#Do they put him in the male wing and risk his and other men's lives?

[masquenoire]

💭 and Arkham

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic.

After his first escape from Arkham, Roman was quick to make connections, working to ensure that even if he did end up back inside that cursed cell, his legal aides would immediately begin the process of getting him out and in the meantime, he could look forwards to calling upon a few ‘favours’ after several bribes and threats were made. Several psychiatrists actually thought his behaviour had improved after his first stay but truthfully Roman just learned to keep a low profile and to make the most of things, reestablishing connections on the inside before his inevitable release once enough strings had been pulled. The orderlies know better and that Roman is simply playing the system but cannot say or do much about it as they’re only paid to keep patients in line. Roman on the other hand considers Arkham an insult; he’s not crazy, just corrupt.

[callsign-rogueone]

our girl - d.a + x.r.

Dain Aetos x reader x Xaden Riorson You and Xaden have been hooking up for a while now, but Threshing throws a wrench (and another person) into your relationship. [request] words: 2.5k (went a little overboard lol, this dynamic was so fun to think about) 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS. NSFW at the end. she/her reader. I did this one a little differently; a full scene with dialogue, and then headcanons about what the relationship would be like (sfw, nsfw + angst; I apologize in advance…) banner made by user cafekitsune!

You dismount, managing to land on your feet. Maybe the gauntlet had been good practice after all, and not just a form of torture. The flight field is slowly filling in with dragons and their chosen riders. Dain is standing next to you with a massive red daggertail. Nice.

Your two dragons look at each other, and for a moment you’re worried they’re going to start a fight, but they just bump heads softly. They’re… friends?

Then Dain’s dragon turns toward you, looking you in the eye, and you freeze, holding completely still as it sniffs you. You must pass inspection, because he pulls back after a few seconds, satisfied, but you don’t dare move, your heart still pounding.

“Relax, girl. I will not hurt you.”

You startle at the second voice speaking to you, stumbling back in shock. A shimmering red string has appeared beside the soft blue one you share with Lann. You tug on it gently, and Dain’s eyes snap toward you, having felt the pull.

“They’re mated.”

“Smart boy,” Cath purrs.

You’re still trying to get used to having another being speaking in your head, hearing your every thought, but now you have two?

You don’t have time to complain about it before Xaden comes running toward you.

Both Lann and Cath stand taller, flaring their nostrils. Cath looks like he’s contemplating how Xaden would taste.

Xaden comes to a stop a few yards away, not wanting to provoke them. It’s easy enough for him to put it together, seeing Dain standing behind you with the mated pair. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Cath blows a puff of foul-smelling steam at Xaden in warning. “Tell him to watch his tone.” 

You don’t.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Xaden says, a look in his eye you’ve never seen before; pure anger.

You take a step back, bumping into Lann’s foreleg. She curls her neck down, placing her head between your body and Xaden’s. You’ve only been bonded all of ten minutes, but she’s already willing to protect you with her life.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Dain challenges, crossing his arms. “Nor is it mine.” 

Your stomach flips. You’d never expected that Dain would be the one defending you here.

“I should gut you before the bond gets any stronger,” Xaden threatens. What is he so mad for?

“You of all people should know that the consequences can be dire. You won’t risk her life in that way.”

“What the hell are the two of you talking about?” You ask, but they don’t answer, too busy threatening each other.

“Human males and their arguing,” Lann sighs. “Were they dragons, they’d fight to the death and the victor would keep you.”

“That remains a possibility,” you reply quietly, still watching the two of them. Xaden certainly looks like he’s contemplating murder right now. 

“I could just incinerate him, but Sgaeyl would have my head if I did,” Cath muses, sounding bored. “And you seem attached.”

You turn to glare at him. “Not funny.”

“Threats from someone your size are only humorous,” Cath replies, still watching the two men argue.

“Like it or not, Riorson, she’s my responsibility now,” Dain says firmly. What is that supposed to mean? Why does Dain care all of a sudden if you live or die?

“Do not forget that you have a voice in this matter, too,” Lann adds.

She’s right.

“Quit it, both of you!” You interrupt before they can come to blows, and both boys turn toward you, quieting. “Stop talking about me like I’m not even here!”

Their eyes soften.

“Darling, I didn’t mean-“ Xaden begins.

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring up at the boy. “I’m not done,” you say, and he falls silent. “Dain’s right; neither of us asked for this, but it happened, and there’s no changing it now. I know you two hate each other, but I will not have you two fighting over me like I’m some kind of object. Neither of you have any claim to me. I’m not your girlfriend, and even if I was, you still don’t own me. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions and keep myself safe.”

Neither of them respond, silent and guilty as your words settle in.

“And that is why I chose you,” Lann says proudly.

You ignore the compliment, stepping away from her and turning to leave, swiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I apologize, shrewd one.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “You didn’t know.”

—————————————————

“Professor Kaori?” You ask quietly. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

He already knows why you’re here. “I heard about you and Aetos. Cath and Lann have been mated for nearly two centuries. Their bond is strong.”

“Have you known many other pairs like them?”

“A few,” he answers. “Dragons can live for millennia. Unlike us, they do not fall in love at age twenty, and they are quite selective with their partner. It is a lifelong commitment for them, and not one they take lightly.”

“And their riders?” You ask, holding your breath.

“A pair at Montserrat, who are now married, and another pair who regard each other like blood sisters.” 

He doesn’t mention anyone like you and Dain, who hardly know each other and don’t really care to.

“I‘ll make this clear with you, cadet, as you need to know this and accept it; you and Aetos will be stuck together until the end of your days. The four of you must exist as a functional unit. The grief of one of your deaths may be enough to end you all.”

Your eyes widen. So that’s why Xaden had been so pissed.

“You are both excellent students who will undoubtedly become skilled riders,” Kaori says. “Get to know each other in the coming weeks, and settle your differences sooner than later. The health of your relationship, even if it remains strictly professional, is vital.”

You thank him quietly, heading back to your room. You don’t have time to stew over the news; you have assignments due tomorrow.

Two hours pass. You’ve just finished proofreading your essay when there’s a knock on the door.

Dain and Xaden. You motion for them to come in, knowing that the two of them together outside your door will look deeply suspicious to any passerby. 

“What the fuck do you two want?”

Xaden nods at Dain, motioning for him to talk.

“We discussed it, and we realized you’re right. We’re just going to have to deal with this, and there’s no use in us fighting about it.”

Xaden speaks next. “You’ve proven that you can handle yourself, but we both still want to protect you. We care for you deeply, and that’s not going to change. We’re declaring a truce.”

“Whose idea was that?” You ask, wary.

“His,” Dain answers. Interesting. 

You look to Xaden. “And you’re fine with this,” you say, motioning between you and Dain, “that we’ll be able to speak directly to each other, that we can’t be apart for more than a few days, that we’re going to be stationed together for life?”

“Yes. I trust him not to hurt you, if only because his life is now tied to yours.”

That’s high praise coming from Riorson, who doesn’t fully trust anyone. You don’t dare ask why he feels this way.

“As you said,” Xaden continues, the tone of his voice making your heart flutter, “I hold no claim to you. You remain your own person, no matter how strongly I feel for you or how many nights we have spent together. The decision lies with you.”

“Dain?” You ask. 

He’s been silent, watching you with a softness in his eyes. He’d never taken a good look at you before, never appreciated how beautiful you are. “If he’s okay with it, and you are, then I am too.”

You’d never felt compassion for Dain, never cared if he lived or died, but now you’re overwhelmed with a sense that you need to protect him — to guard that little red string until your last breath. “I care for both of you as well. You’re both good men, who are important to me, and I’d like to have you remain in my life, if you promise to play nicely.”

You extend a pinky to each of them.

Dain looks confused.

“She doesn’t fuck around with pinky promises. This might as well be a blood oath for her,” Xaden explains, interlocking your fingers — this isn’t new to him.

Dain reaches forward, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a wave of soothing energy through you.

“Are you going to make us pinky promise each other too?” He asks playfully, the first joke you’ve ever heard him crack.

Xaden is unamused. “Don’t push it, Aetos.”

You giggle at his barely-restrained contempt. This is gonna be fun.

———————————————

sfw

Most of the quadrant know that yours and Dain’s dragons are mated, and that messing with one of the four of you means invoking the wrath of the other three. For the first time since conscription day, you can walk the halls alone without fearing for your life.

Nobody is aware of Xaden’s role in the relationship, and he prefers to keep it that way — it keeps the target off your back, and this way nobody can say that he’s giving you special treatment or shame you for having two partners. Garrick is the only person who knows about all of this, and he’s sworn to secrecy (that had certainly been an interesting conversation to have).

Xaden may not declare his feelings for you publicly, but he and Sgaeyl are always watching your back, ready to jump in should Dain not be there or should things get out of his control.

The two act generally indifferent to each other, but their love of you is enough for them to behave when you’re around.

They find a good balance between treating you like a princess and pushing you to be the best you can be, letting you do your own work and prepare yourself for what’s to come after graduation. 

nsfw:

The first time you felt Lann and Cath going at it was... interesting.

Xaden knew that this would happen eventually, having felt the same feeling before from Tairn and Sgaeyl. He had warned you days prior that the overwhelming need could lead you astray easily, but that he wouldn’t be mad if you and Dain acted on it.

And act you did. You became addicted to Dain’s touch as soon as you felt it, not wanting it to be a one-time thing, and that’s when the three of you decided that the boys would share you.

We all know Xaden is possessive. He used to call you “my girl” when it was just the two of you hooking up, but now you’re their girl.

“Aww, is our pretty girl needy?”

“I think our girl deserves a reward for being so good.”

Dain is shy at first, but he works up the confidence to start teasing you through the bond. He loves to watch you squirm from across the room as his voice speaks directly into your mind, telling you how hot you looked sparring, what he’s going to do to you tonight…

Xaden does something similar, his shadows brushing your arms and neck, sometimes even slipping under your clothes to touch your body when he can’t, giving soft caresses to your back and waist, but he’ll never take it too far — just enough to make you want his hands on you instead. 

They’re competitive as hell. They’ll tag team you, taking turns to see who can make you cum harder/faster. Your personal record is six times in one night, three apiece before you nearly passed out. They declared a tie, putting aside their egos to care for their sweet girl who had taken it all so well for them.

Sometimes you get both of them at once, and it’s a little overwhelming but so so good. Making out with one while the other is on his knees for you, or one holding your hand and telling you how pretty you look while the other pounds you into the mattress…

The two of them together are the ultimate brat taming combo, with Dain’s strictness and Xaden’s strength. If you give them attitude, get too cozy with another rider, purposely put yourself in danger, or neglect to take care of yourself (overworking, skipping meals, not getting enough sleep…), you’ll have some consequences to face when you’re back behind closed doors that night.

Xaden will tie your hands behind your back with his shadows, Dain edging you until you cry and apologize, promising that you’ll never break their rules again (but you inevitably do, and then they have to teach you your lesson all over again, hehe)

Despite how rough they can be with you, they always take incredibly good care of you afterward, staying to clean you up and hold you close, reminding you how much they love you.

You’re always in the middle when cuddling afterward, as they refuse to touch each other more than absolutely necessary, but you don’t complain, just happy to be held and fall asleep safe between your two strong men 🥰

and now some angst, because that’s what I do:

When you and Dain came back from RSC, bloody and limp, Xaden took care of both of you, finally showing some love to Dain and taking pity on him, helping bandage his wounds and wash the dried blood from his skin.

Eventually Xaden starts distancing himself from the two of you, worried that Dain will read his memories either on purpose or by accident, and find out about his dealings with the gryphon fliers, which you have no idea about.

He plays it off as being busy with third year / wingleader stuff, and you and Dain don’t think anything of it; Xaden has always been withdrawn, never the type to share his thoughts unprompted, and he likes to spend time alone.

When Violet bonds with Tairn at threshing, you realize how Xaden had felt when he realized you and Dain were tied together, only you were less angry and more sad. 

You knew this would happen, that Tairn would have to choose a rider eventually, but it still hurt you deeply. Dain held you all night, whispering sweet things to you while you cried and promising that he would never ever leave you.

You decide to rip the bandage off first, finding Xaden alone a few days later and telling him that for the sake of all four of you and your dragons, this should end here.

He agreed quietly, giving you one last kiss and holding you for a few minutes before finally letting go. 

When Basgiath found out about the revolution, about everything going on beyond the wards, the two of you didn’t hesitate to follow Xaden to Aretia — he may no longer be yours, but you still love him and would gladly fight by his side until the end of your days. 💔

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Aloe AU Concept

Julius Miles Arc was not a dull man, however he was known to make the occassional mistake. Deciding to follow the tradtions of his family in teaching their male heirs the way of the Birds & Bee... Was perhaps the biggest of said blunders.

In his defense it was how his father taught him, so yes, he would admit, after a spledid camping trip he may have brought his son to the redlight district of Mistral's lower ring.

He was not however about to risk his son's safety, no Jaune was to become a man, so he would become one in the greatest brothel he could find.

Lien was for once not a concern as he was willing to shell out as much as needed to make sure Jaune left the occassion filled with a new life experience and just as much pride.

The place was spledid, and the women exceptional, why, if he didn't have a wife was was almost constantly breaking his pelvis he might've been tempted.

And his boy had his pick of the lot of them, oh how the other men waiting to buy their own time one of said women. Having to wait till his son had made his choice, Julius having put down extra so Jaune could quite literally have his pick.

He would admit to being suprised... Afterall he did not think his son would pick the Receptionist... He didn't mean to sound rude but well... She did look rather worn-out and... 'Experienced' even compared to most courtesans.

His reason was that the woman Aloe, was 'very pretty' he'd admit her eyes were a darwing shade of burgendy, or would've been where they not so off puttingly dull and and her hair messy and unkempt as it was was a unique green...

Though the real reason was obvious as Jaune's eyes flickered between the Faunus woman's damaged but still pretty insteactoid wings and massive, swelling breast. One appealed to his innocent nature, the other to his developing masculine desires.

The Receptionist, surprisingly enough actually agreed, despite no longer working as a escort.

And it had been set, Jaune had left with her confused, flustered and embaressed, and come back a little more brave and proud of himself, a bit of confidence clear in his eyes and a pep in his step...

Is what should have occured...

No, no, no... Instead they could quite literally hear his son becoming a man. Aloe as it turned out had chosen a room without soundproofing, seemingly she was well known for her pranks and lack of shame.

He stood there, with the women and other customers... Listening, it should've been only a half hour at most... It had been several. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

It was not how the other men had gone from snickering at his son for his inexpereince to looking ashamed of themselves as they heard the woman two hours later actually moaning, yelling and even begging his son's name.

It hadn't been the way the women had approached him hoping to see if the dad was as good as his genius soin apparently. No... It was when Jaune spoke.

When his little, innocent, naive son told the woman she would be his wife. When he told her to have his children...

He knew then, he fucked up, because a Arc went back on their word, even in the heat of passion.

-0-0-0-

Jaune woke up as the bullhead finally landed, his head in his wives lap, Aloe, one a Mistralian prostitute, turned receptionist then turned mother of his son and daughter. Jaune got up stretching, ignoring the people looking at him, or to be more precise his wife. A mother Aloe might be, but reserved she was not. Wearing a eye catching and frankly slutty outfit.

On some level he knew it was bad, but hey, if she followed the norm they would've never met right... His dad would've never trained him, after he asked him to so he could protect his family. Jaune might've tried sneaking into Beacon frankly.

But now he didn't even need to do that, heck a part of him didn't even want to be a Huntsman, he had children to raise, and provide for. A wife to love, he'd be content living the life of a farmer, and Aloe could accept that, but... She'd made it clear that he shouldn't just settle for a average life.

So he was here, trying to live out his childhood dream, at the very least she was right if he could fight off Grimm better the family would be safer, and Anself could always use another huntsman...

Girls cooed and awe'd at his children, Teal and Jasmine were adorble after all, his son having a pair of antenna and just the prettiest blue eyes in the whole wide world. His toddler Faunus son was too much for the girls to endure the cuteness of.

His daughter though was off limits, little jasmine, four months old, and looking every bit like a little precious fairy plucked straight outta the fairytales. Some might have worried he would've dropped her while he sleep, but that was never gonna happen. Getting outta the bullhead he manged to catch a girl getting... Blown up.

He really couldn't help himself, handing Aloe Jasmine before he went off to check the occurance, finding a girl in the crater. And like that he made a new friend.

Later he met a icy bitch who made a comment on his wife being a Filthy Faunus Harlot! Oh Hell No was some freaking Schnee gonna talk shit about his family!

