. A friend of your father’s was throwing a birthday party for his daughter, you’d never been able to stand her but you hadn’t had a proper drink since the incident- and the booze there would be insanely expensive stuff. Plus, you’d been pining for any excuse to wear something other than pyjamas.

You strolled into the party, arm in arm with your father, and you felt good. You felt ready to be there. That was, until you saw who was working security detail. You barely recognised him in the full black bodyguard suit, you were so used to a t-shirt and jeans, but it was definitely him. Your evening was instantly ruined as you started mentally plotting the best way to avoid him.

You decided a good first step was to head straight to the bathroom to compose yourself, giving yourself the same pep talk in the mirror that you’d given the day after he left. You’d come too far to let him fuck up your first big outing. You dabbed the nervous sweat from your upper lip, adjusted your outfit and gave yourself a nod. You could do this. You just needed to stay away.

Wandering back into the party, you looked around for your father, the only person in the room you had any interest in talking to. You heard your name being called over the music and turned towards it. There he was, standing beside Bucky, beckoning you over. 

So your plan was fucked, then. 

Your stomach tightened. You grabbed a drink from a nearby table and moved over reluctantly.

“There you are. Listen, James was just telling me about the big job he was called to, it sounds incredibly interesting.”

“Oh, really?” 

You took a big gulp of champagne, wondering if Bucky’s fictitious story was as good as the real one he’d told you over breakfast that time. Or maybe that one was all made up, too. You glanced over and accidentally caught his eye for a second, but he quickly broke away and looked back at your father. 

“I probably shouldn’t go into any more detail.”

“Of course not, I wouldn't want you getting in trouble.” You involuntarily scoffed at your father’s words but managed to play it off as a cough. “It’s such a shame, though. You two seemed to really be getting on well together.” 

Your father looked back and forth between the two of you like he was watching a tennis match, unaware of how painfully awkward the lingering silence was. You finished off your champagne and grabbed a fresh glass from a passing waiter, looking around the room for any excuse to leave this conversation. Unfortunately, your father found one first. 

“Ah, there’s the birthday girl, I’d better go pass on some well wishes. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

You cringed as he walked away. Quickly deciding that it was better to not even attempt conversation, you just silently nodded at Bucky and turned to leave. You didn’t get far, however, as he grabbed hold of your arm and stepped towards you. 

“Can we talk?”

You were incredibly shocked but tried to play it off. “I guess."

“In private?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you glared down at his hand, “but I would like it if you let go of my arm.”

“Sorry.” 

He released his grip and you took a small step away, putting a safe distance between your faces. You were still pissed off at him, that much was for sure, but you weren’t ready to trust yourself being in such close proximity to him again. Anything could happen. 

“I get why you’re pissed at me, I would be too. I just need to explain.”

“I know why you did what you did, Buck. You don’t need-”

“Please. Someone’s taking over my shift in ten minutes, will you meet me upstairs?”

“Upstairs? Like, past the rope with the big no guests allowed sign?”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to sneak past,” he smirked slightly, “I heard the security here sucks.”

He was right, too. You got up there with absolutely no trouble whatsoever. 

All of the doors off the hallway were closed apart from one, at the very end. You took a gamble and slowly approached, peeking your head round to see Bucky perched on the edge of a huge bed. He shot up when he spotted you in the doorway.

“Sorry, I know this is kinda weird, it's the only room that wasn’t locked or, y’know… occupied.”

“Lovely.”

He nodded and gave you a smile. “You look great. Amazing, actually. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” his smile melted you a little, “mostly thanks to you.” 

“Ah, you would’a been fine, I just annoyed you into being fine a bit sooner.”

You nervously rubbed the back of your head, in disbelief at how quickly he’d broken through your thick wall of resentment. You scrambled around trying to gather up some of the bricks and rebuild but being in the presence of that slick motherfucker was making it really difficult. 

You gathered your thoughts, took a breath and spoke. 

“Buck, like I said downstairs, you don’t need to explain. Obviously making out with your clients is a fireable offence, I get that, so you had to leave. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“You think I left ‘cause of that? You think some shitty job is more important to me than you?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda.”

“Jesus, I really am an asshole.” You gave him a confused frown as he reached out and took both of your hands in his. “Look, I couldn’t give a shit about this job, there’s bodyguarding positions everywhere and most of them don’t involve babysitting rich assholes. I left ‘cause I felt like I’d taken advantage of you. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Huh?”

“You were in a bad place. You were vulnerable and I was supposed to be looking after you, not- y’know...”

“Sucking face?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Right, but you do remember that I’m not a child, yeah? Just because I’m feeling shitty doesn’t mean I can’t make decisions for myself.”

“But it does mean your judgement is at least a little impaired.”

“Fine, whatever, but it isn’t anymore.” You squeezed his hands. “And I’m telling you now as a fully sane, rational adult that you didn’t do anything wrong. Alright?”

A relieved smile spread across his face. “Alright.”

“Good, cause I made a decision and I’m sticking to it.

“Might be a bad decision.”

“Sometimes bad decisions are more fun.”

“You can say that again.”

Your second kiss with Bucky was, somehow, even better. He was more sure of himself this time, less cautious, he moved in quicker. You did the same, wrapping both arms around his neck and letting him take some of your weight. You felt him smile against you as a hand dived into the back of your hair.

Now this was a kiss worth being fired for. 

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “For the record, the first time wasn’t a mistake. It was a… happy accident.”

“Whatever you say,” you chuckled, “I’m just glad we bumped into each other again.”

“Oh, we didn’t. I took this job after checking the guestlist.”

“You sneaky fucker.”

“You know it.”

---

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fluff #bucky one shot #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bodyguard!Bucky #bodyguard bucky #bodyguard!bucky x you #bodyguard!bucky x y/n #bodyguard!bucky x reader #bodyguard bucky x you #bodyguard bucky x y/n #bodyguard bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot

[starberrywander]

If men aren't the ones holding up the patriarchy then pray tell, who is? Oppression isn't some non corporeal force, it is created and regularly enforced by the oppressive class. It is the culmination of what a class of individuals think and do that create oppression. I think you should read even just the wikipedia article for Feminism and Patriarchy.

The answer is everyone who isn't actively fighting it. Not just men. Have you really never encountered women who enforce patriarchal gender roles on their families? What about all these female GOP politicians who regularly fight against women's rights?

You are correct, oppression isn't some non-corporeal force. But its not just the actions of individuals either. It is a system and a culture. It is maintained not just by those who actively defend it but also by those who act within it complacently. It's not some cult where people have to be forced to take action to maintain it, the patriarchy is a culture that we are all raised in. It implants itself in the minds of all people who exist within it through social rules and people, all people, will act on and pass on that culture if they do not actively fight to identify and remove it from themselves.

The patriarchy is often passive; meaning it doesn't have to be actively enforced by the conscious will of individuals to have effects on us. It is woven into our environments so deeply that everyone is conditioned to act on it and pass it on, even if we are not consciously aware that is what we're doing. Just like any other cultural element, the people who live within it tend to take it for granted as facts of reality. Ever heard of implicit bias? That is how systems like these maintain themselves.

There is not some active conspiracy among men to uphold and wield the patriarchy. Its not something they, or anyone else who hasn't challenged it in themselves, are consciously thinking about and controlling. It's just a culture that people are raised to think is the natural order of things. Yes, the oppressive class (in this case men) enforce oppression, but a very significant portion of that is done without any intention to oppress. It is, again, what people have been taught by the patriarchy is the natural order. Acting like all men, by virtue of being men, are in on some scheme to oppress women is disingenuous. Some may be (Andrew Tate, for example) but your average garden variety dude is not on some mission to maintain superiority.

Think what you want about me, but I can observe the world with my own two eyes and ears and see that most men are not out to get women. More often than not their harmful behaviors are done without any knowledge or understanding of the damage they can have (Obviously I'm not referring to things like abuse and rape, before you jump to extreme conclusions.). And they are never going to gain that understanding and start pulling the weeds of patriarchy from their minds if we do not allow them to process and discuss the way patriarchy plays out in their own lives.

So yeah, you're right. Men do uphold the patriarchy. It's not just men, but they do have the largest impact. But what I feel you get wrong is this framing that they always do so consciously, that it is an active thing that they are choosing and therefore must answer for. Most of the time it is implicit bias. And the only places those biases are challenged are feminist ones. Or at least ones with feminist influence. If we keep excluding them that fact will never change and they will never stop upholding the patriarchy. They do not hold it up because they're male, they hold it up because that's all they've been taught to do. They have been raised by a culture designed to perpetuate these ideas and pass them from generation to generation.

Idk why it's not obvious to more people, but maleness is not the cause of patriarchy. The ideology of patriarchy is. And ideology can be passed on by anyone, to anyone. If we just ignore this crucial source, nothing is going to change. We are going to fight a constant uphill battle if we just assume that men are changeably in favor of this ideology and give up on rooting it out. We need to root it out. That is probably the most important step we can take toward dismantling the patriarchy right now. And the most effective way to do that is to actually discuss the patriarchy with men and allow them to express and process their perspective and experience without being driven away for their thoughts. No, this doesn't mean just tolerate prejudice silently. What it does mean is to listen, consider, empathize, and start pulling the weeds of prejudice out by challenging biased statements in a way that doesn't make them go on the defensive.