-0-0-0-

Aloe would've never considered something like this in the cards for her. Motherhood, happily married, a life with litte to no worries... But that's exactly was exactly the life she was living.

She owed Jaune, no her husband everything, she was under no delusions, wasn't obssessed with him... Well, unwarrentldly obssessed, no, Jaune Arc had earned he devotion.

She knew what she was, who she was, and where she came from, she, was a whore, born in the lowest cast in Mistral at the ditrest corners of it's city. A Faunus with a impossible to hide trait filled in a den of raciest. Her mom having died, maybe from a overdose, possibly by a scored customer or maybe even at the hand of her own pimp.

She didn't really remember, she was too little to really recall.

But it left her to raise herself, and in that sorta enviorment you could only really do one thing. So she did, she sold herself, and she sold herself well. moving up and outta the lowest ring to just a low one, choosing a brothel she could trust. Making a life for herself that didn't make her crave death like so many of the others in her line of work.

No, she simply didn't care about anything, about herself... About her waste of a life, she was as content as street trash could be. At least their had been moments of bliss, thankfully her pipe was her only drug, she wasn't into harder stuff like others had been.

She was... content to just die like that, not live, what she did was difently not living.

Not until that little boy on the cusp of manhood came into her life and picked her. It still brought a smile to her face, his cute flustered expression.

His innocents and affection.

He didn't see her for what she was, didn't see the worn-out, used-up animal whore her other customers had saw before she moved unto introducing the girls instead of serving herself up. He saw a pretty lady, to naive to see her for what she was, and that... that was enough for her to wanna play with him.

Only they didn't just play, Jaune had said some interesting things to her, not anything she hadn't heard before mind you. When you could change your body size to the point where you looked like a actual fairy guys tended to say a lot. Espeically when you could could become a vice tighter then any other. But Jaune was to honest to mean anything but exactly what he was saying.

And when his father explained their families motto... Well, she always did have a eye for good oppertunities, just a lack of chances to take any. And now she was happy, happier then she had any right to be. With a home, a future and family, she could be content with that.

With teasing, and being bred by her husband while the other men in the village looked at her with desire while she brutally and slying ruined their lives for it. But, Jaune deserved more, he'd stepped up at every corner and then some. Learned to farm, to fight from his dad and even learning how to lead the village for the eventual day he had to step up.

He even learned about Faunus rights, and the struggles her people went though... He actually knew more about her people and culture then she did now. The idea of his son and daughter living in a world where they could be discrimnated against seeming to infuriate him.

She, she loved him, not at first, but it had happened fast... So much so she wanted to give back. And this was how, by supporting the dream he never talked about, that she knew he'd be more then willing to throw away for his family.

And well that wasn't all... She was getting up their in years, she was closer to his moms age then his after all... And Mistral had plenty of different life styles then simple monogomy. If some of those sorry excuses for men could have a mistress or three why shouldn't Jaune. Ture, he would never cheat on her, but she had plans around that, Huntsman fought side by side, grew close as family.

If she worked her magic maybe she could make certain... Arrangements, and beside she already had candidate or two. The blonde with breast as big as her own who went all dowey eyed over her babies, her kid sister who he was fast friends with. The 'Secretly' Faunus who looked at her and Jaune warmly as he lovingly cared for his Faunus kid. Not to even mention the spartan and literal bunnygirl

Heck maybe she was reading to much into it but even the Schnee seemed to be a bit to intense with Jaune when they argued. Maybe she could get her dear husband a personal, private and exclusive brothel of his own. Filled with girls who'd just love to be his personal whores.

[shoguns-second]

This was originally from Twitter but I wanna put it here too cause it’s a collection of little facts for Ananias I really enjoyed writing-

Under a read more so I don’t clog up the TL!

1. Ananias is not FULL Celestial dragon- her father was a Birkian slave so both her AND her twin have half Birkian in them- Annie presents it more these days- since she still has her wings, albeit heavily clipped so she can conceal them easier 

2. This lead her to spin her mixed blood as a "real gift from the gods" she sees and presents herself as fully divine- as a real breathing angel. Frankly she has forgotten she was even born from a slave, Well really she was never actually told.

3. She's alot older than she looks- 61 to be exact! her Birkian genes keep her features youthful and taught, another reason to why she sees herself as "immortal and holy" 

4. Despite her gender neutral opinion on herself, she desires to be treated as a man most of the time- using male pronouns and titles alongside her feminine ones which she only wants to be used on a personal basis- professionally she is seen as a man. 

5. He one of the only Celestial Dragons to go off Mariejoa as much as he does- Annie lives for travel and education much like his twin does (although perhaps not AS MUCH) One of his favorite things to do is visit Impel Down where he oversees some of the tortures~ 

6. His travel does pose a risk however- As a Celestial Dragon he still comes close to the hateful energy that provides- thus he has taught himself to defend himself PROPER- not just with a gun. He's not just a useless royal~ 

7. She's involved with Charloss more than she'd like to admit- mostly willingly but there are times where she wishes he would just stop pestering her. She's not afraid to give him a wack or a lecture though, which She often finds herself doing. 

8. As a Donquixote Ananias is Doflamingo's uncle, and you would THINK she has some sort of sentiment foe him. NOt exactly.. Homing was never looked upon fondly by her and just having that blood in his veins is enough to turn her cold.- HOWEVER She did go specifically to visit him  in Impel down when he was captured, to talk and maybe find some common ground.. it went well enough and now she wonders if she should strongarm to get him out of there.

9. She has an INCREDIBLY playful and childish side, loving toys and little gadgets. She collects trinkets made by only the FINEST and will often just take the entire toymaker with her. She has a "fleet" of whimsical men all dedicated to making her toys.

10. Although this playful side dissappears when she has to deal with anything involving the Marines, or even other Dragons. Replaced by a cold, stern, calculating look in her eye. As I said before, to her business is power and it shows through her switch. She can be quite scary 

11. He genuinely loves his twin however- despite the intense clashing view Ananias and Dulincea HAVE, They always seem to come out of it still knowing the love they hold for eachother is so deep.. It saddens Annie to hear his sister talk in the way she does but... he knows why. 

12. He LOVES Mjosgard- so so much, genuinely he would give that man anything in the world to see him smile, he's one of the two people Annie will have no issue with showing affection for. You can believe he FREAKED out during Myo's trip to Fishman Island.

[hana-bean]

Close to you (1/7)

Hi everyone! Happy SeiUsa Week 2021! Please enjoy this seven-chapter installment in celebration of the ultimate OTP!

~~~

Everyone walks on To meet just one person someday

---

“Boo! You suck!”

Seiya ducked to the side to avoid an oncoming empty beer bottle flying his way, shattering as it hit the stage floor. He scowled as he grabbed the microphone with the other hand still on his guitar neck.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Get off the stage!” Another bottle started flying, this time in between him and the second guitar player, Yaten.

The bar owner soon sprinted toward the musicians and on the stage, trying to avoid various other objects projecting through the air in the meantime.

“Guys, you got any other songs to play?”

Taiki, who was standing in the back at a keyboard, walked up to join the conversation. “What other songs? This is all we know.” He explained while kicking off a half-eaten chicken wing that landed on his shoe.

“You play the same set every night. They want something fresh.”

“Well, maybe you need to get more patrons instead of the same ones every night,” Yaten growled with a lime green twitchy eye. “It’s not our fault your regulars live here.”

“Listen,” the owner paused to grimace in figurative pain as he felt something wet hit his back. “You need to mix it up.”

“We can’t,” Seiya replied firmly. “We need to play these songs.”

“Then pack it up. The show’s over.”

Yaten released his guitar in order to gesture to drive his point across, letting it hang on his neck. “No! You need to let us play!”

“Not a chance, Napoleon. You’ll drive away my tenants!” The owner glared.

That was it—and not that it usually took very much anyway—Yaten was over the edge. He lifted the strap over his head and tossed his instrument to Taiki before tackling the owner to the stage floor with his standard flying squirrel technique.

“Yaten, what the fuck?!” Seiya removed his guitar and went to work trying to pry his bandmate from atop the owner, or at least he tried; Yaten had the grip strength of a coconut crab despite being the smallest of the three of them.

But that was all the patrons needed as a reason to get in on the action. They stormed the stage with their rage and beer bottles ready, even turning on one another and the instruments. Some who didn’t choose violence for a Tuesday night contacted authorities on their crystal cell phones as they made their exit; the other portion used them to record the melee from their tables.

Seiya soon felt the weight of three men come at him at all sides; his only instinct to protect his head before the four-person clump of testosterone toppled two feet down and off the stage. Immediately, he felt a pain shoot from his knee all the way up to his hip as something heavy and drunk landed on his leg. Seiya wriggled and scooted as much as possible to free himself, but since his body was the one that absorbed most of the impact, the attacking men had the advantage to quickly begin their beatdown.

He managed to curl up in the fetal position as feet and fists made contact with every part of his exposed body. But then, allowing himself to only feel like a failure for a few seconds, he made a quick decision and reached within his jacket for his headset.

“Fighter Star Power, Make Up!”

As the transformation alone knocked the three men on their backs, their world was forever rocked when they looked upon a leather-clad woman standing in place of the male musician once the music and sparkles had faded.

“He’s a guardian?!” One yelled, completely stupefied.

Sailor Star Fighter cocked an eyebrow as she smirked, her Star Yell ready in hand.

“Remind me again: what do you think of my songs?”

By then, three police officers had come through the entrance. Their hands floated above their holstered guns on their hips as they were visibly surprised and uneasy.

“Guardian! Put your weapon down!”

“It’s the cops! Run!” A voice shouted. The chaos simply transformed from scuffle to stampede as people began to book it for any exit they could find.

The authorities were soon knocked down from the rush, however one was able to take out her radio and plead into it, “Ten-seventy-five! We need guardians! Get us guardians!” until it was kicked out of her hand from an escaping patron.

Taiki and Yaten came up behind Star Fighter—donning a few scratches, cuts, and tousled hair—all the while still moving pretty well.

“Seiya, you dumbfuck, why’d you transform?” Yaten chastised.

“I’m the dumbfuck?” Fighter gave her crazy eyes. “They were going to kill me!” For a split second, she forgot about her leg and put weight on it while yelling back. However, the appendage was quick to remind her that something was wrong. She winced and seethed in a breath as she fell on Taiki for support.

“Let’s get out of here,” Taiki suggested calmly as he wrapped Fighter’s arm around his neck. Yaten followed suit on the other side.

They only had to contend with navigating through a few scattered stragglers before the three made their way toward the emergency exit by the stage. Taiki kicked the door open only to be met with two obstacles standing in their way, both clad in Milky Way guardian uniforms. One was in a dark blue and yellow color combination with short blonde hair, the other in dark blue and teal with medium-length teal hair.

“Not so fast.”

---

Seiya sighed as he dropped his head on the headrest in the backseat of the police car. The authorities were escorting him from a hospital where his wounds were attended to, and he was now alone. Or rather, separated from Taiki and Yaten. His only company was the two guardians from the bar—whom he was squished in between—and a uniformed officer at the wheel.

He cleared his throat to get attention from anyone. “What did you do with my friends?”

“They’re at a detention center.” The blonde guardian answered, void of emotion, keeping her focus out the window.

“A detention center? Why?”

“Because they’re here illegally. You all are. You should be there, too.”

Fuck, that’s not good. That’s not good at all… But it still didn’t explain… “So where are you taking me then?”

“The queen would like an audience with you.” The teal-headed one answered while busy on her crystal smartphone, having removed a glove for her screen to sense the natural heat of her thumb. A half-filled plastic grocery bag also sat on her lap.

“The queen?” Seiya tried to use his hands to emphasize his confusion, however, his handcuffs clanked in protest. “What does she want with me?”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants—she calls, you come.” The blonde turned her head to look at him with stern blue eyes.

He knew there was no use prying anymore. The blonde had already knocked him around a few times before getting to the hospital, so he knew he risked further physical punishment if he did so. Any other day he would find the pain worth it if it meant annoying her, but his body was already unbearably sore in places he didn’t realize he had.

Meeting with the queen also had him a bit concerned for his well-being. He figured it had something to do with being a guardian, but what exactly does she plan to do with him and that information? He had heard she was a kind and just ruler, albeit young, but from his years of intergalactic travel before ending up in Crystal Tokyo, it could very well be propaganda.

He guessed he was about to find out.

Once the car made it to the bridge that led to the palace, one needed two hands to count all the checkpoints. The palace seemed to be built specifically to reflect the moonlight, producing a daytime-like glow once they were on royal grounds. However, the car parked in front of an inconspicuous building behind a row of trees a couple of minutes shy of the actual palace, and then the blonde dragged Seiya out of the vehicle by his handcuff chains, causing his shiny black cane to drop on the ground. Diagnosed with a temporary disability from his hurt leg, the doctors issued the walking aid to help with his mobility for the next couple of weeks, but the blonde didn't care.

“Haruka, be gentle.” The teal-headed guardian chided.

“Why?”

“You know how handcuffs can hurt if you’re too rough.”

“And you will know, too… once we’re done tonight.”

Seiya raised an eyebrow, wondering if they knew their whispering wasn’t really whispering; he even caught the driver looking back with a nosy eye. Feeling a sense of dread of being transported to a second location, he limped along slowly, following the driver inside the building while trailed by the guardians.

He was led to a room that was comfortably simple and aesthetically feminine—its motif included ribbons, swirls, and florals in a combination of white and pink colors. And a small white round table sat in the middle of the space with four plush boudoir chairs surrounding it. Seiya even picked up on the scent of stargazer lilies before he noticed them sitting on a side table by the door.

But apparently, there was no time to take in his surroundings as he felt a shove on his back, forcing him to keep his balance with his bad leg. He turned around to glare at the blonde guardian.

“Hurry up!” She pointed inside the room with irritation emanating from her whole body. “The queen is on her way!”

Seiya grumbled and hobbled over to take his place in a chair, releasing a tired sigh. All he wanted was to get this over with and back to his mission. He hated how his only hope rested within the hands of the queen; it made him feel helpless and idle.

It wasn’t much later when he heard the front door of the building open, followed by both guardians bowing on the other side of the threshold at an unseen presence. Assuming the queen herself had arrived, Seiya pulled himself to his feet with the aid of his cane and the table.

"Uranus! Neptune!"

“Neo-Queen Serenity.”

---

---

If you would like to follow this story, I will be updating the rest of the chapters under the tag: hana-bean close to you and other iterations of the spacing. I love you all!

[horrorslashergirl]

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector

A dark themed erotic novel for the twisted minds

Resume: You finally come face to face with your past and present nightmare, only to see that what you thought it would happen is far from it. Swallowing your pride isn’t easy, is it?

Chapter 1: Nightshift Turn Out

Chapter 2: Twisted Tongue

Chapter 3: Rising from fire like the Phoenix

Chapter 4: Video Shadows

Chapter 5: New beginning and Past memories

Chapter 6: Lovers Reunion

Chapter 7: Sweet Blackmail (You are here)

Chapter 8: False Freedom

Chapter 9: Ugly Jealousy

Chapter 10: Sinful Ecstasy

Warning: Just the usual manipulation of mind.

The ride back to Jesse's place took almost one hour and a half all thanks to the traffic, Asa's form in the passager seat next to the driver's seat that was occupied by Jesse, driving to his house. He was glad the black-eyed man next to him had put a bigger dose of injection into your system because he wasn't up to you waking up in the trunk of his car and screaming.

Finally, they arrived at Jesse's place, the silver big gate coming into view and opened when Jesse pushed one of the buttons from the dashboard of his car, the gates opening automatically. If one thing could be described, Jesse loved to live in big style, the perfect lawn, modern luxury mansion, marble steps, two pools; one on the front, the other in the back.

After he parked the car, both of them stepped out and walked to the trunk, opening it and seeing you, still knocked out. Jesse picked you up, throwing you over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then went with Asa inside, to the large living-room, setting your form on one of the black velvet armchairs, binding you to it with chains. They sure wouldn't risk in you running around or lashing out like a lion.

They stayed and watched you for some 15 minutes, hoping you would wake up and get the 'thing' started. Of course, this kidnapping operation wasn't all random and out of the blue, they had it prepared for some time, and Asa had to give credit to Jesse for most of the plan, they didn't even know if you really needed to be restrained, especially when you would find out why you should stay put like a good little pet.

A groan resonated from you, as your eyes slowly opened taking in your surroundings and you gaped as your gaze stopped on the two tall males, looking at you, without their masks on. You never would have guessed that behind the black foam mask the Collector looked so...appealing? He had sandy brown hair, swiped back little, obsidian eyes that were shining, the black paint smeared from his eyes across his stubbled cheeks. Next, your eyes moved to the taller male, all dressed in black, bald head and one single brown eye that had a glimpse of curiosity and amusement in it, but what caught your attention was the scarred and roughed up the skin of his whole face, but despite the disfigured face he still held that certain...charisma? Maybe it was the sharp jawline? Or the way he looked at you?

"Finally you're up." the Collector said, walking towards you and extending his hand to cup your chin, only to almost get his hand bitten by your lashing teeth, a deep glare sent towards him, his eyes were wide, maybe by the shock that you actually had the guts to do such a thing, despite your current position.

You were ready for a slap, a punch, a sharp blade to impale you, but nothing, only a glare similar to yours. Well, that was new. You struggled against your bindings, the cold and sharp chains, digging into your biceps and sides, making you hiss in discomfort.

"Too tight?" the Collector asked into a mocking voice, making you furrow your brows more.

"Let me go, you sick and twisted psychopaths!" you screamed, a snarl pulling at your lips. Jesse was smirking at your spitfire attitude; he loved an aggressive girl, all the more fun to fuck the more submission into her and you were just too much enjoyment to pass up.

"When I get out of here, I swear I'm gonna kill you both!" you threatened, wishing you would have a chance to stab both of them between their legs.

"I don't think so." the Collector said, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his lips pulled from a thin line into a lopsided smirk that streamed danger, the kind of danger that makes your skin crawl and chills run down your spine.

A confused look crossed your face from the hateful glare, making Jesse shake his shoulders up and down in what could one say is a silent laugh. You saw him pulled out a phone from the pockets of his black slacks and beginning to type on the phone amazingly fast, only when he was finished to show you the screen, seeing a message.

'I would listen if I were you, piggy. Unless you want to feel guilty for the rest of your life.' You looked from the screen up to the scarred face of your captor, and you knew he read your still permanent confusion from your eyes.

He pulled the phone away from you and began to type on it, then he showed the screen again, only for your eyes to widen and your face to go as pale as a ghost. On the screen, it was a live video of your brothers' living-room, and he was there in his wheelchair with his girlfriend, Spann who massaged his shoulders. Your mouth parted and tried to say something, but you were left speechless, gulping down in total anxiety.

Jesse pulled away, only to type again on his phone, then again showed you.

'Got to say, your brother is quite the loverboy with my assistant. Now, it would be a tragedy if something bad might happen to him. Don't you think, little piggy?'

Your whole attitude changed, your struggling stopped, your glare vanished and you looked at the two with a look that would pretty much resemble a stray cat.

"We got your attention now. Good." the Collector said, moving closer until he was sitting on one of the armchairs, close to you and that didn't help your tension to calm down.

"Think about it like this, your brothers' life is in your hands, and you are into our hands. One wrong move from you and he is gonna end up with the skin of his back ripped off, spread like butterfly wings." the Collector hissed into your ear, making you close your eyes, feeling a bitter taste into your mouth from the words.

'Looks like the kitten lost her claws.' a robotic voice spoke, making you open your eyes, seeing the taller man leaning against the other arm of the chair, pretty much you were between them, their gaze making you feel like an ant, so easy so squish under their feet.

Your chin was caught into a firm grip, making you look gaze with the black eyes that haunted your dreams for a long time.

"Well? Are you going to behave or should we put a demonstration?" the Collector said, making your eyes widen.

"N-No!....I-I am going to behave." you whispered, swallowing down your pride, nibbling on your bottom lip in nervousness, until he tugged on your bottom lip with his thumb.

"Stop doing that, unless you want me to do it for you." the Collector said, his tone and vibe screaming authority, without having to raise his voice too much.

You felt the chains been undone, your arms and body now free, but your mind screamed to stay put, you couldn't risk your brother's life because you were stubborn. The screen of the phone was flashed again in front of your eyes and another message.

'Sweet! Now let's get to know each other. Name's Jesse Cromeans, the infamous Chromeskull, little piggy, and my friend over there is Asa Emory, better known as the Collector.'

So these were their real names?

Jesse got up from the arm of the chair and beckoned you over with his index finger, making you gulp down, not knowing exactly what you were supposed to do. You got the silent answer as he flashed in his other hand one of the large hunting knives, twirling it in an impatient way. Slowly, you got up and walked towards the bald man, until you were in front of him.

Your eyes were trained on him as he raised his hand, moving to the back of your hand where he tugged on your hair-tie, your hair falling on your shoulders, free from the ponytail.

'Wear your hair down from now on. I like it better this way.' he typed on the phone, making you feel your cheeks warming up at the words.

He moved his knife in front of you, the sharp tip of the blade moving to your chest covered by the police uniform, popping the first button of your shirt, then the second and third, until your bra-clad chest came into view. The bra was black and lacy, and you saw Jesse shiver, his tongue coming out to lick his upper scarred lip, brown eye drinking in your form.

'Doll, are you asking for it?' he typed fastly on his phone, making you blush deep red at the suggestion.

"W-What? N-No...I wouldn't..." you shuttered, taking a step back, only to collide with the bulky form of Asa, a squeak leaving your lips from the sudden contact, only for your body to move forward, your face now buried into Jesse's chest, the scent of his expensive cologne and cigarette smoke invading your nostrils and making you feel a little dizzy.

You felt his chest rumble, a silent chuckle vibrating. The next thing you felt was a hand pulling gently on your hair from your neck, exposing your left ear and the back of your neck, hot breath hitting your skin there.

"You know. You should feel very grateful, little pet. Normally, anyone else would have either ended up dismembered and assembled as an insect or either gutted in the most disgusting way and put in a coffin." Asa whispered into your ear, making you whimper, only for Jesse's hands to come on your waist and back, rubbing there in a soothing way, but you knew it was all mockery.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" you asked, your hands grasping onto Jesse's shirt, feeling like the darkness would swallow you up between these two dangerous men.

"Kill you? That would be a waste, butterfly. Such a pitful waste." the man behind you said, his lips hovering just an inch from the nape of your neck, shivers running down your spine.

This was insane; you would have probably guessed they would kill you, torture you, but not this form of kidnapping.

"Y-You're blackmailing me." you stated, tears forming into the corners of your glassy eyes.

'I wouldn't call this blackmail. I prefer the term a sweet trade. All you have to do is be a good little doll.' the electronic voice from Jesse's phone spoke. From the looks of it, he was a mute, but that didn't make him any less dangerous.

"P-Please...I-I don't want this." you tried to put some sense into them, begging, but you knew it was all in hopeless ways.

"Shhh...We didn't ask. We DEMAND it." Asa snarled, his teeth sinking into the back of your neck, a loud cry leaving your lips, only to be silenced by Jesse's rough ones, your eyes wide open seeing his half-lidded brown one.

'Enjoy, sweetheart.' Jesse's phone spoke for him, his thumb whipping your tears away from your flushed cheeks.

[snusbandxknifewife]

Could you do a oneshot where Vivi forces Jude and Taryn to wear revealing outfits and Madoc decides he’s joining them. This is an after QON Headcanon. Of an overprotective daddy Madoc giving dead glares to anyone to anyone who approaches his twin daughters

I know it’s been a few days but I promise I didn’t forget! Also imma just warn you here and now this is CURSED. (Also I just realized you said headcanon. I wrote it as a fic I hope that’s ok)