Seriously, how do you propose we end the patriarchy? What's the plan here? Because to me the most obvious course of action is to free men and women alike from the captivity of this harmful ideology until there is no one left to uphold it. And we do that by assessing all effects of the patriarchy and discussing them, including the ways they effect men. In what way would it ever be bad to better understand the patriarchy? Because that's what happens when you allow men's experiences to be discussed.

Maybe you don't see it this way, but when I think of Feminism the goal is to free all of humanity from the grips of patriarchy, not to free women from men. The problem is the culture and ideology of patriarchy, not men for wielding it. Or at very least, that's the problem we should be focusing on if we want to make any progress. I don't see how we could ever stop men from perpetuating the patriarchy if we don't make them stop believing its lies and assumptions.

#feminism #intersectional feminism #ask

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

As President Joe Biden mingled on the House floor following his State of the Union address Thursday night, Sen. Katie Britt (R-AL) gave the official Republican response, a stern but bizarrely delivered rebuttal that focused heavily on immigration and the economy.

The freshman senator is considered a rising star in the party. But her speech’s intense tone—with an over-the-top dramatic cadence that was delivered in a kitchen—left political operatives and observers struggling to make sense of it.

The performance was so bad that some Republicans watched the high-profile speech with a grimace. A GOP strategist told The Daily Beast that Britt’s delivery quickly became a gossip item Thursday night among operatives connected to Donald Trump—something that could have potential implications for her consideration as a vice presidential pick on the 2024 ticket.

“Everyone’s fucking losing it,” this Republican said, requesting anonymity to discuss private conversations. “It’s one of our biggest disasters ever.”

Several popular social media influencers in the MAGA camp also panned the speech; the account Catturd tweeted Britt was "awful" to his 2.4 million followers.

The setting of the kitchen table—more so the kitchen than the table—for Britt’s speech also left some seasoned Republican strategists confused.

“Senator Katie Britt is a very impressive person. She ran a hell of race in [Alabama],” Alyssa Farah Griffin, a former Trump White House communications adviser and Nikki Haley supporter posted on X. “I do not understand the decision to put her in a KITCHEN for one of the most important speeches she’s ever given.”

Olivia Perez-Cubas, the former spokesperson for Haley’s 2024 presidential bid, also said in a post on X that while Britt “is incredibly impressive, unsure why she felt the need to deliver the SOTU response from a kitchen.”

Tim Miller, the former Jeb Bush aide turned ex-Republican, called the kitchen setting “creepy” and said it made former Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal’s much-maligned response to Barack Obama in 2009 “look like the Finest Hour speech.”

Brendan Buck, a former senior adviser to Speaker John Boehner (R-OH) and Speaker Paul Ryan (R-WI), also acknowledged that Britt’s “delivery was unfortunate.”

“She was clearly overcoached,” Buck said on MSNBC.

Britt went for a dramatic performance with her State of the Union rebuttal, casting Biden as a failed president and arguing that the GOP was the best option for regular working families.

But the senator's delivery turned out to be so dramatic that it ended up being distracting at best and disingenuous at worst.

Allie Beth Stuckey, a conservative commentator, posted on X Friday morning that Britt had genuine appeal in coming across like "the moms at the school drop off" and praised the kitchen setting.

"But the delivery was parody-level terrible, and I promise that didn’t sway any of those suburban moms we’re trying to reach," Stuckey wrote.

State of the Union responses from rising stars in the opposing party are notorious for generating awkward, unflattering moments that can follow a politician through an otherwise solid career. Sen. Marco Rubio (R-FL) is still remembered for awkwardly taking a sip of water during his response speech over a decade ago.

The GOP strategist who called Britt's performance a disaster likened it to Rubio’s water moment—but they said Britt was actually worse and that she “lowered her stature” in doing it.

A Britt spokesman did not respond to a request for comment.

#us politics #news #the daily beast #2024 #republicans #conservatives #gop #State of the Union address #State of the Union rebuttal #Sen. Katie Britt #alabama #twitter #tweet #x #Alyssa Farah Griffin #catturd #Olivia Perez-Cubas #Tim Miller #Brendan Buck

[saintmachina]

It's disingenuous to claim that writers who explore sex are only doing so for shock value or to chase a trend. As personal as sex is, it's routinely leveraged in the public arena to drive policy and social mores. Sex deserves to be depicted in fiction as part of that conversation.

Anyone who knows me knows I am the first person to defend erotic art as not having to have a huge political aim: it can simply exist for the sake of play, self-expression, human connection, aesthetics, and yes, titillation. But sex IS political, on the page and off.

You might not be interested in reading or writing erotic art, which is totally fine! But discussing art that wrestles with sexuality solely in whispers helps no one, because sex talk sure is already happening among journalists and politicians. Don't you want a seat at that table?

TLDR: support your local working horny artist

#thoughts

[hyperlexichypatia]

I read this extremely disturbing article about weight loss “treatment” (drugs and even surgeries) for children. I do not recommend reading it if you struggle at all with internalized sizeism or body image unhappiness. It is extremely upsetting. Really, don’t read it. 

The focus of the article is a teenage girl called Maggie who has been pathologized for her weight her entire life, literally since infancy, and then, as a 13 year old, was given weight loss drugs and bariatric surgery. The writer of the article, Lisa Miller, is clearly framing child weight loss as a reasonable medical practice and “radical fat-acceptance advocates” as somehow going too far. Miller is also clearly framing child weight loss interventions as necessary for “health” reasons. 

My partner alerted me to a journalistic trend we started noticing around 2015 – when a writer is trying to express that the people they’re writing about have one motivation, but all the actual quotes from the subject express a different motivation. This often happens when a writer is trying to argue that support for a racist/sexist/bigoted policy position or politician isn’t motivated by racism/sexism/bigotry; it’s motivated by Some Other Thing – and then every actual quote from a supporter is some strain of racist/sexist/bigoted (see: almost every mainstream article from the mid-2010s about the alt-right, men’s rights, gamergate, or the Trump movement). 

In “Ozempic Era,” Miller is trying to convey that child weight loss interventions are necessary “treatments” for “medical problems,” not the result of forced aesthetic conformity due to systemic sizeism – but the actual parents and kids she quotes all cite aesthetic and social reasons for wanting their children or themselves to lose weight. They talk about fitting in. Fitting clothes. Being accepted. Gaining confidence. Wanting to look like thin, popular kids. One of the parents explicitly rebutted the fat-acceptance movement by saying “The world is not built for overweight people” as though acknowledging and changing that fact isn’t the entire point of the movement. 

But really, fat acceptance barely got acknowledged at all. The bulk of the contrast, as usual, was between the “judgmental” view that “blames” fat people for being fat, and the supposedly more progressive medical view that blames genetics, environment, and other factors outside an individual’s control for fat people being fat. It’s so much easier to start the conversation at “Whose fault is it that fat people are fat?” and “What’s the best way to make fat people stop being fat?” than to step back and question “Why is being fat a bad thing?” 

I don’t even think the parents being interviewed are being disingenuous, necessarily. So often in discussions of fat liberation, disability liberation, mad liberation, neurodivergent liberation, whatever, people clinging to the medical model will insist, as though they’re the first ones to think of  it, “What about the problems with being (fat/disabled/etc) that aren’t caused by social factors? What about the suffering intrinsic to the condition itself? Social change wouldn’t fix that!” and then, when asked for examples, will immediately cite examples of problems caused by social factors and systems. Clothes not fitting is a social problem (clothing is made by humans!), not a problem intrinsic to fatness. Bullying is a social problem (humans are the bullies!), not a problem intrinsic to fatness. Fat children lacking self-confidence is a social problem (self-confidence largely comes from relationships!), not a problem intrinsic to fatness. People are really out there trying to come up with non-socially-caused problems intrinsic to fatness and citing “airplane seats” as though airplanes are naturally occurring. 

A perfect example of this in Miller’s article is that now that Maggie has lost weight, she can be a cheerleader – she’s still not small enough to be at the top of the pyramid, but she’s strong enough to be at the bottom of the pyramid! 

How, exactly, is weight loss necessary for that? There’s no size limit to the bottom of the pyramid! That’s where your heavy people are supposed to go! There are, at least, actual physics-based reasons why a heavy person might not be suited for the top of the pyramid. If the claim were “Before she lost weight, she was on the bottom of the pyramid, but afterward, she’s small enough to be on the top,” that would at least be a change directly connected to her physical weight. But for any physical activity that doesn’t directly involve being lifted, weight should have very little connection to ability. Fat people can and do run, lift, swim, and do every physical activity that thin people do. Of course, various medical conditions and disabilities can affect those abilities (in fat people, thin people, medium-sized people, and everyone else), and not everyone is particularly interested in athleticism, but it’s just dishonest to pretend or imply that thinness is a prerequisite for any kind of athletic activity. 

“But, Hypatia,” you, the straw reader who lives in my head, might be saying, “You’re always talking about youth rights and autonomy! If the 13 year old consented to have her body surgically and chemically altered, shouldn’t we respect her choice?” 

Great question, straw reader who lives in my head. Consent has to be informed. And uncoerced. I do not believe that a 13 year old who has been pathologized for her weight since she was an infant, who has been told by her parents and doctors and every authority figure in her life that her body is a problem, who has been relentlessly bullied and ostracized for her weight, is making an uncoerced choice. Nor, if she has never been exposed to the fat acceptance/liberation or health at every size models, is she making an informed one. There is no indication that accepting her naturally fat body was ever an option for her. 