~~~~~

Daddy Daughter Dance

Three years of exile and the unwavering support of his wife had hardly softened Madoc to the mortal world. He found mortals to be dirty and unstable, far too lowly to interact with his family.

Vivienne Duarte thought it was absolutely hilarious and, while she might not always agree with what her sister does, she thought that banishing Madoc had been some of Jude finest work. She couldn’t have thought of a better way to pull the rug out from under her faerie father’s feet, and it filled her with pride at how masterfully her sister had dealt with dear old dad.

Still, having her father perpetually around was starting to annoy Vivi. He got bored and decided that the best thing to do would always be to go knocking on his eldest daughter’s door, asking her what was up and how she was doing. She was starting to go insane, and she desperately needed an out.

Then, as she was sitting at the dinner table during one of Madoc’s forced family meals, when Taryn longingly mentioned wanting a night off from the baby, she had a spark of an idea.

Taryn had showed up with Ghost and her toddler, a darling little girl named Ellanora. Jude had finally relented and agreed to come along for supper, Cardan naturally right behind her. Heather was being her absurdly supportive self, Oak had finally reached the point of his life where he was prone to teenage mood swings and he was hiding in his room, Oriana looked like she was fraying at the edges.

“Ladies,” she brightly began, her wicked smile spreading from ear to ear, “I believe it has been far too long since we had a night out on the town!”

“We’ve never had a night out on the town,” Jude pointed out, a brow raised at the ton her sister was taking.

“Then surely it’s been too long!” Vivi shot back, standing up from her chair so quickly that it shot out behind her and slammed into the wall. “Come now, Jude. You know that you and Taryn won’t be able to visit forever! Why not take a night off and celebrate the joys of the mortal world with your loving family?”

Heather hid her laughter by taking a sip of her water. She’d seen this look on Vivi’s face before and she just knew that chaos was waiting in the wings.

Taryn, bouncing her child on her leg, looked over to Ghost. They’d married about six months prior and they were still in the lovey-dovey-heart-eyed stage of love. “I would love to, Vivienne, but Ellanora needs to—“

“Surely Ellanora’s daddy can watch her? This is a girl’s night, after all,” she grinned. “No Cardan, Garret, Madoc, or Oak allowed!”

Jude scowled and Cardan pouted, Taryn blanched and Ghost quirked his head, Oriana pursed her lips and Madoc went thunderous.

Oh this was going to be perfect.

“I don’t think—“

“Oh Jude, come on! You and Taryn won’t be able to hang out with us forever, let loose tonight and have some fun! You already left Elfhame,” Heather swooped in and Vivi could get on one knee and propose right there.

Vivienne gave no chance for anyone else to complain, standing with a sense of finality and moving towards Oriana’s walk-in closet. Oriana was always dressed for a night out and she and Heather both looked bangin’, but Taryn was dressed like a tired mom and Jude was still wearing her practice leathers.

Heather must have been working magic back in the dining room, because by the time she’d picked out outfits for the twins, both were standing behind her. Taryn appeared to be bouncing with excitement, desperate for a night away from the baby. Jude looked perturbed, as she typically was when she was separated from Cardan.

Neither woman complained as they stripped and dressed. Taryn had always loved her fashion and Jude had really come into her own in the past few years, her husband’s doting doing wonders for her confidence.

Still, as they looked in the mirror in Oriana’s closet, Jude raised a brow at her older sister.

Taryn was wearing a high waisted skirt and low-cut shirt combo, heels stolen from Oriana making her calves look gorgeous and her ass pop. Jude was in a slinky dress, just barely hitting her thigh with the back falling open down her spine.

If Jude were a betting woman, she’d say Vivi was trying to make their father have a heart attack.

As they walked out of the closet and towards the front door, they ran into Heather and Oriana, both smiling knowingly. Just as they were about to leave, Madoc walked into the living room.

And his jaw hit the floor.

Of course he was used to the faerie brand of risqué clothing, but mortal clothes are a far cry different. They’re abrasive, choppy, far too high cut and low quality. What the fuck did Vivi think she was doing?

“Bye dad! We’re going to Bare Assets!”

Then the girls were out the door. Off to the closest night club they could get to. Bare Assets was a local strip club with both male and female strippers, a fantastic bar, and a separate dance floor that Vivi and Heather frequented when they wanted to act out.

“What’s Bare Assets?” Madoc screamed back into the dining room, scaring Ghost and Cardan—who had been cooing over Ellanora and trying to get her to eat her broccoli.

“The strip club where Jude and I had our joint bachelor and bachelorette party a few years back,” Cardan nonchalantly offered, almost immediately catching his slip up and clamping his mouth shut.

Unfortunately, Ghost, who was thoroughly distracted by his adopted daughter, didn’t catch the way Madoc’s eyebrow was twitching. “I remember that night! I got on the pole and some random stripper licked my nipples.”

“I don’t think you should say that in front of your kid—“ Cardan started.

“Nipples!” Ellanora, who had recently started imitating words she heard adults say, interrupted. Cardan hid his laughter with a cough; let Ghost explain to Taryn why his daughter was yelling about nipples.

Then, as the front door slammed shut, both men looked back up. Madoc was gone.

They shared a look and (wisely) decided to stay with Ellanora.

Vivi had been banking on Madoc following them, just like she’d been banking on him getting lost long enough to give them time to do a shot or two each. This was a woman who had nearly two decades put into annoying her father: she was an absolute expert.

They were dancing when she heard a scream by the front door and she started grinning like a madwoman. In the back, where the DJ was blasting dubstep and the dance floor was a living thing, she knew they had a few minutes left before Madoc would be able to fight his way through the strippers and past the bar.

Oriana was busy learning how to do the robot from Heather while Taryn and Jude jumped around to the best of the music. It made Vivi happy how the twins had reconciled over the past few years. It was nice seeing them get along in ways they never really had before.

When a hand clapped on her shoulder, she wasn’t surprised at all. She turned with a wicked grin and cane face-to-chest with her furious father. She was just about to say something snarky when her father bellowed, his voice vastly overpowering the music.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST PUT IN MY DAUGHTER’S DRINK?”

Vivi sounds around, her eyes catching on the plastic cup in Taryn’s hand that she’d previously missed. Just beyond the drink was a man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, a small plastic bag held in his shaking hand.

Taryn looked down at her drink and realized this stranger had been trying to drug her and absolutely no one had noticed. The environment must’ve been too loud and unfamiliar for Jude to see, Oriana would’ve never noticed, Vivi was too far away.

Her lip curled in disgust and she threw the contents of her roofied drink all over her would-be drugger, grabbing her twin to keep her from gutting the bastard and moving over to where Madoc was fuming.

Vivi was shaking and Heather was trying to explain what just happened to a very confused Oriana. Jude was quickly checking all the exits and making mental notes of everyone���s face, the nightclub now a battleground.

“How dare you?” Madoc spin Vivienne back around as he roared. “How could you put your sisters at risk? You know how dangerous it is for them!”

Vivienne hadn’t even thought, she’d been so busy trying to irk her father that she hadn’t even considered Jude and Taryn weren’t raised here, they wouldn’t know to cover their drinks. The mortal world would be just as dangerous for them, only in different ways.

Madoc went to scream some more at his eldest daughter, but Taryn stopped him with a gentle hand to his wrist. She was always the best at getting him to smile and calm down.

“It’s okay, dad. We’re safe, it wasn’t Vivi’s fault.”

She goes to say something else, but a bouncer works his way through the crowd before she can, thanking Madoc for his help and telling him they’d caught the man and kicked him out. When the bouncer offers to let Madoc drink on the house, Taryn pipes up and accepts for him.

“Taryn I don’t think—“

“Oh come on, dad! You can’t spend your whole life hating everything mortal,” she announced as she rolled her eyes. “Let us help acclimate you while we still can.”

“With you and Jude glowering at everyone, we won’t have to worry about anyone bothering us,” Oriana observes with a small smile as she walks over to her husband’s other side.

Before Madoc can say anything else, he has some terrible cocktail in his hand and he’s surrounded by all the women in his life as they do the robot. (Jude would’ve preferred to keep bouncing up and down, but Oriana was insistent.)