Regardless, my point isn’t even “13 year olds shouldn’t be prescribed bariatric surgery or weight-loss drugs” (although I absolutely think they shouldn’t, and I wonder where the people who [falsely] think gender-affirming care is “permanent surgery on children” are on this). It’s “We should abolish the pervasive, unquestioned, widespread systemic sizeism that leads people to think fatness is a bad thing.” 

#ableism #sizeism #fatphobia #fat acceptance #liberation #youth rights #body posititivity #body image

[n7cloacadestroyer]

"ACAB applies to Garrus"

I've heard this independently 3-4 times over the past week, and it strikes me as such an odd thing to say. Not because it isn't true--we know Garrus wasn't above working a suspect over if he thought it would make them talk. Like, he wasn't just a cop, he was kind of a dirty one. Not in the same way as someone like Harkin, but definitely in the "you better hope his hunch doesn't lead him to you or you're getting beaten with a rubber hose until you tell him what he wants to hear" kind of way. Which is arguably just as bad, if not worse.

No, the reason it's such an odd thing to say is that ACAB honestly applies to about half of the characters in the visible universe of Mass Effect. It's a very "save us, military industrial complex," sort of narrative in many respects--up to and including the part where all the politicians and diplomats basically have "beta cuck," or "dick dastardly's understudy," tattooed on their forehead with very few exceptions.

That's just something you have to accept if you want to enjoy the series. It's a star war, not an insightful commentary on power structures and the abuse of the people therein.

If you want to evaluate it as one, then there are quite a few bigger fish in this particular pond. The Citadel Council alone is one of the most abusable legislative mechanisms conceivable, and admission to their ranks is predicated solely on approval by the current Council. The council whose individual votes would be weakened by adding another member. Not to mention that the idea of an individual speaking for their entire species is bananas on its face.

And not to put too fine a point on it, but Shepard is a fed. Like, a "clandestine intervention and special operations" kind of fed. ACAB absolutely applies to them too.

The Point™: The Mass Effect universe was created solely to facilitate a role playing game in which the player had more narrative freedom than was typical of AAA titles at the time. If you apply any degree of knowledge regarding sociology or political science, the thing falls apart faster than the M-44 Hammerhead. Basically anybody who has spent more than five minutes thinking about it could tell you that. Anybody can also tell you that if the game mirrored an effective and equitable political process, there probably wouldn't be much call to splatter some faceless space pirate against a wall with your dark energy mind powers. If you want to be all cinemasins about it, that's your call, but I don't think you would make a very good action game going about it that way.

I'm not trying to say that you're wrong if you don't like Garrus. It's a matter of opinion, first and foremost. There are valid reasons to dislike him. Like his elevator conversations, for example. But it's more than a little disingenuous to pretend he is uniquely or egregiously problematic in his abuse of power while we control Commander Shepard--the literal avatar of abusing their power with little to no consequences.

#op #mass effect #commander shepard #mass effect trilogy #mass effect lore #garrus #MELE #mass effect legendary edition #garrus vakarian #mass effect politics #meta #text

[tanadrin]

Doing nothing would not have shown Hamas that Israel was different. Nothing Israel could do or can do will actually change the opinion of Hamas, or really the majority of the world, both because Israel has been held up for 70 years as the ultimate example of colonialist evil, and more importantly because it's "the Jewish state," and most people have already made up their minds about Jews.

“Nothing we could do differently would change how the world perceived is,” says country that has never tried to do anything differently.

This is clearly cope from people who uncritically endorse Israel’s chosen foreign policy, and are unwilling to face the extent to which the international perception of Israel is due to Israel’s own actions, and the ways in which Israel has tried to make its political identity synonymous with Jewishness. When you have Israeli politicians saying Jews who don’t endorse Israel’s policies aren’t really Jews, it be one’s very disingenuous to turn around and say “well, people only criticize Israel because they are prejudiced against Jews.” Israel has been working for years to conflate Israeli and Jewish identity! Israeli politics grants fundamentally anti-Semitic premises in order to try to shore up its own rhetorical position!

[inqorporeal]

US politicians: *support Israel's use of unreasonable force and weaponry against trapped civilians*

Liberal voters: We'll put pressure on the politicians by threatening to withhold our votes!

US politicians: *start pressuring Israel to cease fire and allow aid to trapped civilians*

Liberal voters: Ha, NOW you care, huh? Disingenuous! Why should we vote for you?

I fucking swear nothing will make you people happy. Was getting them to change angles on Isreal not the whole fucking point? We have liberal politicians up for reelection who will actually listen to the people they're meant to represent and will change their policies under citizen pressure, but because they changed their policies under pressure, they're not worth voting for? Do you fucking hear yourselves? You want us to get a bunch of people in office who will happily burn what's left of our democracy and ignore our protests, just because you don't want to vote for the people who listened to you? Do you fucking hear yourselves???

How much of this shit is a psyop?

There is some truly insidious Puritanical purity politics in play here. Doing the right thing for selfish reasons is still doing the right thing. People in the future won't care if diplomacy happened purely for performative reasons: what will matter is that the diplomacy happened.

#the number of people who seem ready to hand the Republicans the torches just because Democrats aren't perfectis disgusting

[fleshadept]

while the criticism of glass onion being a bourgeois art piece hegemonically negotiating hatred of the 1% into standard discourse is understandable, i think it's important to remember that rian johnson and daniel craig and whoever you want to criticise for making "performative" art about the systemic ways in which the ultrawealthy maintain power and specifically marginalize women of color are far closer in wealth to the average american than they ever will be to elon musk or any billionaire. daniel craig's net worth is $8 million dollars. his WHOLE net worth. you have to multiply that by 19,500 to get anywhere near elon musk's net worth of $156,000,000,000. and that's after he's lost $100bn this YEAR.

it's true that people shouldn't count watching movies as activism and definitely shouldn't see media produced by huge corporations as praxis, but that doesn't mean what political standpoints they do contain lack value or are disingenuous. the human mind is literally incapable of conceptualizing numbers after a certain point, so it's easy to think of hollywood rich and billionaire rich as similar, because both kinds of people live lives that most of us could barely dream of with privileges and access to resources that we will never have. but the difference between a millionaire and a billionaire is the difference between being able to make a movie starring daniel craig and being able to bankroll dozens of politicians and buy one of the largest social media websites used by millions of people daily on a whim

as "rich people bad" movies go, glass onion deals with it REALLY well. the scene at the end when helen destroys miles's house demonstrates a very nuanced understanding of how billionaires maintain power; blanc recognizes and tells helen that even though they found the truth, they can't do anything legally because miles burned their only physical evidence and the courts will unequivocally side with the billionaire. again. so in lieu of any justice system that will work, helen starts breaking shit. but miles doesn't even care that much, because what's a dozen million dollar glass art pieces to a man who accrues that in interest every minute? even when everyone else joins in, he doesn't care. it's annoying, but it doesn't mean anything. so the other "disruptors" stop after they've gotten their minimal catharsis, having done no real damage to his reputation or, frankly, their reliance on him.

helen burning the mona lisa to take him down, and that being presented as the best option, is really significant. as movies go, taking the stance of "destroying priceless art and private property is not only justified and moral but effective in the face of a system that gives you no other option for justice" is pretty damn rare.

it's true that if glass onion or other high budget films actually tangibly threatened the system in any way they would never get funded or see the light of day. but the cool thing about stories, and about art, is that you can't predict the effects they have on people. anti-billionaire bourgeois art isn't direct action, it isn't activism, and it isn't even important politically, but that doesn't mean it has no effect on the discourse whatsoever and can't be important to how people see the 1%

#glass onion #AGAIN. movies are NOT praxis. they are not activism. but i feel like when people bring up the frankfurt school/gramsci arguments #of hegemonic negotiation via movies presenting political viewpoints #WHICH IS VERY IMPORTANT AND A VERY REAL PROCESS #people also tend to use those arguments to discount the value art can have in general #there's this one quote from a jewish partisan who survived the first wave of nazis invading lithuania and organized sabotage #and subversive groups against the invaders that was like. 'had the invasion not occurred i would have been a poet' #which is such a succinct way of saying that art is useful broadly up to a point but after that point you have to pick up a gun #anyway i'm rambling. cricket enters the chat to discuss hegemonic negotiation #cricket chirps #glass onion spoilers

[lullabyes22-blog]

Meta-Analysis-Rambles - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

My beta was going over the phone conversation snippet between Mel and Silco, and pointed out the different levels of manipulation, mind games and mendacity at play here. To quote: "He's taking every page from her mother's playbook, and she knows it, but she's still succumbing, and her failure is a strategic move on his part. But she can't stop it and the end of this is going to suck so much."

Which: yeah.

(I'm sorry?)

This is my way of breaking down the thought process behind this scene. As always, debate, critiques and comments are welcome<3

Tw: Narcissistic abuse, unhealthy power dynamics, dysfunctional relationships

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Confidential: State Files – Piltover & Zaun.

Memorandum of Encrypted Telephone Conversation

Subjects: Councilor Mel Medarda & First Chancellor Silco

Declassified and De-encrypted Under Authority of the Intra-agency Security Panel

E.O. 12596 Section 5. B(y) 

Councilor Medarda: Chancellor?

Chancellor Silco: Councilor. To what do I owe this pleasure?

Councilor Medarda: I am told Viktor has returned to Zaun.

Chancellor Silco: Yes. Two days ago. 

Councilor Medarda: I am also told he has taken up residence at Emberflit Alley. With a secondary base of operations at your headquarters. Is that correct?

Chancellor Silco: I suppose. Then again, my intelligence network is not quite as nosy as yours.

(She's already upset and he knows that full well. He's banking on it. And the first layer of mindfuckery begins. It's a subtle threat: We both know each other's secrets, so let's play nice.)

Councilor Medarda: Don't be disingenuous.

Chancellor Silco: Disingenuous? What I am is monumentally busy. You know. With all the work that comes from having a city that isn't under someone's boot. 

(Now he's taking performative pot shots. Preemptively attacking to keep her off balance. But Mel's a savvy politician. She's used to this game. She's got this.)

Councilor Medarda: Yes, it must be tiring indeed. So tiring that you neglected to mention the Hexcore is now in your pocket?

(She dispenses with their usual dance. Straight to the point.)

Chancellor Silco: Is that what that Rubiks cube is called? 

Councilor Medarda: Do not try my patience! It's no accident you kept the Council out of the loop. What does Viktor plan to do with it?

Chancellor Silco: From what I can gather? Improve the lives of Zaunites.

Councilor Medarda: And you expect me to believe that?

Chancellor Silco: Forgive me? Are you questioning my integrity—or his?

 (It's a double-layered question: If you trust my integrity so little, why work with me? But if you trust Viktor as little, why the hell are you allying with him? She's fired off warning shots. Now he's putting a gun to her head.)

Councilor Medarda: Do not misunderstand. I hold great esteem for Viktor. But if the Hexcore is perceived to be under Zaun's control, it will rattle Piltover's investors. Already, they are expressing concern that Zaun's chem-tech will surpass theirs.

Chancellor Silco: The Hexcore is not patented by your city. Nor is Viktor's work tied to your jurisdiction. His liminal status as Fissure-native saw to that. He has always been at liberty to take his inventions anywhere. Why not home?

Councilor Medarda: Existential arguments will not matter once stockholders turn tail. We are a nation of ideas. Hex-tech is our lifeblood.  Now you've taken one of our pioneers. The question is, why? Is this the beginning of a hostile takeover? Or are you inviting economic sanctions?

Chancellor Silco: Neither. It is an overture of friendship.

Councilor Medarda: Friendship?

Chancellor Silco: If your investors are afraid that Zaun's profits will outperform theirs, perhaps they should consider giving our businesses a whack. Better yet, start a little friendly competition.

Councilor Medarda: Do not make a mockery of this!

Chancellor Silco: Mockery? I am deadly serious. As Chancellor of Zaun, I welcome all trade.

Councilor Medarda:  Then you admit it? You lured Viktor away for economic benefit?

Chancellor Silco:  Lure? Viktor is not a rabbit. He is a grown man. He has dedicated years of service to the Council, and to Piltover. Surely, he has the right to choose where he spends the rest of his time.

Councilor Medarda: You mean the last of his days. His health is in decline. Such circumstances drive men to dire straits.

(Mel's got him dead to rights. She's calling out the true reason why he's enticed Viktor back to Zaun. And yet her disinterest in masking the language, as is her habit, is telling. She's rattled. Her personal life is intruding on her professionalism, due to how Viktor's departure has affected Jayce. She's also coming down off the high of hers and Silco's recent détente, and now has to reckon with the fact that she's put her trust in someone she shouldn't have.)

(She's angry and vulnerable. Which is exactly what Silco wants.)

Chancellor Silco: And that's where we must differ.

Councilor Medarda: What do you mean?

Chancellor Silco: Only that his mind is sharp. And the rest of him, still young. One may yet salvage the other.

Councilor Medarda: Do you realize the furor this has caused? Already, the Council are up in arms! The move will cut holes in our coffers. Coffers that, since Zaun's separation, are already hemorrhaging gold!

Chancellor Silco: I have made it no secret that Piltover must loosen its chokehold on the markets. What you decry as hemorrhage, I see as a balancing of scales.

Councilor Medarda: I have worked tirelessly to ensure that Piltover is a source of economic stability in Runeterra. A place where foreign traders can find new beginnings. You would risk decades of my effort with the stroke of your pen?

Chancellor Silco: If your stability came at our expense? Then: yes.

(And here's the crux of the conversation. And indeed, the crux of FnF. Revolution is about equity. About redistributing the wealth, the power, the resources. About dismantling the systems that maintain the status quo, and making the system itself more equitable. Silco, for all his villain-coded awfulness, has only ever wanted this. But his means are ruthless and leave bodies in their wake. And Mel, for all her hero-coded goodness, has always resisted it. Her means are to finesse deals and arrive at compromises where the big guys stay happy but the little guy drowns.  They both want the same thing, but the only way to make it happen is if someone's hand is forced. They keep pushing each other’s buttons, trying to make the other give.)

(Thus far, Mel has held the cards. She's cleverer at this game: blessed with an education and resources. Her connections have given her every advantage, and she's not above using them against Silco, who has grown up quick but hugely underprivileged. Now Silco has begun to understand the core of her neurosis: her self-worth. He's got a daughter who suffers similarly. So he weaponizes the knowledge, bypassing Mel's cleverness by striking at the heart of her vulnerabilities.)

(And it works.)

("Power, real power, doesn't come to those who are born strongest, or fastest, or smartest. No: it comes to those who will do anything to achieve it.")

Councilor Medarda: Our partnership is mutually beneficial. To throw it away for petty conceit—

Chancellor Silco: But who benefits more? A war-gutted backwater finding its feet? Or a nation that sits upon the pinnacle of progress?

Councilor Medarda: It was my belief that you wanted Zaun to succeed. That you were working toward the same ends as I.

Chancellor Silco: I am.

Councilor Medarda: And yet you have taken advantage of Viktor's deteriorating health! He would never have returned had you not swayed him!

Chancellor Silco: The way you talk, it's like you think I slithered up from the depths, and hypnotized him with a bag of candy in my hand.  With such paternalism, is it any wonder he left? Or did you pay him with head-pats and gold stars during his tenure as Hex-tech cofounder?

(The irony of this narcissistic asshattery is twofold. They both deploy charm offensives to turn people into instruments of gratification. But their methods are different. Silco uses a combination of fear and coercion, while Mel's is softer and sweeter. Both are selfish. Neither of them respects Viktor's agency as a human being. He is on the platter as a morsel, and they're both bickering over who has the right to eat him.)

(But now there's a difference.)

(Silco's consumption is rooted in nationalistic fervor and self-righteous indignation. Mel's is a result of her need to smooth troubled waters and keep her city financially afloat. In this case, she has no ulterior motives. Silco has nothing but.  And he's killing two birds with one stone: reminding her that she's not infallible, while also reminding her that her city's success is contingent on the Undercity's resources, and the resourcefulness of its people.)

(That's her Achilles heel, and he's going for the tendons.)

Councilor Medarda: If this snideness is a demonstration of your sincerity, then I will bid you goodnight.

Chancellor Silco: You may bid me whatever you wish. The fact remains that Viktor is free to move as he chooses. We spoke during the gala. I told him—plainly—that the doors of his hometown would remain open. And that, if he contributed to Zaun's development, he would have a seat at the table. He made his own choice. If his convictions are at odds with Piltover, it is because your agenda had no interest in including him.

(And comes the knife in the gut. He's turned the tables. Now he's reminding her that her city has its own blind spots, its own biases, and its own hubris. In point of fact, Piltover has not treated Viktor well. He's been the silent, self-effacing force behind their prosperity. A silent partner, and silently suffering as his health deteriorates.)

(Silco's using that for his own ends. He's also laying out the groundwork for his final salvo: his Four Horsemen. He wants Piltover close as close, with their finances inextricably linked, so he can watch them suffer once he tears it all down.)

Councilor Medarda:  I am at pains to point out that an open door proves the most successful enticement of all. You lay your choicest cards on the table, and wait for the opponent to make the gamble.

(He's the enemy. She's reminding herself of that. Her language has become that of warfare, rather than the language of diplomacy. And yet, in standing her ground, she's slipping. Her political intelligence is being clouded by her emotional wounds.)

(This is his doing. She's fighting his war now, not her own.)

Chancellor Silco: I am also, as you take pains to note, a zealot. I believe in Zaun. I believe in the Fissurefolk. Viktor is the greatest living example of our potential. He has contributed immeasurably to Piltover's success. Now, he has returned where he's needed. If Piltover is as great as you claim, it can bloody well manage without him.

Councilor Medarda: The Hexcore is integral to our projects! It was created in Piltover!

Chancellor Silco: Now Zaun will repurpose it.

Councilor Medarda: So you admit it? Your goal is to destabilize our markets?

(Mel's trying to wrest the gun away and point it at his head. But her aim's not good enough. It's too close. Too messy. It doesn't pin him down the way she wants it to.)

(Worse, he's laughing on the inside. This is a game he knows how to win.)

Chancellor Silco: There you go again. If my city gets one-fifth of the pie, do you starve for the lack of the other four-fifths? If we have one brilliant engineer, and you have one hundred, is our innovation an impediment to your success? For a woman of such wealth, you are fixated on a fistful of coins.