So Madoc spends the rest of the night drinking and eventually dancing in a den of mortals, watching over his daughters and glaring menacingly at anyone who even thinks about looking at them. Oriana started stealing his drinks and Heather and Vivi disappeared into the bathroom, Jude and Taryn watched in fascination as a stripper insisted on teaching Madoc to twerk, and none of them had to worry about checking their drinks again.

~~~~~~

Am I sorry about writing a fic where Madoc twerks? Yes. Also I specified the strip club because ya bitch is writing a bachelor/bachelorette party fic at the strip club and yes Ghost gets his nipples licked by a stripper I’m also sorry about that one.

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @sweetlyvillainous @clouds-and-peonies @clockworkgraystairs

[innuendostudios]

The newest installment of The Alt-Right Playbook - Endnote 4: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship - is a little different. This installment was presented live at Solidarity Lowell, and includes a bonus Q&A section. This video expands on the ideas put forth in How to Radicalize a Normie.

If you would like more videos like this to come out, please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

He is intriguing, yet unpredictable. He demands unconditional loyalty. He seems to have an intuitive understanding of what people want to hear but no actual empathy; he treats others as simply bodies or objects. And he’s surrounded by a network of subordinates but the personnel is always changing.

Does it sound like I’m describing The President? Because these are, according to Alexandra Stein, qualities of a cult leader.

Hi. My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, the flagship endeavor of which is currently The Alt-Right Playbook, a series on the political and rhetorical strategies the Alt-Right uses to legitimize itself and gain power. And, if that sounds interesting to you, and you haven’t already, please like share and subscribe.

The most recent episode of The Alt-Right Playbook is about how people get recruited into these largely online reactionary communities like the Alt-Right, a subject which, as it turns out, is real fuckin’ hard to research.

What I want to talk about with you today is how I go about studying a population that is incredibly hostile towards being studied. It involves finding the bits and pieces of the Alt-Right that we do have data on - the pockets of good research, the outsider observations, the stories of lived experience - as well as looking at older movements the Alt-Right grew out of, that have been extensively researched, and spotting the ways the Alt-Right is continuous with them, and trying to extrapolate how those structures might recreate themselves in the social media age.

So it’s… a lot. And, in the process of researching, I found a wealth of interesting perspectives that, by focusing the video on recruitment specifically, I barely dipped a toe in. All that stuff is what I’d like to get into with you today. But I’m trying to thread a needle here: you don’t need to have seen my video, How to Radicalize a Normie, to follow this talk, but, if you have seen it already, I will try not to be redundant. This talk is one part making my case for why I think the conclusions in that video are correct, one part repository for all the stuff I couldn’t get into, and one part how I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right as a result of this research, including some pet theories I wouldn’t feel right claiming as truth without further research, but I do think are on the right track.

This talk is called Isolation, Engulfment, and Pain: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship. We’re going to cover a lot of ground, from information processing to emotional development, but we’re necessarily also going to cover racism and violence and abuse dynamics. So this is an introduction and a content warning: if some of these subjects are particularly charged for you, no offense will be taken if you at any point leave the room. I have to research this stuff for a living, and it is rough, and sometimes I have to step away. We don’t judge here.

Now. Requisite dash of self-deprecation: don’t give me too much credit for all this. I am proud of the work I do and I think I’m genuinely good at it, but much of this video was compiling the work of others. Besides research I had already done and my own observations, the video had 27 sources: three books, five research papers, six articles, one leaked document, three testimonials, four videos, four pages of statistics, and one Twitter joke. I also spoke to four professional researchers who study right-wing extremism and one former Alt-Righter.

Without all their hard work, I would have nothing to compile.

OK? Let’s begin.

We’re gonna center on those three main texts: Alt-America by David Neiwert, a history of the Alt-Right’s origins; Healing from Hate by Michael Kimmel, about how young men get into (and out of) extremist groups, be they neo-Nazi or jihadist; and Terror, Love and Brainwashing by Alexandra Stein, about how people are courted by and kept inside cults and totalitarian regimes.

I began with Kimmel. The premise of Healing from Hate is that extremist groups tend to be between 75 and 90% male, and that you cannot understand radical conservatism without looking at it through the lens of toxic masculinity. Which makes it all the more disappointing that Kimmel has been accused by multiple women of bullying and harassment. I found the book incredibly useful, and we’re still going to talk about it, I just need to caveat here that retweets are not endorsements. Also, if I spoil the book for you then you don’t need to buy it, give your money to someone who isn’t a creep.

Kimmel’s argument is that extremism begins with a pain peculiar to young men. He calls it “aggrieved entitlement.” I call it Durden Syndrome. You know that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden says, “We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rockstars, but we won’t, we’re slowly learning that fact, and we are very, very pissed off”? Yeah, that. As men, the world promised us something, and the promise wasn’t kept.

Some men skew towards social progressivism when they realize this promise was never made to women, or men of color, or queer or trans or nonbinary people, and recognize the injustice of that. Some men skew towards economic leftism when they realize that every cishet white man being a millionaire rockstar movie god is mathematically impossible. But they skew towards reactionary conservatism when they feel the promise should have been kept. That’s the life they were supposed to have, and someone took it from them.

Hate groups appeal to that sense of emasculation. “You wanna feel like a Real Man? Shave off your hair, dance to hatecore, and let’s beat the crap out of someone.” Kimmel notes that the greatest indicator someone will join a hate group is a broken home: divorce, foster care, parents with addictions, physical or sexual abuse. The greater the distance between the life they were promised and the life they are living, the more enticing Real Masculinity becomes. Their fellow extremists are brothers, the leaders father figures.

The group does give them someone to blame for their lot in life - immigrants, feminists, the Jewish conspiracy - but that’s not why they join. They’re after empowerment. According to Kimmel, “Their embrace of neo-Nazi ideology is a consequence of their recruitment and indoctrination process, not its cause."

But once an Other has been identified as the locus of a hate group’s hate, new recruits are brought along when the group terrorizes that Other. Events like cross burnings and street fights are dangerous and morally fraught, and are often traumatic for a new recruit. And experiencing an emotional or physical trauma can create an intense bond with the people experiencing it with him, even though they’re the ones who brought him to the traumatic event in the first place. The creation of this bond is one of the reasons some hate groups usher new recruits out into the field as early as possible: the sooner they are emotionally invested in the community, the faster they will embrace the community’s politics.

This Othering also estranges recruits from the people they are supposed to hate, which makes it hard to stop hating them.

So there’s this concept that comes up a lot in my research called Contact Hypothesis. Contact Hypothesis argues that, the more contact you have with a different walk of life, the easier it is to tolerate it. It’s like exposure therapy. We talk about how big cities and college campuses tend to be liberal strongholds; the Right likes to claim this is because of professors and politicians poisoning your mind, but it’s really just because they’re diverse. When you share space with a lot of different kinds of people, a degree of liberalism becomes necessary just to get by. And we see that belief systems which rely on a strict orthodoxy get really cagey about members having contact with outsiders. We see this in all the groups we’re discussing today - extremists, cultists, totalitarians - but also religious fundamentalists; Mormons only wanna send their kids to Brigham Young. They are belief systems that can only be reliably maintained so long as no one gets exposed to other people with other beliefs.

So that’s some of what I took from Kimmel. Next I read Stein talking, primarily, about cults.

Stein’s window into all of this is applying the theory of Attachment Styles to what researchers calls totalism, which is any structure that subsumes a person’s entire life the way cults and totalitarian governments do. Attachment is a concept you may be familiar with if have, or have ever dated, a therapist. (I’ve done both.)

So, for a quick primer:

Imagine you’re walking in the park with a three-year-old. And the three-year-old sees a dog, and ask, “Can I pet the dog?” And you say yes, and the kid steps away from your side and reaches out. And the dog gets excited, and jumps up, and the kid gets scared and runs back to you. So you hold the kid and go, “Oh, no no no, don’t worry! They’re not gonna hurt you! They were just happy to see you!” And you take a few moments to calm the kid down, and then you ask, “Do you still want to pet the dog?” And the kid says “yes,” so they step away from you again and reach out. The dog jumps up again, but this time the kid doesn’t run away, and they pet the dog, and you, the kid, and the dog are all happy. Hooray!

This is a fundamental piece of a child’s emotional development. They take a risk, have a negative experience, and retreat to a point of comfort. Then, having received that comfort, feel bolstered enough to take a slightly greater risk. A healthy childhood is steadily venturing further and further from that point of comfort, and taking on greater risks, secure in the knowledge that safety is there when they need it. And, as an adult, they will form many interdependent points of comfort rather than relying on only one or two.

If all goes according to plan, that is Secure Attachment. But: sometimes things go wrong when the kid seeks comfort and doesn’t get enough. This may be because the adult is withholding or the kid doesn’t know how to express their needs or they’re just particularly fearful. But the kid may start seeking comfort more than seems reasonable, and be particularly averse to risk, and over-focus on the people who give them comfort, because they’re operating at a deficit. We call that Anxious Attachment. Alternately, the kid may give up on receiving comfort altogether, even though they still need it, and just go it alone, developing a distrust of other people and a fear of being vulnerable. We call that Avoidant Attachment.

Now, these styles are all formed in early childhood, but Stein focuses on a fourth kind of Attachment, one that can be formed at any age regardless of the Attachment Style you came in with. It’s what happens when the negative experience and the comfort come from the same place. We see it in children and adults who are mistreated by the people they trust. It’s called Disorganized Attachment.

According to Stein, cults foster Disorganized Attachment by being intensely unpredictable. In a cult, you may be praised for your commitment on Monday and have your commitment questioned on Tuesday, with no change in behavior. You may be assigned a romantic partner, who may, at any point, be taken away, assigned to someone else. Your children may be taken from you to be raised by a different family. You may be told the cult leader wants to sleep with you, which may make you incredibly happy or be terrifying, but you won’t be given a choice. And the rules you are expected to follow will be rewritten without warning.

This creates a kind of emotional chaos, where you can’t predict when you will be given good feelings and when you will be given bad ones. But you’re so enmeshed in the community you have noplace else to go for good feelings; hurting you just draws you in deeper, because they are also where you seek comfort. And your pain is always your fault: you wouldn’t feel so shitty if you were more committed. Trying to make sense of this causes so much confusion and anguish that you eventually just stop thinking for yourself. These are the rules now? OK. He’s not my brother anymore? OK. This is my life now? OK.

Hardly anyone would seek out such a dynamic, which is why cults present as religions, political activists, and therapy groups; things people in questioning phases of their lives are liable to seek out, and then they fall down the rabbit hole before they know what’s happening. The cult slowly consumes more and more of a recruit’s life, and tightly controls access to relationships outside the cult, because the biggest threat to a Disorganized Attachment relationship is having separate, Securely Attached points of comfort.

And at this point I said, “Hold up. You’re telling me cults recruit by offering people community and purpose in times of need, become the focal point of their entire lives, estrange them from all outside perspectives, and then cause emotional distress that paradoxically makes them more committed because they have nowhere else to go for support?”

Isn’t that exactly how Kimmel described joining a hate group?

Now, these are commonalities, not a one-to-one comparison. A cult is far more organized and rigidly controlled than a hate group. But Stein points out that this dynamic of isolation, engulfment, and pain is the same dynamic as an abusive relationship. The difference is just scale. A cult is functionally a single person having a very complex domestic abuse situation with a whole lot of people, #badpolyamory.

So if we posit a spectrum with domestic abuse on one end and cults and totalitarianism on the other, I started wondering, could we put extremist groups, like ISIS and Aryan Nations, around… here?

And, if so, where would we put the Alt-Right?

Now, I have to tread carefully here. There are reasons this talk is called “How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship” and not “How the Alt-Right is Like a Cult,” because the moment you say the second thing, a lot of people stop listening to you. Our conception of cults and totalitarianism is way more controlled and structured than a pack of loud, racist assholes on the internet. But we’re not talking about organizational structure, we’re talking about a relationship, an emotional dynamic Stein calls “anxious dependency,” which fosters an irrational loyalty to people who are bad for you and gets you to adopt an ideology you would have previously rejected. (I would also love to go on a rant puncturing the idea that cultists and fascists are organized, pointing out this notion is propaganda and their systems are notoriously corrupt and mismanaged, but we don’t have time; ask me about it in the Q&A if you want me to go off.)

So I started looking through what I knew, and what I could find, about the Alt-Right to see if I could spot this same pattern of isolation, engulfment, and pain online funneling people towards the Alt-Right. And I did not come up short.

Isolation? Well, the Alt-Right traffics in all the same dehumanizing narratives about their enemies as Kimmel’s hate groups - like, the worst things you can imagine a human being saying about a group of people are said every day in these forums. They often berate and harass each other for any perceived sympathy towards The Other Side. They also regularly harass people from The Other Side off of platforms, and falsely report their tweets, posts, and videos as terrorism to get them taken down. (This has happened to me, incidentally.) I found figureheads adored by the Alt-Right who expressly tell people to cut ties with liberal family members.

We talked before about Contact Hypothesis? There’s also this idea called Parasocial Contact Hypothesis. A parasocial relationship is a strong emotional connection that only goes one way, like if you really love my videos and have started thinking of me almost as a friend even though I don’t know you exist? Yeah. Parasocial relationship. They’ve been in The Discourse lately, largely thanks to my friend Shannon Strucci making a really great video about them (check it out, I make a cameo, but… clear your schedule). Parasocial Contact Hypothesis is this phenomenon where, if people form parasocial feelings for public figures or even fictional characters, and those people happen to be Black, white audience members become less racist similar to how they would if they had Black friends. Your logical brain knows that these are strangers, but your lizard brain doesn’t know the difference between empathy for a queer friend and empathy for a queer character in a video game. So of course the Alt-Right makes a big stink about queer characters in video games, and leads boycotts against “forced diversity,” because diverse media is bad for recruitment.

Engulfment? Well, I learned way too much about how the Alt-Right will overtake your entire internet life. There was a paper made the rounds last year by Rebecca Lewis charting the interconnectedness of conservative YouTube. (Reactionaries really hated this paper because it said things they didn’t like.) Lewis argues that, once you enter what she calls the Alternative Influence Network, it tends to keep you inside it. Start with some YouTuber conservatives like but who’s branded as a moderate, or even a “classic liberal.” Take someone like Dave Rubin; call Dave Rubin Alt-Right, people yell at you, I speak from experience. Well, Dave Rubin’s had Jordan Peterson on his show, so, if you watch Rubin, Peterson ends up in your recommendations. Peterson has been on the Joe Rogan show, so, you watch Peterson, Rogan ends up in your recommendations. And Rogan has interviewed Gavin McInnes, so you watch Rogan and McInnes ends up in your recommendations.

Gavin McInnes is the head of the Proud Boys, a self-described “western chauvinist” organization that’s mostly known for beating up liberals and leftists. They have ties to neo-fascist groups like Identity Evropa and neo-fascist militias like the Oath Keepers, they run security for white nationalists, and their lawyer just went on record that he identifies as a fascist. And, if you’re one of these kids who has YouTube in the background with autoplay on, and you’re watching Dave Rubin? You might be as few as 3 videos away from watching Gavin McInnes.

There’s a lot of talk these days about algorithms funneling people towards the Right, and that’s not wrong, but it’s an oversimplification. The real problem is that the Right knows how to hijack an algorithm.

I also learned about the Curation/Search Radicalization Spiral from a piece by Mike Caulfield. Caulfiend uses the horrific example of Dylann Roof. You remember him? He shot up a church in a Black neighborhood a few years ago. Roof says he was radicalized when he googled “Black on white crime” and saw the results. Now, if you search the phrase “crime statistics by demographic,” you will find fairly nonpartisan results that show most crimes are committed against members of the perpetrator’s own race, and Black people commit crimes against white people at about the same rate as any other two demographics. But that specific phrase, “Black on white crime,” is used almost exclusively by white racists, and so Roof’s first hit wasn’t a database of crime statistics, it was the Council of Conservative Citizens. Now, the CCC is an outgrowth of the White Citizens Councils of the 50’s and 60’s which rebranded in ‘85. They publish bogus statistics that paint Black people as uniquely violent. And they introduce a number of other politically-loaded phrases - like, say, “Muslim fertility rates” - that nonpartisan sites don’t use, and so, if Roof googles them as well, he gets similarly weighted results.

I have tons more examples of this stuff. I literally don’t have time to show it all. Like, have you heard of Google bombing? That’s a thing I didn’t know existed. The point is, the same way search engines tailor your results to what they think you want, once you scratch the surface of the Alt-Right they are highly adept at making it so, whenever you go online, their version of reality is all you know and all you see.