Councilor Medarda: Coin is how you build a foundation. Without it, you have nothing.

Chancellor Silco: You have your mind. You hands. You will. Coin is the means, not the end.

Councilor Medarda: And yet you risk the Treaty between our cities, in a bid for more!

Chancellor Silco: By what standard do you measure a Treaty? You've sanctioned fair trade between our cities. Our markets are now a two-way street. But yours has been the tight-fisted hoarder. Ours? The beggar with his hand out. Your Hex-Gates have kept our industries stagnant. Your decrees have kept us locked in. Your monopolies have kept our brightest from ever seeing the light of day.  Now we are crawling our way out. But first, we must recover from the old scars.

Councilor Medarda: I have done my utmost to keep your city afloat! Referrals, subsidies, contracts. I've coaxed the Council to look past their prejudices. Cajoled the chariest stakeholders into lending coin to your industries. My efforts have been beyond reproach. And what do you do? Swipe my silver like a thief in the night!

(In my headcanon, she very nearly fumbles as she uses this metaphor. Her first choice was 'rapist.' Also, broadly speaking, from dynamics of social class, we're now transitioning toward gender, and the intrinsic link between the two, as well as how it translates into power.)

(But Mel's not ready to go there yet, so she's keeping the conversation firmly on the financial. Socially, Silco remains her 'inferior' due to his identity as a working-class man. Politically, his nation's balance hinges on her goodwill. Or rather, her noblesse oblige. He's not a threat; just a fuck-up in need of a helping hand. But his audacity has thrown her for a loop, and the only way she knows how to regain control is to remind him of his debt to her. A stance he now rejects, because they've become intimate.)

(Which brings up the secondary layer of their mindfuckery. As we will soon see.)

Chancellor Silco: If Piltover sees the loss of one man as theft, then perhaps your faith in your city is unfounded. Zaunites are not thieves. We only take what we are owed. Now we will use it as we see fit.

Councilor Medarda: And how, pray tell, will you use the Hexcore? Sell its secrets to the highest bidder? Or hoard them, like a miser, to build an arsenal that reduces both our cities to rubble? If conquest was your aim—

Chancellor Silco: Conquest?

(A telling choice of words, and another laugh in her ear.)

(In her mind, he's become the monster under the bed. He's her greatest fear: an unruly hellpit beneath her golden city. A wild animal that wants to be free. And her mind's conjuring up images of the Siege, and her city a smoking ruin. More to the point, she's regressing. She's becoming the girl at the mercy of her warlord mother's harsh lessons. She's a child, helpless, and the adult has come to teach her the consequences of weakness.)

(And yet, she's also grown up, and she's the mistress of her own house.  She's been through the Siege, and survived, and come out stronger for it. She's a warrior in her own right, and she's going to act like one.)

Councilor Medarda: You speak in absolutes. Winners and losers. Beggars and choosers. March forward—and damn the consequences!

Chancellor Silco: You are the one speaking in absolutes. I see a simple solution to all of this. Let Zaun keep the Hexcore. Because that's the only way we can achieve parity. Our economy has finally freed itself from your city's shackles.  My Cabinet is undertaking reforms to stem excess liquidity. We're encouraging worker co-operatives by establishing a national credit union. We're offering incentives for independent start-ups. All of this is but a fraction of what's necessary to strengthen our markets. But we are trying. We are fighting every step. We are not asking for handouts. Only the right to succeed. On our own terms. With our own people.

Councilor Medarda: I have heard enough.

(She's doing what her mother would do. Shutting down the conversation, before her vulnerability and fear make her lose face. She's made her case. There's nothing left for him to say.)

(And so, he does the worst thing she can imagine. He ignores her.)

Chancellor Silco: Have you? Or are you afraid what I say makes sense? 

Councilor Medarda: I expected, after everything, that we'd share a modicum of trust.

Chancellor Silco: Trust—or intimacy?

Councilor Medarda: ...

Chancellor Silco: Apologies. Was our encounter in the obelisk to go unstated?

(He's dropped the mic.)

(He's also got her - as he literally did in the obelisk - by the short hairs. Their intimacy is now a liability, and his leverage. They've crossed a line they can't uncross, and it's now a tool for his own ends.)

(Thus begins the secondary mindfuckery: their affair. )

(Thus far, Mel's used her sex appeal to stir his passions, and keep him wanting more. Now he's weaponizing his experience, and his ease with sexuality, in a bid to undermine her confidence. In business, she's the coy seductress. In pleasure, she's honest, and honesty makes her vulnerable. Unlike her, Silco sees pleasure as nothing but an excuse to bare the ugliness beneath the veneer. Because, like most things in the Fissures, it's been deformed into a force of consumption rather than creation.)

(Pleasure - true pleasure - is deep on the inside. And it's a long, slow path to reach it. A man like Silco has little reason to bother. The simulacrum can be wielded with a much sharper edge. Which is precisely why he's chosen to use it.)

(Because he wants her to feel the way he did as a young man: exposed, and at the mercy of his desires.)

Councilor Medarda: My feelings on the matter are not the issue.

Chancellor Silco: I think, by your silence, they are.  What did you believe? A few kisses, and suddenly, I'd be yours for the taking?

Councilor Medarda: We did more than kiss!

Chancellor Silco: I didn't say we didn't. I asked what you believed? Did you imagine I would turn into a puddle, and fall at your feet? You, who have lacked for nothing and never been denied, thought a moment's affection would turn me into your lapdog?

(Make 'em cry, then make 'em come. Later chapters will boil this down as his ethos re: sex.)

(It's also rooted in his foundational trauma in FnF with Vander and Nandi. Each time, he'd made love with someone he was close to. Then Nandi was murdered. And Vander betrayed him. He'd been left with nothing but grief, and rage. By the end, he's learned that sex is a means to an end, and the end is power. He's using that knowledge now.)

(Mel's a proud woman, and a clever one. But she's also deeply wounded. This is not the first time she's been physically vulnerable with a man, only for him to withdraw. Her first lover manipulated her feelings for his own gain. The second, Jayce, abandoned her in the dead of the night to go be with Viktor. And her mother, of course, jettisoned her to save her own neck.)

(Now she's been used again. Worse, it's by a Trencher who is reminding her of his relative lack of need for her. He's telling her that, despite growing up with nothing, he has more self-respect than she does. And her ego's taken a serious hit. Now her mind is scrambling, trying to salvage the situation. Because she's just had a reminder of how badly her own instincts have failed her. Silco is not the threat. He's a symptom of a larger problem, and that problem is the blindspot in her own psyche: her inability to recognize that her needs and the needs of a strong ruler are incompatible.)

(Which is exactly what her mother spent a lifetime trying to train out of her, and which is what ultimately got her banished.)

Councilor Medarda: My affections were genuine! Unlike your reciprocation! You took advantage of my state of mind! My honesty, my trust—

Chancellor Silco: I did nothing of the sort. In fact, I gave you every opportunity to walk away. You chose to stay. I neither invited you, nor held expectations beyond the moment. You're the one who seems to think desire is a debt, and intimacy a contract.

Councilor Medarda: Intimacy? If the word were a dagger, you'd be holding it!

Chancellor Silco: It appears, then, that you've stabbed yourself.

(Flashbacks ahoy! Trauma-o-rama!)

(His words have just sliced her open, and she's bleeding all over the floor. She's not angry. She's terrified. She's realizing, belatedly, that her feelings for him have gone past the professional—and that he's not just her nemesis, but a threat to her nation. His city is a powder keg beneath her feet, and he's ready to light the fuse.)

(And yet, he's right. She's the one who stayed. And she's the one who kissed him first.)

(Because he's the one who grew up with nothing - but she's the needy one. Because her mother's voice is always ringing in her ears. Her mother, who loved her, but had a terrible way of showing it. Her mother, who's always judged her, and taught her that she must be perfect, because to be less than perfect is to warrant expulsion. She's grown up having everything, and yet been left wanting.)

(It's a paradoxical existence: rich, yet starved. And that's the core of Mel's character.)

(And Silco, her seeming antithesis, knows this. Because he's also suffered this contradiction. He's had nothing and has now gotten everything. But it's come at a cost: his daughter traumatized, his city burning, his relationships dust.)

(But unlike Mel, he's not afraid to look the byproduct of ugliness in the eye. Because his understanding is the key to unlocking her deepest, darkest fears.)

Councilor Medarda: Why are you doing this?

Chancellor Silco: Doing what?

Councilor Medarda: Turning on me.

Chancellor Silco: I've done no such thing. I warned you from the outset that my first priority was my city. The welfare of my child. I will compromise neither.

(In my headcanon, she says it in the same tone as when she'd confronted Ambessa. "Why? Why did you do it?" i.e. "What did I do wrong? How was it my fault? Why was I not worthy?")

(And Silco, having driven her here, now becomes her solacer. Worse, he unbalances her by showing his cards. By saying he's a father. By revealing, obliquely, that his daughter is also a victim, and has suffered. Because that's the other core of his character: his devotion to his child, and his drive to give her a better life. Which is a goal Mel herself understands, and sympathizes with. The fact that he's the seeming villain of the piece, and she's the ostensible heroine, has not stopped them from forming an understanding.)