Finally, pain. This was the difficult one. Can you create a Disorganized Attachment relationship over the internet with a largely faceless and decentralized movement? I pitched the idea to one the researchers I spoke to, and he said, “That sounds very plausible, and nearly impossible to research.” See, cults and hate groups? They don’t wanna talk to researchers anymore than the Alt-Right wants to talk to me. Stein and Kimmel get their data by speaking to formers, people who’ve exited these movements and are all too happy to share how horrible they were. But the Alt-Right is still very young, and there just aren’t that many formers yet.

I found some testimonials, and they mostly back up my hypothesis, but there’s not enough that I could call them statistically significant. So I had to look where the data was.

My fellow YouTuber ContraPoints made a video last year - in my opinion, her best one - about incels (that’s “involuntary celibate,” men who can’t get laid). Incel forums tend to be deeply misogynistic and antifeminist, and have a high overlap with the Alt-Right. If you remember Elliot Rodger, he was an incel. Contra’s observation was that these forums were incredibly fatalistic: you are too ugly and women too shallow for you to ever have sex, so you should give up. She described a certain catharsis, like picking a really painful scab, in hearing other people voice your worst fears. But there was no uplift; these communities seemed to have a zero-tolerance policy for optimism. She likened it so some deeply unhealthy trans forums she used to visit, where people wallowed in their own dysphoria.

And I remembered the forums I researched five years ago in preparation for my video on GamerGate. (If you don’t know what GamerGate was, I will not rob you of your precious innocence. But, in a lot of ways, GamerGate was the trial run for what the Alt-Right has become.) These forums were full of angry guys surrounding themselves with people saying, “You’re right to be angry.” And, yeah, if everywhere else you go treats your anger as invalid, that scratches an itch. But I never saw any of them calm down. They came in angry and they came out angrier. And most didn’t have anywhere else to vent, so they all came back.

I found a paper on Alt-Right forums that described a similar type of nihilism, and another on 8chan. What humor was on these sites was always shocking, furiously punching down, and deeply self-referential, but it didn’t seem like anyone was expected to laugh anymore, just, you know, catch the reference. I found one testimonial saying that having healthy relationships in these spaces is functionally impossible, and the one former I talked to said, yeah, when the Alt-Right isn’t winning everyone’s miserable.

So I think it might fit. The place they go for relief also makes them unhappy, so they come back to get relief again, and it just repeats. Same reason people stay with abusers. I wanna look into this further, so, I’ll just say this part to the camera: if there are any researchers watching who wanna study this, get at me.

Finally, I read Alt-America by David Neiwert, a supremely useful book that I highly recommend if you wanna know how the Alt-Right is the natural outgrowth of the militia and Patriot movements of the 90’s and early 2000’s, not to mention the Tea Party. Neiwert also does an excellent job illustrating how conspiracism serves to fill in the gap between the complexity of the modern world and the simplistic, might-makes-right worldview of fascism.

Neiwert also provides an interesting piece of the puzzle, suggesting what people are actually looking for when they get recruited. He references work done by John Bargh and Katelyn McKenna on Identity Demarginalization. Bargh and McKenna looked at the internet habits of people whose identities are both devalued in our society and invisible. By invisible, what I mean is, ok, if you’re a person of color, our society devalues your identity, but you can look around a room and, within a certain margin of error, see who else is POC, and form community with them if you wish. But, if you’re queer, you can’t see who else in a room is queer unless one of you runs up a flag. And revealing yourself always means taking on a certain amount of risk that you’ve misread the signals, that the person you reveal yourself to is not only not queer, but a homophobe.

According to Bargh and McKenna, people in this situation are much more likely to seek online spaces that self-select for that identity. A fan forum for RuPaul’s Drag Race is maybe a safer place to come out and find community. And people tend to get very emotionally tied to these online spaces where they can be themselves.

Neiwert points out that the same phenomenon happens among privileged people who have identities that are devalued even as they’re not actually oppressed. Say, nerds, or conservatives in liberal towns, or men who don’t fit traditional notions of masculinity. They are also likely to deeply invest themselves in online spaces made for them. And if the Far Right can build such a community, or get a foothold in one that already exists, it is very easy to channel that sense of marginalization into Durden Syndrome. I connected this with Rebecca Lewis’ observation that the Alternative Influence Network tends to present itself as nerd-focused life advice first and politics second, and the long history of reactionaries recruiting from fandoms.

So I can see all the pieces of the abuse dynamic being recreated here: offer you something you need, estrange you from other perspectives and healthy relationships, overtake your life, and provoke emotional distress that makes you seek comfort only your abuser is offering. And I found a lot more parallels than what I’m sharing right now, I only have half an hour! But the thing that’s missing that’s usually central to such a system is, an abusive relationship orbits around the abuser, a cult around the cult leader, a totalitarian government around a dictator. They are built to serve the whims of an individual. But I look at the ad hoc nature of the Alt-Right and I have to ask: who is the architect?

I can see a lot of people profiting off of this structure; our current President rode it to great success, but he didn’t build it. It predates him. It’s more like Kimmel’s hate groups, which don’t promote an individual so much as a class of individuals, but, even then, their structure is much more deliberate, designed, where the Alt-Right seems almost improvised.

Well… one observation I took from Stein is that cult recruiters often rely on two different kinds of propaganda: the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche. The diatribe is when someone talks at length, sounds smart, and seems to know what they’re talking about but isn’t actually making sense, and the thought-terminating cliche comes from Robert Jay Lifton’s studies into brainwashing. So, I went vegetarian in middle school, and, when I would tell other kids I was vegetarian, some would get kind of defensive and say things like, “humans aren’t meant to be vegetarian, it’s the food chain.” Now, saying “it’s the food chain” isn’t meant to be a good argument, it’s meant to communicate “I have said something so axiomatically true that the argument need not continue.” That’s a thought-terminating cliche; something that may not be true, but feels true and gives you permission to think about something else.

Both these techniques rely on what’s called Peripheral-Route Processing. So, I’m up here talking about politics, and, Solidarity Lowell, you are a group of politically-engaged people, so you probably have enough context to know whether I’m talking out of my ass. That’s Direct-Route Processing, where you judge the contents of my argument. But if I were up here talking about string theory, you might not know whether I was talking out of my ass because there’s only so many people on Earth who understand string theory. So then you might look at secondary characteristics of my argument: the fact that I’ve been invited to speak on string theory implies I know what I’m talking about; maybe I put up a lot of equations and drop the names of mathematicians and say they agree with me; maybe I just sound really authoritative. All that’s Peripheral-Route Processing: judging the quality of my argument by how it’s delivered.

Every act of communication involves both, but if you’re trying to sell people on something that’s fundamentally irrational, you’re going to rely heavily on Peripheral-Route tactics, which is what the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche are.

I noted that these two methods mapped pretty cleanly onto the rhetorical stylings of Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro. But here’s the question: cults use these techniques to recruit people. But can I say with any confidence that Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro are trying to recruit people into the Alt-Right?

The thing is, “Alt-Right” isn’t a term like “klansman.” It’s more akin to a term like “modernism.” It’s a label applied to a trend. In the same way we debate the line between modernism and postmodernism, we debate the line between Right and Alt-Right. People don’t sign up to be in the Alt-Right, you are Alt-Right if you say you’re Alt-Right. But the nature of the Alt-Right is that 90% of them would never admit to it.

So are Peterson and Shapiro intentionally recruiting for the Alt-Right? Are they grifters merely profiting off of the Alt-Right? Are they even aware they’re recruiting for the Alt-Right? Part of my work has been accepting that you can’t know for sure. It would be naive to say they’re unaware; when they give speeches they get Nazis in their Q&A sections, and they know that. But how aware are they? I suspect Shapiro moreso than Peterson, but that’s just my gut talking and I can’t prove it. Like 90% of the Alt-Right, it’s debatable.

I don’t know if they’re trying to be part of this system, I just know they’re not trying not to be.

A final academic term before we say goodnight that’s been making the rounds among lefty YouTubers is “Stochastic Terrorism.” There’s a really great video about this by the channel NonCompete called The PewDiePipeline. Stochastic Terrorism is the myriad ways you can increase the likelihood that someone will commit violence without actually telling them to. You simply create an environment in which lone wolf violence becomes more acceptable and appealing. It mirrors the structure of terrorism without the control or culpability.

And I hear about this, and I look at this recruitment structure I see approximated in the Alt-Right, and I remember something I learned much earlier in my research, from Bob Altemeyer in his book The Authoritarians. Altemeyer has been studying authoritarianism for decades, he has a wealth of data, and one thing he observes is that authoritarianism is the few exerting power over the many, which means there are two types of authoritarians: the ones who lead and the ones who follow. Turns out those are completely different personality profiles. Followers don’t want to be in charge, they want someone to tell them what to do, to say “you’re the good guys,” and put them in charge of punishing the bad guys. They don’t even care who the bad guys are; part of the appeal is that someone else makes that judgment for them.

So if you can encourage a degree of authoritarian sentiment in people, get them wanting nothing more than to be ensconced in a totalist system that will take their agency away from them, putting them in the orbit of an authoritarian leader, but no leader presents themself… can you just kind of… appoint one?

Like, if you don’t have a leader, can you just find yourself an authoritarian and treat him like one? And, if he doesn’t give you enough directives, can you just make some up? And, if you don’t have recruiters, can you find a conservative who speaks in thought-terminating cliches just because he thinks they win arguments; find a conservative who speaks in meaningless diatribes because he thinks he’s making sense; and then maneuver those speeches and videos in front of people you want to recruit? If you’re sick of waiting for Moses to come down the mountain with the Word of God, can you just build your own god from whatever’s handy?

Every piece of this structure, you can find people, algorithms, and arguments that, put in sequence, can generate Disorganized Attachment whether they’re trying to or not, which makes every part plausibly deniable. Debatable. You just need to make it profitable enough for the ones involved that they don’t fix it. This is a system created collaboratively, on the fly, with the help of a lot of people from hate movements past, mostly by throwing a ton of shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. The Alt-Right is a rapidly-mutating virus and the web is the perfect incubator; it very quickly finds a structure that works, and it’s a structure we’ve seen before, just a little weirder this time.

I’ve started calling this Stochastic Totalism.

Now, again, I’m not a professional researcher; I do my homework but I don’t have the background. I have an art degree. This isn’t something I can prove so much as a way I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right that makes sense to me and helps me understand them. And I got a lot of comments on my last video from people who used to be Alt-Right that echoed my assumptions. But don’t take it as gospel.

Mostly I wanted to share this because, if it can help you make sense of what we’re dealing with, I think it’s worth putting out there.

Thank you.

[jeanjauthor]

Hello I think thinking more high born ladies, in typically England or even France16th century. Like how could I show the importance with embroidery, needlework, making cheese, and other lady specific things in those times

Well, think of it this way: Certain regions were doing exceptional work in different things. English wool was considered superior, Flemish cloth was considered superior, French lace (in certain regions) was considered superior, England again had an entire guild dedicated to making thread-of-gold that no one else could match, Italian cheese (parmesan) was widely traded because it was preserved so well, Sweden / Finland sold a lot of tall straight trees for ship masts, and so on.

Do a little bit of research, and then you could have your embroidering noblewomen being praised for "being every bit as good as (region)" ...though if it's in an historical setting the noblewomen wouldn't necessarily be expected to make a living at such embroidery, because as people head toward the later centuries. If it's an English woman and she's making lace, "That's even better than what I've seen the merchants bring from the lacemakers of Alsace! With your skills, we could make a gift of such fine lace to the King & Queen! That would surely raise our standing in the royal court..."

As for cheesemaking, the dairy was THE woman's domain, and men were NOT allowed into it. Women might not have known about microbes and germs, but they DID know that cleanliness was an absolute must for the dairy room. There's a wonderful series online, Tudor Monastic Farm, and I'll share a link to where the scenes with the dairy first begins, located here: https://youtu.be/fhZv2iYuWVE?t=1068

The series has a couple of archaeologists (the gents) and a domestic skills researcher (Ruth Goodman) doing historical re-enactment based upon the archaeology, writings, and theories about how things actually happened back then--and the Tudor era is right in your ballpark in the 16th century (1500s CE). You might want to watch the whole series for inspiration.

Even if it is about what farmers went through in a year, not nobles, a lot of what happened on a farm was still very important to the nobility, because that was a part of their livelihoods, too. Nobles didn't always just sit around in the cities looking pretty. (In fact, cities were often a bit...anti-noble...especially prior to the era of the Black plague, because of that whole freed men not land serfs status thing.) The sitting in cities looking pretty thing was much more later period. (1700s, 1800s.)

A competent noblewoman was expected to be able to oversee, hire, and possibly even train various servants on the estate / in the manor house / castle, as well as visit the various tenanted farms (like the Tudor Monastery Farm, taking the place of the monastery's oversight). While the lord of the castle might do more of the visiting, if he was away handling matters of politics, warfare, etc, perhaps taking his adult sons, and he might have a seneschal to oversee properties he didn't live upon, his lady wife was often expected to take up the burdens of the nobility's leadership (such as it was) and see to things herself--in an overseer's capacity, if not necessarily putting her own shoulder to the wheel of the stuck wagon.

If you have a character that tries to disparage women by saying, "What did you do while I was off saving our lands from invasion, literally risking life and limb in battle?" you could have your women reply, "Making sure you still had a home to come back to, and food on your table, and clothes on your back! Money in your coffers, the taxes paid on time and in full so the king didn't take our lands from us in payment instead! Everything you see here that is still here while you were gone, is still here because I made sure it would be! You would have nothing without me, and you know it! Have the grace to admit it, and stop yelling at me."

On the other hand, if the husband/father/brother isn't a douchebag*, then he/they can notice "However did you convince Farmer Attewell to fix that hedgerow? I nagged him for weeks before leaving for the city!"

"It turns out it's very hard to do a full day's labor far from the house if your wife is too ill to mind the children, so I sent the Widow Thrushberry off to the Attewell's farm to tend the house and children, along with Maisy, the hen girl to help as well, since the hens weren't laying until this last week. And since the blacksmith wasn't too busy either, I paid his two strapping sons to make a pair of bill hooks for pleaching, and sent them out to help Attewell with the hedge laying, so they'd know how to wield what they make, and thus give it some thought as to how to make them better, the next time."

"You paid the blacksmiths sons? With what money? Not the seed money for ensuring all the farmers can do their plantings?"

"Not the seed money, no. Since you didn't take me to the city, I didn't need to buy embroidered trim from Mistress Speckleton to cover the worn spots to make my gown look newer...though if you made any profit off your time in the city, I should very much like that trim for a gift some day soon."

"I shall see to it tomorrow. You have done well, my wife--far better than I. The Attewell's bull will no longer be a risk for wandering the roads--I'll see to it the linen weavers make you some fine linen for new clothes as well. I was never so blessed as the day we wed, though I could not know my great fortune for years to come--I should have you solve all the problems around here, my lady wife! You'll have me right-handed to the king some day!"

"You deal better with the merchants than I do, so I'll be pleased, my lord husband, if you'll continue to do so--else we'd be right-hand to the king, but absolute paupers for it."

...As you can see, there are ways to show the value of women's work, either through combatting disrespect or showing (ideally but not necessarily mutual) respect.

If it's an actual historical setting, there's only so much a writer can do to nudge things towards better equity and better equality between the genders, before it starts straining the readers' credulity too much. But if it's a created world, there's quite a lot more flexibility. In a created world, there's more room to include in your culture acceptance of women who are big and strong, women who can fight, women who can do "traditionally male" tasks...and you can also show more gender-equity by having men doing "traditionally female" tasks, too.

For example, if you have a noblewoman trying to teach her daughter how to run the manor's dairy, but the daughter is mad for combat and insists upon training with sword and bow, etc, that's one way...but you can also have a son who is absolutely interested in the complex methods of making cheese, brewing beer, and who absolutely loves doing embroidery. And if both children are in the same family, the parents can have one of those brief eye-contact moments, roll their eyes, sigh, shrug...and the father takes the daughter under his wing, the mother takes the son under hers, and they go on with that arrangement instead of "the more traditional one."

[irrevocably-delicious]

Hey what’s up, that HTTYD 3 poster got me fucked up

So this official poster has been released for How To Train Your Dragon 3 and it has left me with... opinions. 

My first initial reaction was excitement! Oh hell yeah HTTYD 3 is coming out! I adored the first two! But then i saw...

SIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHH I knew immediately that this was most likely a female night fury and fuck yeah shit fuck it is which is so disappointing. I could write a huge essay on how female characters are portrayed in media. I could write a massive blog about smurfette syndrome and how female characters are always just a pink, soft version of their male counterparts, or how female animal or anthro characters still have to fall into society’s beauty standards so we do crazy things like give ducks tits or large eyelashes. 

I COULD talk about why these things occur, and how this is a worrying reflection of how society views human females, that males are the default and females are the other... but I’m not going to do that TODAY.

Hi my name is India and not only do I have an animation degree, but I also have a degree in animal and veterinary science.

This design doesn’t just insult me as an animator. This design insults me as a scientist. 

Let’s begin. 

So if you asked me to design a female night fury for the poster, this is what I would have come up with:

Because from a superficial perspective? I would not expect that there would be an obvious difference between males and females. Night fury’s obviously take a lot of design influence from axolotls, who you can only sex by examining their cloacas. Many species of lizards must also have their sexual organs examined for reliable sexing, because colour and size variation in many species are not a reliable way to tell the difference between males and females. 

Someone paint this girl’s nails pink! Otherwise HOW WILL I KNOW?

But I digress that sexual dimorphism exists, and from an animation perspective, you need variation in the character design so people can tell your characters apart. Kids need to want BOTH toys goddamit.

Sexual dimorphism is most obvious and famous in many bird species. In birds of prey, particularly your fast birds of prey such as raptors, your females will be much larger than males. Colour variation in birds (and some reptiles) also occurs. But it is the MALE that is the most colourful and “beautiful” in order to attract their mate. Females are often shades of grey/brown and definitely not a colour that would make them an easy target in their environment.

The female peahen is a basic bitch.

So keeping these size variations and natural colour variations in mind, here’s another suggestion I might offer:

She’s larger! She’s a different colour! Toothless is the sleek, deep black almost blue colour, while she is more in that grey/brown area. I can totally tell the difference.

“But India!” I hear your protests. “Why can’t she be white?! You can have dramatically different coloured male and females in the natural world. Have you heard of eclectus parrots?”

And I would say “Yes! Yes I obviously fucking have! Of course I have heard of the eclectus parrots, who when they were first discovered, people thought they were two different species and kept wondering why they weren’t breeding when they put all the green parrots together and all the red ones together. I’ve course of fucking heard of eclectus parrots you wet petri dish!”

But here’s the thing about eclectus parrots. They live in the rainforest, so while they are different colours, there is still an element of camouflage to this colouring. The female blends into the green treetops and the male looks a lot like a delicious fruit. 

A white night fury... just doesn’t make sense? Judging by when we first meet toothless, and my bullshit knowledge of fictional dragon behaviour, it’s fair to assume that night furys hunt at night. Toothless is so dark that he is almost impossible to see in the night sky. This is where the tension comes from when Hiccup first encounters the night fury. He just sees blue flame and not the dragon itself, because it is so difficult to make him out against the dark sky. 

This female night fury would be shot down so quick. She would stick out terribly at night. She wouldn’t catch shit. All the sheep in the field would be like “Oh fuck, I can see Phyllis two miles away. We all better shuffle into the barn.” There’s a reason albino animals are so rare in the wild. They just stick out too much and often get eaten. 

“But what if female’s hunt during the day? Wouldn’t being white help them blend in with clouds and the bright sky?” 

THEN WHEN WOULD THEY FUCK? Would males and females just pass each other at sunset like fated star lovers? That’s stupid. That doesn’t make sense. This isn’t Ladyhawke. 

But I’ll humour you. Yes, yes, we see white birds all the time. And you’re right! That white belly really helps them blend in with the clouds and bright sky. 

But they’re not all white. Especially birds that have to hunt or eat on the wing. We see this kind of patterning a lot of sea birds. Their bellies are white, but the tops of their wings are dark grey/brown. This is so when they nest, or are maybe viewed by a LARGER bird from above, they will blend in with the land or ocean below. White against a deep blue ocean really stands out... But dark grey? Not so much. 

“But Indiiiiiaaaa” some protests again like an absolute idiot who is about to be slapped out of their ignorance. 

“Night Furys are so fast that nothing could possibly catch them! They don’t have to worry about camouflaging to avoid predators!”

Alright Dumbass McBitch! Do you know what the fastest bird in the world is?

It’s the peregrine falcon. GUESS WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE?

WHITE BELLY. DARK TOP. 

The peregrine falcon is actually probably a decent comparison to the fictional night fury actually. Small in size, bird of prey, HORRIFICALLY FAST. But they have this sort of colouring for similar reasons. The dark colouring isn’t just camouflage during flight. It also helps them blend into their environment when they are nesting. 

SO IF YOU SOMEHOW CONVINCED ME THAT NIGHT FURYS ARE ALSO ACTIVE DURING THE DAY I COULD CONCEDE A DESIGN LIKE THIS:

But it’s not just colour. It’s not just size. There are other things that worry me about the female night fury’s design. The first is that she seems to have fewer of those... antennae things? And the few she has are much shorter. We’ve seen Toothless use these and they seem to be similar to a cat’s whiskers in their sensory role. So why on earth would she have less? And they be much shorter? SHE NEEDS THOSE! Without them, she may have difficulty flying, orienting herself in the air or feeling the winds she will have to combat. The designers are trying to feminise her by making her seem sleeker and rounder... which functionally makes no sense... why not do the opposite? Giver her really long antennae! Have them constantly moving in the wind!

The other thing that I immediately noticed was how SMOOTH she looks. They took away almost all of her scales. And again... doesn’t she need those for protection? This is so odd to me because it feels like they’ve removed her scales in the same way that pin up artists never draw body hair. Body hair is seen as unsightly on women, so artists remove it, leaving their subjects smooth and shining.

Do... do the dreamworks designers think the scales are unsightly? Have they waxed this dragon? And replaced her scales with body glitter??? Guys.... guys...

Whyyyyyy

Also they made her nose a lot shorter? That’s stupid. Don’t do that. 

Which one’s the girl?? Their noses are the same length so I can’t tell. 

So I can actually greatly improve the original design by just remedying these things.

Oh yeah I made her claws bigger??? BECAUSE THEY FUCKING MADE HER CLAWS SMALLER. 

But already I’m like... less pissed at it. Like “Aw yeah it’s still white, but at least they didn’t mess with much else.”

I think in a perfect world they would have given me something like this:

BUT! They did not.

And I’m not complaining just for the sake of complaining. I promise. This poster irritated me so much because HTTYD over the past 2 movies has had some stellar design. ESPECIALLY with it’s female characters. Astrid and Ruffnut are such courageous designs to me, because they’re not your classically beautiful disney knock off. Ruffnut is harsh looking. She has angles. She makes gross faces. These are all privileges that have traditionally been reserved for villains or men. Astrid is introduced in the first film like she’s some incredibly beautiful bombshell... but she really looks like a little girl. She’s kind of scrawny. She has only the smallest hint of a bust. She has a weak chin and her ears stick out, but it doesn’t matter because Hiccup thinks she is stunning.

Catch this chin in a disney movie. It will never happen.

We’ve even seen excellent female dragon designs! But we weren’t even aware that they were females because it’s not plot relevant, but they were not obviously coded. They just looked like sweet dragons!

Stormfly is a girl. You can tell by how much glitter in on her body and her short, rounded spikes. 

I just wish the HTTYD designers took more risk with the female nightfury design. The design they came up with is lazy, predictable, functionally incorrect and... kinda sexist honestly. I will still see this movie. I will still marvel at all the other wonderful designs, but this has left a bad taste in my mouth. 

From now on I hope to see more female characters that look like Sadie from Mouseguard

And less like ... this fucking shit

Not even Bambi is free from my wrath. 

[marjanefan]

Inside No. 9  ‘The Stakeout’ review (includes spoilers)

Spoilers- please only read after watching the Stakeout.

Also includes spoilers for The League of Gentlemen Christmas special, Don’t look now and The Wicker Man

This is a fascinating and thought-provoking episode for several reasons.

It very deliberately plays with and subverts the tropes of police drama Thompson and Varney discuss these tropes as they bond over the episode, particularly around the portrayals of an older more knowledgeable policeman taking a younger ‘rookie’ under his wing (which is apparently the relationship that is being set up in the episode). This helps misdirect the viewer way from the true nature of the story we are watching.

The Cop Buddy genre is regularly used to explore male bonding and friendship and the codes of behaviour between men. It is particularly rare in mainstream media (particularly Hollywood films) to see explorations of men relating to and relying on each other emotionally . The cop buddy genre seems to be one genre where this is not just accepted but expected. Possibly because of this in recent years there has been a move to include knowing jokes about the latently homoerotic nature of these stories and to play up the elements of ‘bromance’ (Hot Fuzz is a good example of this). At the same time these knowing jokes end up actually affirming heteronormativity and disavowing these undercurrents by turning them into something that can be discounted as not serious and something to be laughed at. The heterosexual order is always left in place. However the Stakeout ends with an act of a violence that upends the standard endings of cop buddy movies/shows where the two male police acknowledge their friendship then move on.

The relationships between men (in particular how the power dynamics play out) is a recurrent theme in Inside No. 9 in episodes such as ‘ Tom and Gerri’, ‘The Bill’, ‘The referee’s a wxxxer’ and ‘Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room’ amongst others. Indeed this is along with ‘Bernie Clifton’s dressing room’ almost entirely a two hander between Pemberton and Shearsmith. This episode plays out very differently indeed but in its own way examines how men relate to each other .

We see Varney and Thompson bond over the three nights of the story. The banter between them is beautifully observed with Varney trying to win over Thompson (I particularly like the use of the fortunately/unfortunately game on the first and third nights with their subtle indications of changing dynamics between Thompson and Varney).

It is even more fascinating as a vampire story (or more specifically as Adam Tandy referred to it at the BFI preview as a hidden vampire story). There are only subtle indications during the episode such as Varney’s disgust at the smell of Thompson’s curry and his knocking on the door of the car so Thompson invites him in to indicate his true nature. It is interesting to compare The Stakeout to the recent BBC adaptation of ‘Dracula’ which was co-written by Pemberton and Shearsmith’s League of Gentlemen colleague and friend Mark Gatiss. This adaptation explored and questioned the tropes around vampire stories (such as why do vampires need to be invited in and why they dislike garlic). Varney actually says ‘And I’m not a cliché, I hope’ to the audience at the beginning of the episode, almost expressing Pemberton and Shearsmith’s desire to bring something new to the telling of such stories and to entertain the audience. ‘The Stakeout’ may take an apparently more straightforward approach to these tropes but it does explore their deeper meanings in a subtle manner.

Worth noting here the name Varney was inspired by the character of Varney the vampire who appeared in Victorian ‘penny dreadfuls’. Varney actually introduced several tropes to vampire lore such as fangs and superhuman strength (both of which Varney in The Stakeout has!) but many of the tropes included in the episode came later. Varney’s name deliberate nod to the history of vampires in popular culture and possibly Varney’s use of a Victorian stiletto blade is also another nod to the character.

The viewer if they wish could read ‘The Stakeout’ as a supernatural riff on ‘Line of duty’ with Varney’s vampirism being a metaphor for corruption. Certainly it fits in with current police dramas where other members of the police are as much to be mistrusted and morally comprised as the criminals.

However Pemberton and Shearsmith are very familiar with vampire lore and the tropes of vampire stories, and more significantly with their deeper significance and psychological meanings.

It is of course not the first time Pemberton and Shearsmith have given us a vampire story. One of their most memorable and loved pieces of work is the League of Gentlemen Christmas special from 2000 which includes a vampire story concerning Herr Lipp with it’s eventual revelation that it is Herr Lipp’s wife Lotte, not Lipp himself who is the vampire.( At this point it is worth flagging up that in this story Matthew Parker mistakes Herr Lipp’s sexual interest in him for him being a vampire but Lipp actually saves Matthew from becoming a vampire because of his feeling for him).

Vampires remain a perennial obsession in popular culture, especially over the past twenty-five years. We have seen the success of Buffy the vampire slayer, The Twilight series (both films and novels), True blood (both films and novels) and the Blade series, amongst other vampire franchises in various media. These series portray vampires dealing with life in the modern world. These series portray vampires as complex characters with inner lives who are capable of emotions such as guilt and love. The young human female central figure (Buffy, Bella, Sookie) form romantic relationships with vampires (Angel and later Spike, Edward, Bill) and these stories use male vampires to explore female desire and female fears about the nature of their male lovers. Indeed, vampire stories have long been used to explore both female and male sexual desire and anxieties around sexuality. This is an important point when discussing the episode.

In the South Bank show on Pemberton and Shearsmith which was filmed during the filming of series five Steve Pemberton spoke about why he loves some of his favourite horror films specifically ‘The Wicker Man’ and ‘Don’t look now’. He spoke of how powerful he found the tragic endings of these films and the fact that evil prevails. It is worth discussing The Stakeout in relation to these films. (Please note these are very simple overviews of both films!) In both these stories two decent, if misguided men (Neil Howie in ‘The Wicker Man’, John Baxter in’ Don’t look now’) end up getting killed as a result of misinterpreting and underestimating the forces they are up against. Both men attempt to be logical in an illogical world, but fail to deal with the illogical parts of their own personalities. Both men are destroyed by their failure to address and deal with underlying desires. Howie behaves with open contempt toward the Summerisle residents and their beliefs and practices, while holding his own hard-line religious beliefs (Lord Summerisle taunts he is getting to die a martyrs death which is something that should please him). He also fails to look at his own desires and motivations for wanting to protect Rowan as a symbol of purity. Baxter tries to support his wife Laura through her grief for their daughter Christine and is troubled by her desire to contact Christine beyond the grave. He ignores his own deep grief and desire to have Christine return. Ironically he gets his wish to be reunited with her when he is killed.

Like Baxter in Don’t Look Now, Thompson fails to deal with his grief for his former partner Dobson (Malik Ibheis) in a constructive way. He also fails to properly deal with his feelings of guilt that he was absent from the car (getting food) when his partner was killed. He decides to go on a one man mission to find his killer without informing anyone, not just ignoring the actual surveillance operation he and Varney are supposed to be working on but also putting his job and as it turns out his life at risk. It could be argued Varney kills Thompson because he is the one person who shows any interest in answering questions around Dobson’s death. Thompson is reunited in the most horrendously ironic manner with Dobson in the last moments of the episode. The vampirised Dobson will feed on Thompsons blood just as Thompson’s grief and feelings of guilt have eaten away at his personality. Steve Pemberton manages to convey Thompson’s horror at the situation in his final seconds as Dobson approaches but also conveys almost a sense of acceptance and affection.

It is worth discussing here what the psychoanalyst Ernest Jones wrote about vampires in his 1931 book ‘On the nightmare’ (as an aside this book is available as a free pdf online). He argues that vampire lore speaks to the desire to be reunited with dead loved ones. He also discusses that where there was unconscious guilt associated with the relationship (as Thompson has ) these feelings may get subverted into something darker. As the Wikipedia entry for vampires puts it ‘Jones surmised in this case the original wish of a reunion may be drastically changed: desire is replaced by fear; love is replaced by sadism, and the object or loved one is replaced by an unknown entity’- this certainly fits the description of what occurs to Thompson’.

Jones also wrote about how vampire lore also is informed by sexuality and repressed sexual desires and how repression can ultimately turn them into something cruel (the oral fixation of vampire stories was also commented on by Freud)

It can also be argued that this is a story about Thompson being destroyed by his failure to acknowledge his latent homosexuality. Varney represents both Thompson’s desire for intimacy with other men and his fear of what will occur if he allows himself to become close to another man. Varney is handsome, outgoing and (apparently) courageous – all attractive qualities. Varney finally attacks and feds on Thompson only after they have gotten to know each other and he has won Thompson’s trust by apparently saving him during the shoot-out. We know from what he says early on Varney feds once a month. He could have attacked Thompson the first night of the stakeout. However he waits until the point where Thompson has bonded with him. This seems to indicate that Varney possibly needs to feel a connection to the people he feeds on. But it also is possible further evidence that Varney represents Thompson’s fear of what would happen he allows himself to open up to the possibility of a relationship with another man . Varney is only able to enter the car (symbolic of Thompson’s emotional space) and finally attack Thompson because he was invited to…

We also never discover what exactly what the relationship between Varney and Thompson’s dead partner Dobson was. But it could be assumed there was some bond as Varney chose to turn him into a vampire who will be his companion (It is a well-known trope in vampire stories that vampire chose to turn potential lovers into vampires- however Varney refers to Dobson as ‘my child’). Could it be that they were involved in a relationship? Varney turning Dobson into a vampire represents Thompson’s fear of being imitate with another man as being something unnatural and corrupting. Varney also gets to have the relationship with Dobson Thompson could not bring himself to have. Thompson makes a point of describing Dobson as a married man and father, focussing on him as a model of heterosexuality, possibly disavowing and discounting any feeling he himself had for him. But the fact Thompson is willing to go so far to get justice for Dobson and that he carries his photo around does testify to the depth of his feelings.