(Fundamentally, they're both former wunderkinds whose childhood traumas have, in different ways, led them to the same conclusions: the world is unfair, and only the strong can change it.)

Councilor Medarda: But you'll make a bedfellow of Viktor.

Chancellor Silco: Bedfellow? Is that what this is about? You believe my attention is suspect.

Councilor Medarda: Do you deny it?

Chancellor Silco: My dear, the boy is in poor health. I'm not sure what peculiarities you shared with Talis—

Councilor Medarda: Leave Jayce out of this!

Chancellor Silco: —But the fact is, I am not interested in seducing a man in his last days. In fact, the prospect is downright ghoulish. Unless, in Noxus, this is the done thing?

Councilor Medarda: Watch how you speak to me.

Chancellor Silco: You've accused me of taking advantage of a sick man. Seducing him, no less. What is this, if not a bid at easing your own guilt?

Councilor Medarda: Guilt? You dare talk to me about guilt? Do you realize how distraught Jayce has been, since learning of Viktor's defection? He's refusing to work. He's refusing to speak. He's a wreck!

Chancellor Silco: Nothing cuts deeper than a brother's loss.

Councilor Medarda: We made a bargain for Jayce's safety!

Chancellor Silco: And I am honoring it. Unless you believe Viktor is the latest in a line of hidden threats? 

Councilor Medarda: I do not know what to believe.

Chancellor Silco: This is not about belief. It's about trust. You're fine sharing a bed with Talis. You've no qualms stringing a dozen men on a leash. But the moment you encounter a rival—a real one, not the puppets you call lovers—suddenly it's a conspiracy. That is not how fair trade is done, Councilor. You cannot play my equal one moment, and then clutch your virtue like a jilted little girl the next.

(Silco's not wrong. She's been playing a very dangerous game. She's been using the same tricks her mother uses, but her aim has not been conquest. At least, not entirely. There's a part of her that's genuinely fascinated by him. Who's drawn to his confidence, his ruthlessness, and his ability to get things done. She's not sure she can find anyone else like him. He's a threat to her city, and a threat to her ego. And yet he's the only person who can match her wit. So she took the risk, and chose to keep him close, in hopes that she'd eventually subdue him into compliance.)

(It was a terrible gamble. Now she's lost.)

(Worse, she's lost her footing, and he's on the high ground. But he's offering her a chance to come back from the brink. A chance to re-balance their relationship, and maintain the status quo. Which is, fundamentally, the only thing Mel truly wants. She doesn't want to destroy him, or even see him hurt. She just wants the world to continue turning as it always has.)

(In this case, the Treaty and her relationship with Silco are the two pillars that keep her city strong.)

(Her greatest fear isn't him. It is him being right.)

Councilor Medarda: Then return Viktor to Piltover! The Council will overlook the theft of the Hexcore. We will negotiate a fair compensation for its exchange. Two million. Three, if you like.

Chancellor Silco: You take away our own, then attempt to pay us up front like at a fishmonger's?

Councilor Medarda: Four million. Five-and-a half. Any price—within reason. Viktor is integral to our city. His and Jayce's Hexcore is a prime investment. If they split ways, our shareholders—

(And there it is: her innate flaw. Her need to fix, to smooth, to negotiate. Her desire for the world to remain a pleasant place, and her willingness to make deals with the devil to achieve it. She's begging him to accept the offer, and she's also begging him not to reject her, and to prove her wrong.)

(Except the devil's done playing ball. Now, having laid the groundwork, he's going in for the kill.)

Chancellor Silco: Listen to yourself. Price. Investment. Shareholder. This is the not the vocabulary of partnership. It is the language of acquisition. Viktor is not yours to buy back. Nor is he mine to sell. He is a Zaunite. He is free to work wherever he chooses. And if the Council is threatened by that, it's their business. They can clutch their pearls and wring their hands. Or—

Councilor Medarda: Or, what?

Chancellor Silco: They can have their cake and eat it too.

Councilor Medarda: Meaning?

Chancellor Silco: Meaning they are invited to dip their fingers in the Zaunite pie. The chem-tech. The sextech. The Shimmer. Our market is open.

Councilor Medarda: You'll pardon me, if I have difficulty taking you at your word.

Chancellor Silco: Then permit me a gesture of good faith.

Councilor Medarda: What?

Chancellor Silco: You'll get to pop the cherry.

Councilor Medarda: ...

(From a politician, he's now transitioning into what he truly is: a thug. A kingpin who has brought a city to its knees with his wits, the fire in his belly, and a handful of Shimmer. And she, despite her best efforts, is no longer in a position of power. Which is why she's struggling to grasp his meaning. To her, it's not just a change of pace. It's the crude vocabulary of a brothel. The language of men who commoditize and consume innocence as if it were a resource. And he, having made his way up the ladder, has a foot in both worlds.)

(Now he's inviting her to partake, and he's telling her that she will like it. He's also reminding her, by invoking a sex metaphor, that she can place herself once again in the driver's seat. And that her desire is a power of its own. That she, and only she, has the power to choose a better way.)

(Mel is an expert at the game of seduction. But seduction is not sex. The former comes with an elaborate framework of rules. The latter is a raw, unbridled force. And Silco is fluent in both. In a way, he's doing what Ambessa did when she taught Mel how to be a fox and a wolf. He's teaching her the reality of the trenches, and he's inviting her to join him in it.)

(This invitation is her first step into his wolf's den, where he will, later, tear her throat out.)

Chancellor Silco: Apologies. Is that vulgarism not permitted Topside? Should I say, You get to cut the ribbon? They are tantamount to the same.

Councilor Medarda: Namely?

Chancellor Silco: House Medarda will be the first beneficiary of our new tax policy. You'll have leverage over controlling shares in Zaun's biggest chem-cultivation companies. Medicinal, agricultural, cosmetic. No tax audits for the first five years. Free access to our ports. Unlimited export.  Your name holds great clout with investors. Use it. Viktor's departure may well rattle the markets. But this way, Piltover will have a fallback. Your shareholders will rally. Your Council will be intrigued. You will have an unprecedented chance to share in Zaun's spoils.

Councilor Medarda: What of the Hexcore?

Chancellor Silco: Whatever Viktor does with his intellectual property is his choice, and his alone.

Councilor Medarda: If Zaun were to manufacture Hex-weaponry—

Chancellor Silco: We already possess an arsenal. The same we used to liberate our city. Since then, we've not fired a single shot against you. We've no interest in war.  Our priority is progress. Shared progress. That's what the Treaty was for, after all.

Councilor Medarda: The Treaty was meant to foster trust between our cities.

Chancellor Silco: As equals. Now's your chance to prove it. Show the world that the Council isn't afraid of Zaun's independence. Demonstrate that you believe in your own philosophy. Allow Viktor to pursue his goals in Zaun. He'll still benefit both our cities, in ways we have yet to quantify.

(The phrase "ways we have yet to quantify" is not a metaphor. It is literally a reference to the unforeseen consequences of magic. Silco's making the same arguments that Jayce did when he first presented his proposal for Hextech to the Council.)

(It's an echo of the past, and how Hex-tech catapulted Piltover to the top, as Mel had always aspired.)

(Thus far, Mel's been in survival mode - a holdover of the Siege. She's focused on keeping matters stable in the present. Silco, having grown up in the Fissures, has no such compunctions. His focus is on the future, and the possibilities inherent in their collaboration. In other words, the promise of progress.)

(Best of all, his offer is designed to appeal to Mel's desire for success.)

Councilor Medarda: The Council will require surety. You cannot expect me to win your points by fiat. I am not a miracle-worker.

Chancellor Silco: All the more reason to take the leap.

Councilor Medarda: What if Viktor proves unable?

Chancellor Silco: As in: dead? Or disinclined?

Councilor Medarda: The latter is a scenario. The former—a sad outcome.

Chancellor Silco: Then you'll have your Hexcore back. And a pile of coins to boot. I fail to see the downside.

Councilor Medarda: You have a diabolical habit of speaking in circles.

(And she's caught in its center. All her objections have gone from moral to practical. Because the morality has long since ceased to matter. What matters is the reality: two cities whose fates are inextricably bound. And, if their leaders must maintain peace, they will have to find a way to accommodate the other's needs.)

(Which is exactly the conclusion they'll arrive at by the end of this tale. But not before their respective hang-ups drive them to the edge.)

Chancellor Silco: Because the solution is obvious. Viktor will succeed. His work is the key to his longevity.  And the breakthroughs he makes will be integral to our shared success.

Councilor Medarda: I'll expect to be kept apprised of developments.

Chanellor Silco: Naturally.

Councilor Medarda: I'll also expect a private tour of your chem-cultivations once they've ripened.

Chancellor Silco: With luck, they'll taste as sweet as you.

Councilor Medarda: That's quite enough.

Chancellor Silco: Deal or no deal, Councilor?

Councilor Medarda: I still haven't forgiven you.

Chancellor Silco: For neglecting to mention Viktor?

Councilor Medarda: It wasn't neglect. It was payback. I checkmated you with the Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative, and Violet. You did the same with Viktor.

(Her defenses are finally down. She's coming clean. She's not angry. She's hurt. And her hurt has driven her to an honest confession, which she delivers as a counter-accusation. 'We're both political beasts. We both use people. We both want the same things, but so far, I've had the better hand. Now you've come back with an ace, and you're showing it to me. So I'm laying my cards on the table.')