Varney, with his interest in veganism, healthy diet, Chai lattes, yoga (a cut scene involved Varney teaching Thompson yoga techniques to help him relax) and openness in discussing feelings represents quite a different model of masculinity to both Thompson and Dobson (Thompson mentions how different he is to Dobson who could apparently be moody). Varney tries to get Thompson to take both his physical and mental health more seriously and tries to show him useful tools to help him with this. However every single one of these suggestions actually turns out just for the purposes of helping Thompson be a better victim /feed in the end . For example as noted in the podcast (although cut from the final episode) Thompson undoes the first button of his shirt exposing his neck as a result of a relaxation technique Varney showed him. Varney’s concern about Thompson’s blood pressure and not giving himself food poisoning is more to do with insuring he will be ready to feed on him at the right time. Could Varney represent Thompson’s anxieties about men who do not necessarily conform to his view of what constitutes masculinity (and how in the end it may make men like him behind )?

The conversations about Thompson and Varney about food also indicate aspects of their character which are worth noting – particularly in light of how psychoanalysis discusses oral fixation in vampire lore. Thompson’s appetite for food which is commented on several times throughout the episode can be said to indicate several things. On one level it is ironic someone who is so concerned with feeding himself becomes food. Also as I pointed out earlier Dobson was killed while Thompson was collecting food, which exacerbates his feelings of guilt. But Thompson’s appetite for food could be said to be a way of connecting to others. He remembers his feasts with Dobson affectionately (including relating a very novel use for an empty pringles tube!) and he offers Varney food (namely his curry) as a way of getting to know him. Thompson could be seen as a comfort eater and as using food as a substitute for affection and bonding with those he cares about. Varney’s repulsion at Thompson’s curry could possibly deeper than a vampire’s dislike of garlic but because he senses it is a symbol of Thompson’s disconnect from his own feelings and desires. When Varney describes himself as a flexitarian who only feeds on meat once a month early on in the episode he is indicating he in control of his appetites and desires but also aware and willing to acknowledge them. This gives him a power which Thompson lacks and why he ultimately gets the upper hand in the relationship. In the final moments of the episode Varney instructs the now vampirised Dobson to feed on Thompson’s blood .Thompson who used food to try and connect to both his dead partner and Varney is finally gets his moment of connection with both in the most ironic way imaginable.

The moment when Varney finally reveals his true nature to Thompson and attacks him has erotic power that it occasioned a question at the BFI preview., and which Pemberton and Shearsmith discussed the homoerotic nature of the moment on their podcast about the episode It could be seen as the point where the relationship between Varney and Thompson’s relationship is finally ’consummated’. It could also be read as a metaphor for a sexual assault.

Just some final observations about the episode…

The episode is beautifully shot (at some considerable expense apparently!) by Mattias Nyberg creating both a dreamlike and disturbing atmosphere. The way both Pemberton’s and Shearsmith’s faces are lit are astonishing. Christian Henson’s (as ever) wonderful score with it’s Hungarian influence and soaring distorted strings further adds to the sense foreboding. The graveyard background is also used in a subtle manner but does help convey an foreboding mood. And of course the direction by Giullem Morales (who has directed several episodes of the show) is as usual excellent but as a director who came from a background in horror this story in particular must have appealed.

The poster for the episode places Varney and Thompson against the backdrop of barren branches which almost become a spiders web (of course we only eventually find out who the spider and fly in the relationship is).

I also have to note Pemberton and Shearsmith wrote this episode in a few days after another script was turned down. This makes the fact this is such a powerful episode with such beautifully observed dialogue and skilful seeding of the final reveal even more impressive.

This is just my own take on the episode. It is enjoyable on many levels- as a police procedural, a vampire story and a brilliantly acted two hander between Pemberton and Shearsmith and is further proof of their enormous gifts as writers and actors and their ability to transcend and enrich genres.

[minhoslut]

♡ summary: Y/N is a fairy in a world of magic hating humans, who moves into a house with seven young men after being kicked out of her old dorm. She learns about all their secrets while hiding hers for as long as she can. Lots of parties, games, sex and maybe even love. 

♡ pairing: ot7 x fem!reader, fem!reader x various idols

♡ chapter: 1 | 2 | ? |

♡ series warnings: alcohol consumption, blood mention, drug use, mxm, fxf, threesome, foursome, orgy, swearing, anxiety, depression, past trauma, past abuse

♡ series genre: fluff, smut, slight angst

♡ series rating: R

♡ word count: 1515

♡ posted on: AO3

♡ chapter one: new home

♡ A/N: I’ve decided to finally begin putting my work on tumblr as well so that will be happening slowly uwu

You watched the trees going by as the taxi you were riding drove through the forest on a well used dirt road. You were on your way to your new ‘home.’ Really, it was a big house with a bunch of rooms and 7 other occupants who had been looking for a new housemate. You were very nervous, as you had only met 1 of the housemates, since you were so desperate to find somewhere to stay.

Your last home had kicked you out when you were found to be a fairy. It was so unfair, everyone knew magical beings of all kinds existed but humans didn’t want them interfering. Pretty fucked up if you had anything to say about it, but no one cared what a lousy fairy had to say. You had been so careful not to reveal your identity but a so called ‘friend’ of yours had seen you stretching out your wings and immediately set the Council on you.

You had been terrified when the Council had shown up at your door, they had demanded you leave immediately and all but shoved you to the ground threatening to rip off your wings if you stayed. This should have scared you back to your colony in tears of apology and begging forgiveness. Instead it sent you into the next valley, far away from your old home and your old colony. You didn’t want to live in the forest alone, you liked humans and other magical beings but not many shared that thought. Your own colony had sent you away the second you even mentioned talking to a human saying you were tainted.

This time you were determined to keep your magic a secret and be able to live around humans for a long time. You were somewhat addicted to human contact, craving kisses and soft touches from the magicless creatures. You had never really met any other magic beings so you couldn’t compare it to anyone but some lousy male fairies, but human kisses were different. The seemed desperate somehow, so giving and warm, the opposite of a kiss from a male fairy which was anything but pleasant. Female fairy kisses were infinitely better compared to male but they still lacked something, where as kissing humans of any and all genders was electric in a way. The way they put such warmth into their touches was… crazy.

You sighed and shook away your wandering thoughts as you approached the house. You sucked in a breath at the sight of the building. It was truly divine. Old fashioned, built long ago originally, but now tuned up with modern touches while leaving the past features intact. It had large gates at the bottom of the hill it sat on that were propped open, beautiful dark metal gates that further enticed your interest. It had looked beautiful in the pictures, but most of them had been inside, this was breathtaking and almost too good to be true. There’so no way I can blow this! The house is perfect and it’s by the woods away from loud streets. Your heart thumped in anticipation both anxious and excited as the taxi pulled up and came to a halt.

Once all your bags had been unloaded, you thanked the driver and pulled out your phone to send a message to the guy who you had met in preparation to moving in.

Y/N

[ Hello Namjoon! I’m a little later than originally planned but I made it :) ]

Namjoon

[ Okay cool, I’ll come let you in and show you around :) ]

You rocked on your feet as you waited at the door for him, taking in all of the beautiful architecture and wondering what kind of humans lived in the house. Namjoon, the one you had met, was extremely handsome, if a little awkward, and it made you very curious about the 6 others.

The door opened and Namjoon came out to greet you. “Hey (Y/N)! Welcome to the house, the others are out doing grocery shopping but they’ll be back for dinner. I’ll help you take your stuff to your room and then give you a little tour, sound good?” “Yeah, sure!” You looked around as you followed Namjoon who was carrying two of your bags, two more in your own hands. It was more modern inside than it appeared, with a very open concept on the ground floor. “There are 4 bedrooms and one bathroom on the third and second floor. Your room is on the third level, I hope that’s alright.” “That’s perfect, I love being higher up.”

You had been hoping to be on the top floor as soon as you had seen the house, you had always loved being up high. You reached the room and Namjoon opened the door, you followed behind and scanned the room. There was a huge four poster bed with elegant iron connecting it, the sheets were gold and with red accents. A big dresser with a mirror, a side table and chest of drawers that all matched the beds victorian style with dark brown wood. There was also a small chair with matching gold fabric and a coffee table in the same wood as everything else. It was so beautiful.

Namjoon put your bags down and turned to you. “I’ll grab the last two bags, you get settled a little and then we can go on the tour.” You hummed in agreement and began moving the bags over to the dresser and chest of drawers. Not wanting to start unpacking quite yet you sat on the bed, which was heavenly soft. Namjoon was back now and gestured for you to follow him. “The others on this floor are Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Jimin, Jin, Hoseok and myself are on the floor below.” He explained pointing to doors and assigning names of your other housemates.

“Down here on the ground floor there is another bathroom, the den, which is mostly used for gaming, the dining room, the pong hall, entry room, and living room and the kitchen.” The kitchen was victorian styled with very modern appliances and a bar closing it off from the rest of the open space. The bathroom was beside the kitchen, and beside that, a door that lead outside to some kind of deck. The den was in a semi-rounded section beside the so called ‘pong hall’ that was home to a long wooden table covered in solo cups. The entry room has two huge racks for shoes and then opens into the living room on one side and the dining room with a huge wooden table that is before the bar of the kitchen.

You scanned layout and sighed, this was really a lucky opportunity for you, you needed to keep it. “We don’t have that many rules but I’ll tell you them now. 1. Always knock. 2. 100$ per person is put towards groceries, we all go at the beginning of the month together. 3. Anything without a name on it is free game, in terms of food and drink, if you want it safe, label it. 4. I told you this before you moved in but we throw a lot of parties, like at least three a week. 5. Everyone keeps their own room clean and everyone helps clean up after parties, other than that there’s a chart for chores that you sign up for each week. There’s not much else but don’t be shy about asking questions.” “Alright noted, Namjoon. Thank you for everything!”

“Oh! One more thing there’s a hot tub and pool in the back deck out that door.” You could cry, you loved water so much it was a main source of your magic. Namjoon disappeared into his room after walking you back up to yours to let you unpack. You began putting your clothes away and tucking jewelry into boxes on top of the dresser. You wanted nothing more than to run into the woods and stretch out your wings but you couldn’t risk that on your first day, so you just finished up unpacking and decided to change out of your moving clothes, which had been a black cropped hoodie and matching sweatpants.

You wanted to be comfortable but still look cute to meet the other housemates, so you put on black leggings, an oversized white turtleneck cinched in with a double buckle belt. You brushed your hair and surveyed your look. Happy with it, you laid on the bed to scroll on social media until the others came home.

You heard them coming before the door even opened, talking about what to have for dinner. Peeking out the window, you surveyed the group, now finding out that the other 6 housemates were also attractive men. You hadn’t expected to be the only woman in the house, not that you minded, but you were surprised that they had wanted a woman in the house. Maybe no guys had applied? You shrugged and stopped your analyzing, turning and heading downstairs to meet your housemates.

[kmindset]

Grief & Hybrids: Chapter Two

Word Count: 3,319

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Synopsis:  Ready to begin healing from the death of your boyfriend, you become a volunteer at the local hybrid home. When you catch the attention of seven hybrids you begin to open your heart again. But are you ready to move on?

On AO3

“____! Would you mind waking up the felines?”

You nodded.

Two weeks of working here and you have effectively kept your distance from as many male hybrids as possible. Especially the one you encountered in the cafeteria. Happiness at interacting with the felines was growing, however. Personally, you loved all hybrids but easing into this was key. This was only your third day working with the felines but you loved it because you were assigned to female tigers. Typically, all male and female sleeping quarters were separated for many reasons. The main reason being the inevitable pain of their heat. That was a nightmare according to the day manager, Sulji.

“Alana, Naeun.” You called, recognizing the occupied beds of the two older hybrids. Whenever possible you wanted to allow them to sleep as they had a hard time before entering the home.

The familiar black and white ears of Naeun came into view as she slowly rose from the bed, waving sleepily at you as she passed. You slowly approached Alana’s bed not wanting to startle her.

“Unnieeee” you sang.

A deep voice caught you off guard. “I’m not your unnie, now shut up.”

You flung the covers back to reveal a male hybrid looking rather comfy in a bed that was definitely not his. “What are you doing in Alana’s bed?”

He peeked from where he was balled into himself. “If I tell you will you put the covers back?” In response, you flung them fully off of the mattress.

“Ok then.” He sat up with slightly widened eyes and a hint of an amused smile. “Alana was “embraced” yesterday.” He informed you, grumbling “fucking adopted” under his breath.

“That doesn’t explain why you are in the female quarters.”

“It actually does. I fucking hate the male quarters and now there is a free bed in the quiet, better smelling area.’

“Either way you have to get up, they’re cleaning in 5.”

That got him up. “Shit!” He didn’t have to say it for you to know the threat of multiple vacuums was not something he was excited for. You followed behind as the hybrid scurried out.

The way to the cafeteria was quiet, most of the other hybrids already indulging in lunch.

“Why do you hate the male wing?”

He snorted. “Have you not been in there?” He looked over and could tell by the confused look that you hadn’t. “Wait have you actually not?”

You shook your head.

“It’s… too much sometimes.” A thoughtful look painted his features as he contemplated how to explain. “Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful more than I can express for this home. I just…”

“You wish there was somewhere better for you.”

He glanced at you, briefly showing his surprise before looking away. “Yes, exactly. I’ve been to worse places though.”

You wanted him to elaborate however he jogged away to a group of men, one with a familiar tuft of hair that seemed excited to see him.

One more reason to steer clear of the male quarters.

An endless string of curses went through your head as you vigorously scrubbed the wide hybrid home sign. The night before, a small group of people that seemed way too angry about nothing came and trashed the front of the center. Your manager informed you it was most likely a group the volunteers had come in contact with before. The group was known to be outspoken in their distaste for hybrid rights. Often they complained that hybrids should be grouped together with animals in pet stores.They were few in number but worryingly aggressive.

It took what felt like an eternity but once you finished you returned to the building to see a debate already in progress inside the volunteer break room.

“Everyone with a brain to think about other species knows that hybrids can’t be grouped in quarters like this with full blooded animals without risk of further cross species contamination.*

“It sounds like inbreeding and experimentation in one.”

“I don’t understand it all truthfully. They are part animal, seems to me that would be healthy. The poor things are already the result of experiments anyway.”

You made eye contact with Barbara and tried not to roll your eyes. “Sulji, animals and hybrids can interact safely. The problem is similar to why male and female hybrids living quarters are kept separate. Natural instincts take over too heavily making for high risk for either one or sometimes both.”

“Not to mention, most hybrids are more in tune with their human side, not wanting to mate with a full animal or shit wherever. Their animalistic qualities and form are a byproduct of what they are not who they are,” you added.

“Ehh maybe I am old fashioned but animals are animals.”

Another volunteer began to respond but you had had enough. With thirty minutes left on your break, you opted to go to the library. The cleaning crew was finishing up, ensuring no hybrid was there and with Sulji’s ignorance you were sure all working volunteers were engaged in the increasingly intense debate against “old fashioned’ ideas about basic rights. Fun for sure.

You smiled at the last vacuuming janitor as you took a seat behind the first computer. There was nothing you were interested in looking at but the monitor blocked you from view of the entrance, allowing you to drift into your own thoughts without being spotted easily. Five minutes of listening to music, the last janitor was finished. You paused your music and looked around. The library was well organized and thoroughly cleaned but staring long enough you can see signs of aging. The walls were a beautiful muted golden but in the corners and crevices, there were chips and uneven areas where the old color was visible. The most noticeable was the old mural rather poorly covered up behind the volunteer desk. You remember seeing a picture of the mural in its glory days and while it was beautiful it represented the “old fashioned” way of thinking Sulji spoke of. It depicted hybrids as companions but it was clear it was thinking of them as pets, not people. Thirty years outdated for sure.

As you drifted further into your thoughts you had to admit that was part of the reason this place was bittersweet. The love radiating from everyone there created positive energy in every way but there were still reminders of the past. Not only the unequal past of all hybrids but his past. So many things reminded you of what he told you. His early life was heartbreaking. No one deserves to be in a volatile environment. It was beautiful though that despite his situation he still became loving with an affinity for kindness beyond belief. It brought a smile to your face but as you spotted a hybrid rights book you grimaced. The photo on the front of an angry man yelling at a cowering canine hybrid reminded you that no matter how brilliant and warm he was, it was repaid constantly with aggression and prejudice. Even in the end.

There was a whimper. But it didn’t come from you.

It took a moment to realize before you were looking around. You almost didn’t notice the black tail barely sticking out from the computer desk across from you. Carefully, you walked around to see a sad figure huddled into the corner under the desk.

“Are you alright?”

He sniffs and quickly crawls up to where you are kneeling to see him. “Are you?”

For a moment you’re shocked because of course you weren’t but that’s not his concern as you’re there to help all hybrids. With him in better view now, you notice right away he is a beagle. Their increased empathy often made it easy for them to pick up on the emotions of those around them.

“Shouldn’t you be in the cafeteria? Lunch was just put out. Or at the gym? Or anywhere else but under a desk?”

He pouted at his ignored question. “There were too many people in the cafeteria right now and Ms. Kim says I spend too much time in the gym.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He was quiet this time, opting to scan your face. You grew insecure under his gaze. “Who was it?”