(This is not a declaration of defeat, but rather one of truce.)

Chancellor Silco: That's the nature of politics. But—if you'll forgive the crudeness—vis a vis myself and Viktor...

Councilor Medarda: Yes?

Chancellor Silco: Fuck, no.

Councilor Medarda: ...

Chancellor Silco: Your jealousy is flattering. But unfounded. 

Councilor Medarda: It is not jealousy.

Chancellor Silco: What then?

Councilor Medarda: A woman in my position must defend it. And if she must do so with ferocity, so be it. It's the same way one defends a city. There is a saying in Noxus. 'A man who is not ready to die for his nation, is not ready to live in it.' 

Chancellor Silco: Is that why you left? Was Noxus not worth the price?

Councilor Medarda: I did not leave. I was cast out. There is a difference. Noxus is my homeland. But Piltover is my home. I will not let her fall. Even if a little jealousy is what it takes to defend her interests.

Chancellor Silco: And Talis too, I'd wager. 

Councilor Medarda: This is not about my relationship with Jayce.

Chancellor Silco: Isn't it? Everything you've said so far, can be traced back to it.  You were his lover for nearly a year. His closeness with Viktor was common knowledge. I imagine you were sometimes put in an awkward spot. The unwitting Delilah. You are an intelligent woman. I don't doubt your political acumen. But you're not unbreakable. Whereas the bond forged between two brothers in the crucible... 

Councilor Medarda: What are you implying?

Chancellor Silco: I'm implying nothing. I'm asking, plain. Do you fear the dynamic will replicate itself? That my interest in Viktor forebodes something deeper?

(Perceptive bastard is perceptive. He's been in a similar dynamic w/ the entire Vander/Lika/Silco mess. He knows all too well the pain of a triangulated love. He's been on the receiving end. And he's also, despite his best intentions, going to inflict the same pain again, with the Mel/Sevika/Silco mess. Which, in his mind, will be an entirely different thing, because he's spinning a circle dance in his head, and trying to justify his actions accordingly.)

(But right now, he's not thinking about his own culpability. Right now, he's got a target in his sights.)

Councilor Medarda: Don't jest.

Chancellor Silco: It is a bit gallows, isn't it? Livewire urges and dying men…

Councilor Medarda: Gods, you are intractable.

Chancellor Silco: Then allow me to be frank. Your suspicions stem from hurt pride. You've been exiled from your homeland. You've struggled to achieve every inch of prestige. But belonging? That is the true challenge. With Talis, you had it. But his closeness with Viktor...

Councilor Medarda: ...

Chancellor Silco: Shall I drop the subject?

Councilor Medarda: No. You—

Chancellor Silco: Speak freely.

Councilor Medarda: You aren't wrong. Jayce and Viktor—

Chancellor Silco: Had a connection.

Councilor Medarda: Yes. Sometimes, Jayce would stay late at his lab. I was accustomed to finding him and Viktor together.  I thought nothing of it. I had no reason to. They were as close as family. Like brothers. But sometimes...

Chancellor Silco: Hm?

Councilor Medarda: That closeness was extraordinary. They never touched. Not the way Jayce and I did. But their intimacy was more than skin deep. Deeper even than the heart.

Chancellor Silco: The soul?

Councilor Medarda: Perhaps.

Chancellor Silco: Did it trouble you?

Councilor Medarda: I envied it. It's easy, when one has prestige, to be desired. It's not so simple to be loved. Not that way. Between Jayce and Viktor, it was effortless. A fusion that went beyond flesh. And that... frightened me.

Chancellor Silco: Because your place with Talis was threatened?

Councilor Medarda: Because it felt like mine wasn't the love he needed.

(Echoes of Silco and Vander. And Silco and Jinx. ("Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.")

(It's a beautiful verse. In FnF, it's also a dangerous lie. Because anything can become corrupted: magic, family, faith. Even love.)

Chancellor Silco: And you fear history is repeating itself.

Councilor Medarda: I—

Chancellor Silco: For a woman with everything, your estimation of yourself is low indeed.

Councilor Medarda: It's not estimation. Merely—

Chancellor Silco: Past experience. You've mentioned.

Councilor Medarda: You must find this a very peculiar conversation.

Chancellor Silco: It's not every day you're accused of seducing a dying man. 

Councilor Medarda: I apologize.

Chancellor Silco: For what, precisely?

Councilor Medarda: My past entanglements have been—complicated. I'm afraid the wounds are rather fresh, and I—

Chancellor Silco: —Have the right to feel whatever you feel. You do not owe me explanations, Mel. But, if a listening ear helps to settle your thoughts, I am here.

(It begins.)

(He's verbally and emotionally thrashed her until she bled. Now he becomes the salve. It's a classic tactic: make them cry, then hold their hand. Abusers love the process of breaking, and the power it gives them. But they also enjoy the process of fixing, and the sense of control it offers. It's how they justify themselves: "I hurt you, but only I can put you back together.")

(Silco is no exception. But his motives are also dubious. He genuinely likes Mel. He finds her intriguing. He's attracted to her. And in a tiny way, she reminds him of Nandi's best qualities, same way Sevika embodies all of Nandi's sultriest physical attributes.)

(Fundamentally, he's looking for neither a surrogate nor a proxy: he's looking for a partner. Someone who can stand toe-to-toe with him. But his mind, being what it is, has warped that desire into the language of dominance and submission. He speaks it in varying ways with both Mel and Sevika, and with the rest of his inner circle, to varying degrees.)

(The only one who bypasses it is Jinx.)

(And by the end, she'll have her old man chugging that respect-the-woman juice until it's coming out of his nose.)

Councilor Medarda: That's the first time you've called me by my name. 

Chancellor Silco: Is it? I beg your pardon.

Councilor Medarda: Don't. I—I like it.

Chancellor Silco: So do I. Short for Melika, isn't it?

Councilor Medarda: Yes.

Chancellor Silco: Targonian for Honey.

Councilor Medarda: That's right. My father, in his wisdom, named me after his forefathers' bee farms. My mother, in her temper, would say: 'A Medarda needs no honey. Only an army of a thousand stingers.'

Chancellor Silco: And thus: Mel.

Councilor Medarda: Mmm.

Chancellor Silco: Honey hiding a thousand stings. How very apt. 

(Fun fact. Mel is the Latin root for Mellis, or sweetness. Literally, it means Honey. It's also used in words like Mellisonant and Mellifluous. Meanwhile, the Old English Melvin means 'Council Protector.' Our girl is all that, and a bag of chips.)

 (By invoking her first name, Silco is establishing a rapport grounded in past memory. Her response is to reciprocate, which she does by sharing the childhood anecdote. She's inviting him to continue their game of honesty, because she's enjoying it. Because the only people who've truly understood her have either betrayed her, or have left her.)

(Now, she has him.)

(And isn't it just a sad metaphor for vampirism: you cannot be harmed unless you invite them past the threshold.)

Councilor Medarda: And you? What's your name short for? It's not a line I've heard of before. 

Chancellor Silco: Zaun puts no stock in lineage. Our names are what we are born with. And, if we're lucky, what we die with. Mine is no different.  

Councilor Medarda: Your mother never gave you a moniker? A pet name?

Chancellor Silco: None worth repeating.

Councilor Medarda: Surely you exaggerate.

Chancellor Silco: Would you prefer: "Bastard", "Motherfucker", or "Dirty Little Thing"? Take your pick.

Councilor Medarda: ...

Chancellor Silco: That'll teach you to pry.

(He's not exaggerating in the slightest. If anything, he's owning the pain, and making a weapon of it. He has no shame or guilt over his past. What he does have is the scars. And he's showing her that they're as much a part of him as his monstrosity. He is his trauma, and his trauma has made him stronger.)

(And yet it's nearly a goad. "Feel bad for me. I'm so broken, and only you can fix me.")

(Mel, effortlessly empathetic, does not disappoint.)

Councilor Medarda: This isn't prying. This is conversation. Between equals. From a place of trust. Or is it easier to keep people at arm's length? To pretend you have no past at all? 

Chancellor Silco: I've never made a secret of my past. Some aspects are simply best forgotten. 

Councilor Medarda: Like a difficult mother. I can commiserate.

Chancellor Silco:  Better a madwoman's son than a warlord's daughter.

Councilor Medarda: A warlord's leavings. House Medarda does not take its bloodline lightly. We cast out the unfit, lest they tarnish the family name. So, in a way, I put no stock in lineage, either. We are what we make of ourselves. That is the choice Piltover offers. It's why I love this city. Why I would fight to protect it.

Chancellor Silco: Something we've in common.

Councilor Medarda: Did we not always? From the moment of our parley, we've locked horns. But our ends are the same. A bright future. For Zaun, and Piltover.

(She's finally coming around to his point of view, and admitting her own bias. She's not doing it to manipulate him; she's doing it because he's earned it. By speaking honestly, and openly, and sharing her own vulnerability, she's opened a new vein in their relationship.)

(A vein Silco will slowly infuse with his poison.)

Chancellor Silco: One where sons are not condemned to the fate of their fathers.

Councilor Medarda: Nor daughters, their mothers. 

Chancellor Silco: Then we are in accord. The Hexcore, and Viktor, remain in Zaun.

Councilor Medarda: On certain conditions. First, we will establish a formal framework for collaboration between our scientific institutions. Second, all Zaun-based import and export of Hex-tech will be subject to inspection by a joint oversight committee. Third, there will be no development of Hex-tech weaponry without the prior approval of the joint oversight committee.

Chancellor Silco: Is this meant as a slap on the wrist?

Councilor Medarda: It is a gesture of trust. Repay it in kind.

Chancellor Silco: You mean: Welcome the Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative.

Councilor Medarda: Accept the officers as they are. A declaration of togetherness. And Violet—

Chancellor Silco: Ward of your state. Fruit of mine.

Councilor Medarda: Let her become the bridge between us. Let her reconcile with her sister.

Chancellor Silco: Violet is not a child. She is a grown woman. If she wishes to see her sister, she is free to do so.

Councilor Medarda: Does that apply to Jinx, too?

Chancellor Silco: I've never barred Jinx from anything. Only the dangers at the door.

Councilor Medarda: Then let's make sure they're gone. For good.

Chancellor Silco: You have my word.

(By golly, does she ever. In his mind, the danger is Vi. As such, he's just promised to make Vi disappear.)

Councilor Medarda: When you say it in that tone, I'd almost believe you mean it.

Chancellor Silco: You make it hard not to.

Councilor Medarda: And is it so hard?

Chancellor Silco: As the night.

Councilor Medarda: You are shameless, Chancellor.

Chancellor Silco: Silco. Let's dispense with the titles. Makes it easier to keep things straightforward.

Councilor Medarda:  Or harder to forget.

Chancellor Silco: I'm from Zaun, Mel. Secrets born here have teeth.

Councilor Medarda: I am trying not to hold that against you.

Chancellor Silco: Try to understand. My city is still raw. So is my child. Both need a close eye. Until the dust settles, any distraction would be a disservice. To them. To myself. To the future.

Councilor Medarda: Distraction?

Chancellor Silco: I mean no insult. But you are that. A maddening, delightful, and altogether impossible distraction.

(More of the mean-sweet cycle. He's nearly threatened to tear her city apart. Now he's the smitten gentleman. He's the Creature from the Black Lagoon. He's the schoolboy tugging her pigtails. And the dichotomy is a big part of his appeal. Because trauma shapes our psychological landscape, and Mel's is, like Silco's, a house of contradictions. She yearns to feel in control. Yet she's spent her girlhood left off-balance by her mother, who made her walk a tightrope of expectations. And Silco, whose entire life has been defined by the conflict between powerlessness and agency, plays it like a pro.)

(Which is why, despite the warning bells, Mel keeps succumbing.)

(She's no fool in love. But, for the first time, she's found someone who can meet her on her level. Silco's not intimidated by her family. He's not dazzled by her looks. He's not blinded by her wealth. He sees her. And that is her weakness. The same weakness that draws Caitlyn to Vi. That draws Jinx to Ekko.)

(It's the allure of the unattainable.)

Councilor Medarda: You flatter me.

Chancellor Silco: The truth flatters itself.

Councilor Medarda: I can't decide any longer if it's devilry or sainthood that drives you.

Chancellor Silco: Sainthood? Please. If I were, you wouldn't be half as interested.

Councilor Medarda: I'd be intrigued. But not compelled. Not—

Chancellor Silco: Go on.

Councilor Medarda: I did not grow up shielded with goosedown pillows. I've had my share of admirers. Most have been eager. Some, desperate. All have been... less. 

Chancellor Silco: I'd wager that has more to do with the quality of the suitors, than any imperfections on your part.

Councilor Medarda: My point is that it's not easy for me to open myself. To give in to impulse. And yet, you inspire it. Effortlessly.

Chancellor Silco: I hope you know you're in safe hands.

Councilor Medarda: Skillful? Yes. Safe? Never.

(She knows. Subconsciously, she knows. But she's not ready to accept it. Her desires are guiding her. The same desires that led her to kiss him, now lead her to continue. She's Persephone, and he's Hades. She's Eve, and he's the Serpent. He's the darkness, and she the thrillseeker. She wants to feel alive, without having to pay the price.)

(And he is more than willing to oblige. But not without warning her:)

Chancellor Silco: Best take care then.

Councilor Medarda: Am I in danger?

Chancellor Silco: Of succumbing? Time will tell.

Councilor Medarda: And trust?

Chancellor Silco: That, you must give willingly.

Councilor Medarda: Willingly, but with my eyes open.

Chancellor Silco: Always.

Councilor Medarda: Mine are presently growing heavy. I must retire.

Chancellor Silco: Schlaf gut.

Councilor Medarda: Not sweet dreams?

Chancellor Silco: Depends on where your imagination takes you.

Councilor Medarda: I'm starting to suspect you're a monster after all.

Chancellor Silco: Zaun has a surplus.

Councilor Medarda: And do they banish the darkness, or walk with it?

Chancellor Silco: That's not a question to ask in the dark, Mel.

Councilor Medarda: Am I forewarned?

Chancellor Silco: I'll let the darkness answer.

Councilor Medarda: Träum schön, First Chancellor.

Chancellor Silco: Pass gut auf dich auf, Councilor Medarda.

("Take good care." - i.e. "Look out for yourself.")

#arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane mel #mel medarda #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #arcane jayce #jayce talis #arcane viktor #viktor #meljay #jayvik #melco #silco x mel #mel x jayce #DVD cut

[highly-important]

I recently got into this 4 year old They Might Be Giants song, “The Communists Have the Music.”  Music video directed by David Cowles and Jeremy Galante with art by David Plunkert.

Linnel:

On the one hand, Fran Lebowitz memorably said of Communism vs. Fascism that one was too dull and the other too exciting. However, our song takes its cue from somebody (I can’t remember who) in our high school, who once compared two bands (I wish I could remember which bands) by declaring that one had the power but the other had the tunes. This enduring metaphor seems to apply to any pair of things we can think of. 

I see a lot of people who are interpreting this very literally: that it is about someone who is interested in communism not for rational reasons, but because they’re interested in the aesthetics. I don’t think this is supported by the song.

TMBG have been making music for 30 years. Music is really important to them, I don’t think they would use it to reference something they think is unsubstantive. Music is culture, music is creative and expressive, music uses literary devices frequently. Fascism is more concerned with top-down control and uses stifling  techniques on its subjects. Communism is about bottom-up control where the people are allowed to be expressive. The song focuses on music because the singer is concerned with art, human spirit, and humanity in general. A literal approach to the song is that the singer is only interested in aesthetics but doesn’t understand the substance. Taking a creatively-minded approach opens up the song to embrace it as an anthem in favor of communism and left-leaning politics.

I think some of the major themes are art vs propaganda, humanity, dehumanization, paranoia, listening, watching, identity, and of  course, politics. It is about finding meaning and connection in a landscape that is trying to divide us, make us scared or angry, and dehumanize ourselves.

 I think the song itself is intentionally using symbolism and leaving its message up for interpretation because of this type of backlash to these types of messages.

The music video itself is a satire of American Red Scare politics.The scare is still going today- we still can’t listen to songs or study the period without a fear of it.

Right away they dragged me to the Committee To explain my un-American activity They're gonna see they made a mistake If they'd only let me play my mixtape

No matter the singer’s intent, the Committee refuses to listen to the music, refusing to hear the message.

But, the music video is packed with people listening, only they’re listening in secret. This is a direct spoof on cold-war espionage and paranoia that led to US intelligence listening to its own citizens.

The music video draws a metaphoric comparison between spying and recording/listening to music.

Some of the listening devices are references to real-world spying devices and animal experimentation done by the CIA. A 70s CIA operation code-named Tacana explored using pigeons with tiny cameras to take photos. The CIA also tried using migratory birds to place sensors to test for chemical weapons. There was also an incredibly cruel operation called Acoustic Kitty which involved putting listening devices inside cats.

Animals are meant to be connected to nature, but the bulldog, pigeon, and cat have been turned into Frankenstein cyborgs. These technological monsters come about from the misapplication of technical knowledge and an excess of power. It is dehumanizing.

Another major theme in the video is political propaganda and the idea of watching. “The Committee” are just angry watching eyes, swarming like predators. The politicians watched on TV are disingenuous puppeteers putting on a political show. The propaganda is an endless progression of war machines and calls for violence.

“The fascists have the outfits.” A reference to Hugo Boss, who contributed to the fashions of the Nazi regime. I think that the singer is suggesting these other movements have style but no substance. The various forms of propaganda may be more enticing, but they lack humanity.

We watch propaganda, but we experience art. The act of listening is a transformative experience that connects us with our humanity. While the propaganda being pushed promotes war, hatred, and paranoia, the two spies  who have been listening to each other in secret find love and human connection.  The politicians seek to divide everyone, but the wall between these two has come down.

“I hear a melody and just as suddenly I know who I’m supposed to be.”

The fascist system is heirarchal, and the red scare paranoia is ultimately self-destructive as the animal spies all turn on each other. Perhaps it happened because they are all listening to the communist music, which explains why they are also dragged away to the Committee.

At the end, the singer himself is trapped in a television, which I believe is symbolic of a type of political reprogramming. His identity is now lost, and he’s only able to regurgitate propaganda.

The Internationale performed by Billy Bragg, which the singer calls his “backing track.”  The international ideal unites the human race.

#They Might Be Giants #TMBG #the communists have the music #Youtube