“Chef Bae I think. Either way, it smells goo-”

“No, who died?”

This time you were dumbfounded. After a moment of silence, you moved to leave but he whimpered again, his ears hanging lower in dejection.

“My boyfriend.” was all your offered before once again escaping the personal questions from strange hybrids.

-

You’d done your best.

After the last interaction with a nosy hybrid, you began helping out more in the kitchen. It was a job you wished you’d taken before. There was minimal interaction with non-volunteers and any opportunity to cook was welcome. Cooking calmed you which is why you were currently enjoying the music you were playing as you prepped ingredients for the day’s next meal. Until you turned around and met face to face with both hybrids of the hybrids you were mainly avoiding.

“You.”

“You remember me!”

“Why are you back here?”

“We got into a fight with an idiot.”

“ You got into a fight. I was having a conversion.” The shorter one corrected.

“No, you were being harassed.”

“Whatever.”

The taller one shook his head. “Either way we were put on food duty as punishment.”

With a hesitant nod, you bit your lip. “Put on a hair net, wash your hands, put on gloves and an apron.”

They stood staring at you for a moment.

“Now!”

The smaller one jumped a bit as they both did as you instructed. Taking on the manager role while Chef Bae was on the phone, you efficiently prepared lunch and avoided conversation with the two.

You could feel them staring at you every now and then along with whispers but you choose not to say anything.

Burning.

Everything and everyone is burning.

He’s somewhere in here but all you see is flames and unbothered neighbors. They sit as if their skin isn’t being charred off. The boiling flesh turning your stomach.

Then you hear his voice. He’s calling your name. Screaming it.

Finally, he is standing in the doorway of your apartment. His back is to you. The soft grey tail a flame and moving towards the top like a lit stick of dynamite.

Part of you doesn’t want to call out in fear of the horrific scene.

Then he calls out your name. But it isn’t right. The voice was demonic and taunting.

“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.” You chanted over and over. Eyes shut tight and begging for true consciousness. He was next to you, you could feel him.

“Accept.”

You popped your eyes open.

The next morning, you made an impromptu decision. The whole drive to the Hybrid Home was a blur as you spent the entire time thinking about your decision and trying not to think anymore about your dream.

Nothing was going to stop you from quitting. Until you saw the fire trucks. For a moment, it spooked you. The intense fear of still being in that horrible nightmare sped up your heart rate. Thankfully you were awake but unfortunately, that meant the lost looking hybrids in the street were real.

The road was littered with overnight and morning volunteers trying to comfort scared hybrids. You parked at the playground across the street. After a few minutes of search, you approached panic-stricken Sulji and Barbara speaking with whom you assume to be the fire captain.

“______!” Barbara’s panicked eyes found some relief in spotting you.

“What in the hell is happening?” The question seemed obvious in a way but you wanted something specific. The whole damn home was in the road.

“Someone started a fire in the male wing.”

“One of the hybrids?”

She shook head. “One of those anti group jerks. They think he didn’t mean to do this much damage but regardless it’s a mess.”

She informed you the whole home is burned to different extents. Parts are nothing but ashes others are only singed.

Sulji and Barbara gathered some of you who were not tending to the hybrids. ” ”We have just been informed the building is uninhabitable. Thankfully there is a hybrid shelter nearby able to help. The only problem is, it is a female shelter. They are willing to take all misplaced females but males are another story.”

Worried gasps sounded from the crowd. “What about the male shelter in Gwangju?”

“We can possibly arrange for travel for some but not all. We will still have about 20-25 hybrids displaced. That number is being very optimistic.”

Barbara spoke up. “We will be moving next door for an emergency embrace event. Some of you will go back with the females to inform them of the move. They are still going to be involved in the embrace event as we need to thin out our numbers. They are encouraged to stay together while we organize.”

Everyone nodded along in understanding. “The news is running the incident as we speak and asking for temporary volunteers and families willing to adopt or at the very least foster any of them.”

Sulji cleared her throat. “With that being said if any of you have room please considering taking in some of them.” It was silent but you couldn’t blame them. Many of your fellow volunteers were single parents needing this job, though low paid, with no time, money, or room to foster. Others were financially not able to do so.

Sulji nodded somberly. “Ok then. We need to begin setting up in the rec center.”

The small crowd breaks to get into action.

You get swept up in the chaos not long after. People in every direction. It isn’t helping your anxiety but the sympathy for the now homeless hybrids keeps you grounded.

Something crashes behind you. You whip around to see a tall man with fluffy ears almost blended into his brown hair. He is trying to set the water bottles he knocked down right side up until another volunteer tells him to leave. The tall man tries to get a water bottle but the volunteer smacks his hands and points for him to leave. As he walks away, she notices you staring. “The hybrid of destruction strikes again.”

The snort she lets out hints at a joke you clearly aren’t in on. Either way, you feel bad for the man.

Soon the adoption event is in full swing. All hybrids mingled with families and one another. Some opted to play amongst themselves. Two of which you noticed were the two you saw many times. It wasn’t until their “playing” got too rough that you interfered.

“It’s you!” the one with pouty lips spoke excitedly. You made a noise in confirmation, taking the chance to look at the hybrid ID tag to finally see his name.

“We know we won’t be fostered. It’s better to not get our hopes.” Taehyung spoke matter-a-factly. His words didn’t appear to have much emotion, but Jimin deflated a bit at the statement.

“Do you feel the same, Jimin?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know but if Taehyung isn’t there I won’t go anyway.”

You frowned at their somber words. There was so little hope in them. A nagging feeling began to grow. They didn’t mind as during your internal emotional battle Taehyung roughly hit Jimin’s shoulder and took off. The smaller male took off behind him.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth nervously as you eased over to the outgoing form and wrote down both names.

The nagging feeling ceased but a wave of anxiety threatened your sanity. Thankfully, a fellow volunteer asked you for a hand with the snacks.

Not long after, the feelings were pushed down momentarily to focus on the matter at hand. This was working until you went in search of a janitor. A younger hybrid came with a family interested in helping out but was spooked by the activity. He had an accident. You assured him gently you would find someone to clean it while the family apologized. You spotted the janitor coming from the supply closet. “Ma’am! There was a little accident on the court.”

She nodded mop already in hand. “Can you reach that spray bottle for me, love?”

You looked to where she pointed. It was a higher shelf but not too high for you. You paused for a moment then handed the bottle to her and waited for her to walk away before turning back to the closet. “Come out.”

“No.”

You felt his presence before you even spotted the cat eyes. You weren’t sure if he would be chastised for being in there so you didn’t inform the janitor.

“How did you know? She didn’t even glance my way.” The dark-haired feline emerged from the darkness of the corner.

“I have experience with a hybrid wanting to hide.”

He examined your face. From the look on his own, he found the answer to the question in his head but kept it to himself. “Ignoring the overwhelming aroma of cleaning products, this was the only place to get away from everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“ Everyone .”

You smiled, holding back a laugh and he looked as though he was doing the same. Though his smile was smaller and gone much quicker you felt something. An understanding of disdain for a crowd and the mix of people in it made you feel like you feel mutually accepted. With a small wave of your hand, you ushered him back to his corner, sure to catch the name on his ID tag you did. “I’ll bring you a snack. Maybe it will make the smells more tolerable.”

“Doubt it.” he scoffed but you could see another smile as you closed the door. You turned away to get him a snack.

And write his name down.

To your surprise, the community showed up in aspiring numbers. Many came to help with the event and transportation while many took advantage of the embrace opportunity.

Typically, home and background checks were done to ensure the safety of the hybrids however Barbara informed all embracers that an inspection and evaluation would be done a week from the event “When we have our bearings.” she had stated exasperatingly. The outpour of support helped thin the number of misplaced hybrids.

“The list of secured hybrids was much longer than expected,” Barbara announced happily at the end of the day. All volunteers and remained hybrids were crowded around. The volunteers all appeared worn out but proud. Some of the hybrids appeared sad while others couldn’t care less. A chunk of them were waiting to be transferred to the partnering shelter. Some were already on the way there but there wasn’t room for everyone. “Although, I see Taehyung, Jimin, and Yoongi‘s names written but they are still here.”

A stiff silence fell. Four long seconds pass before you bashfully speak up. “That was my doing. I can foster them for the time being.”

You dare not look at the men as you could feel their shocked gazes.

“Oh, that's wonderful! That only leaves these four.”

You don’t really want to but something keeps pushing you, the nagging feeling from earlier. The words tumble out before you can catch them. ”I have room for them.”

Barbara is taken aback. “Really?”

You nod reluctantly. “My home was originally built for a nine-person family. They will have to share rooms but nothing too crowded.”

Sulji spoke up. “____, that is truly amazing! Of course with your number embraced we will make your inspection priority as a precaution for them but until then thank you!”

An absentminded nod was all you could give. The true reality of your charitable act not hitting you until everyone else dispersed and only seven pairs of eyes remained on you.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #110

UPDATE 110: Healer in a Cage

Last time Skitter was getting the reward for her efforts: Coil would hold his end of the deal, agreeing to liberate Dinah without further discussion, since he’s so close to success. Just kidding, he backstabbed her after making her lower her guard. How will she get out of this? Let’s find out!

Or not, because it’s a donation interlude. What a terrible place for an interlude, can’t say I’m amused at all. It breaks the pacing and momentum, instead of capitalizing on it, he pretty much threw it away. It’s a shame, even when this situation is picked up again, it just...isn’t going to feel the same. Oh well. Let’s read the interlude and see if it’s worth it.

It seems the setting is the Birdcage in the present day. There’s Marquis, there’s Panacea, and there’s other people I don’t know. This interlude opens with Marquis trying to convince Panacea to do something, it’s not specified what it is, but apparently Marquis’ current status in the Birdcage is relying on it. Still, he’s not going to force Panacea to do anything, because she’s his daughter and he would never force his daughter.

He admits that although he has his own rules, he’s not a good man at all, he just follows his rules because that’s what he is. It’s not like he has any desire to be good, anyway. That’s just how he rolls, and he’s willing to give it all up if Panacea decides she truly can’t cooperate.

He let the words sit with her, turning away.  Lung stood by the door, arms folded, and Marquis smiled lightly at the man.  He’ll see this admission as weakness, but the right display of confidence will leave him wondering if it’s a lie, a ploy.

Honestly? I don’t think it’s a lie. I truly believe he would give it all up if Panacea decides she really doesn’t want to do whatever she’s being asked to do. However, it does seem to me like this is some sort of emotional manipulation. He’s using the real feelings I believe he has in order to achieve the result he desires, and given Marquis is the only sort of ally I imagine Panaeca has in this place, it may work.

Since Lung is standing right there, Marquis takes the time to think about how Lung did all he did because he was confident he had the raw strength to get away with it. Boy did he get away with it for a while, until Skitter came along and defeated him pretty badly. He’s a killing machine, stuck in the Birdcage, a force to be reckoned. On the other hand, Panacea here has none of that. In the eyes of everyone including herself, she’s just Marquis’ daughter. She has his protection, she has clothing borrowed from the block she’s staying it, and she has zero confidence and – I imagine – desire to interact with anyone except Marquis. She’s being left alone, pretty much. At least for the time being. That’s the problem, that sooner or later something would happen. Is that why he’s asking Panacea to do...whatever it is he’s asking her to do? Is it to prevent something?

I keep reading Cinderhands as Cinderella, and now I’m picturing Cinderella being trapped here in the Birdcage too every time Cinderhands speaks. Snap out of it, me.

It seems to me Cinderellahands is some sort of underling for Marquis, as he’s in charge of gathering the leaders and/or representatives of all the blocks for a meeting that’ll last for a while. This is a meeting he’d like Panacea to attend, perhaps that’s what he was asking her? To attend the meeting? Cinderellahands questions having Panacea there, for some reason, and Marquis pretty much tells him to do what he asked or get someone else to do it. What matters is that the reunion is made.

This should be interesting! What kind of people are the leaders of the blocks? The most charismatic, brutal, or clever people around, I bet. Maybe even all three. I’m curious, I admit!

It’s matter of time before Marquis is challenged for his leadership spot, and it’s all thanks to Panacea, since she’s the weakest link around. She was likely to be used against him somehow, so right now Marquis is trying to think of measures to avoid any future challenges. He considers provoking a mutiny, staging it as a way to goad others to join and try to overthrow him. Then he’d squash those, I imagine. Say, Marquis’ power is doing all that with his bones, wasn’t it? He has a power that makes strategy a possibility, I think he’d be fine.

Actually being defeated, it wasn’t really a consideration.  He’d only lost a fight on one occasion, and those had been extenuating circumstances.

The fight that ended with him being captured, I imagine. The one where Panacea was the extenuating circumstance. I wonder how the story would have been like if Marquis hadn’t been captured, if Panacea had stayed under his care. Since he doesn’t seem to have anything to do with Skitter, he would have been around while she had her adventures, no? How would that have changed stuff, hmmm...it is fun to think about alternate scenarios! The bad part is that I’m drawing a blank here, haha

The issue with Panacea is that she is...how to put it kindly...she’s borderline catatonic, seems to me. People like that were often used as a resource or as an easy puppet for ideologies. So far Panacea has been spared such fates because of Marquis’ protection, but unless she recovers anytime soon, there’s only so much he’ll be able to do. I don’t think she will, honestly. Not after everything that happened. Frankly, I’m not really expecting her to join that meeting, and Marquis is going to lose face.

She’s complying, though. Marquis suggests she go get a shower and put on a specific set of clothing, and she goes to do so. Maybe I’m wrong and she really will attend, but I stand on that she’s not going to contribute much to that meeting.

Seems like Marquis is keeping his block rather orderly. Not only all TVs work, he also has ensured his lieutenants have some favoritism but don’t inconvenience everyone else too much. It’s some sort of tense peace, I’d say. It wouldn’t take much to shake everything. The risk of mutiny does seem to be present, and since it’s just thirty people or so, numbers can turn the tides.

This was a gamble.  Amelia could be the excuse his enemies or more ambitious underlings needed to mount an attack.  At worst, he’d die and she would… well, she’d be a resource that was burned up, exhausted of anything and everything she had to offer.  If he was able to buy enough time, verify that she was beyond saving, then he could return her to the women’s cell blocks, cut his losses and take the resulting hit to his reputation as the only real cost of trying.

Would she fare better in the women’s cell blocks? It’s not like brutality and backstabbing conniving demeanor is limited to men only. I don’t think Panacea will be safe anywhere as long as she’s here in the Birdcage.

Still, he doesn’t want to chalk this up as a loss anytime soon. He wants to believe he can do something for Panacea, and the fact he has only fond memories of her strengthens that desire. I’m sure he thought more than once how it’d be like to see Panacea again and have her by his side, but I doubt he ever imagined things would go like this. I almost feel bad for him.

He’s running out of time to prove he’s not protecting Panacea uselessly. People are getting impatient; he has to show results of some sort. Oh boy, I’m sure this will be brought up in the meeting. And indeed, Lung proves right away the moods are souring, Marquis has to do something. What he does right now is invite Lung to the meeting, both because he wants to give an impression he’s aware of the threats in his block, and because if there’s someone he’d prefer killing him and taking over the block it’s Lung. For some reason. I’m pretty puzzled why Lung of all people would be his preference.

Marquis laughed.  “No.  But wouldn’t you rather be murdered by a rabid wild beast who happens to share your living space, than to have a onetime ally stab you in the back?”

Ah. So that’s why. He doesn’t want to feel betrayal. Pretty telling he doesn’t consider Lung an ally, even though they talk a lot and even have tea parties. Having said his piece, Marquis goes down to pretend to read and mull the situation for a while longer. We readers aren’t privy to his thoughts, as there’s a time jump to when Panacea finally gets out of the bathroom.

She followed his instructions, and also thought for a long while. Perhaps considering if she should listen to his request or not, whatever it was? All that’s needed is a demonstration of her power, that’s all that is required to stabilize Marquis’ position in the block and show why he’s indulging Panacea so much. She still refuses to do so, though. Welp! They’re as good as dead, Marquis thinks – paraphrasing. Seems to me his only hope is that she changes her mind at some point during the meeting, but I’m not counting on it. Meeting time!

There are twelve leaders, six from the men’s wing, six from the women’s wing. This doesn’t include the lieutenants that have come to the meeting. So, of course, the meeting starts right away with the topic of Panacea’s presence. It doesn’t seem like anyone here knows she is Panacea? Curious! Maybe they all have been here in the Birdcage before Panacea was a hero.

“Don’t waste my time with this male posturing,” Lustrum cut in.  “I have women to look after.  I delivered your daughter to you because you promised repayment and because she asked. I wouldn’t mind seeing that payment.”

“It was implied that I would pay you back in coming weeks or months, not in a week.”

So it has only been a week since Panacea was transferred to Marquis’ wing! Goodness, people get impatient real fast. I was under the impression it had been much longer than that, like a month! But no, it has only been a week.

There they go, they’re asking for a demonstration, one of the women leaders wants Panacea to heal. Panacea doesn’t say a thing, even though I’m pretty certain by now there are many eyes on her. Marquis covers for her saying she’s not healing anyone right now, and leaves up in the air if it’s because she can’t or because he’s rationing her ability. Dangerous! The longer this charade goes, the more everyone will suspect it’s because Panacea is useless as a healer.

“But there’s a great deal of demand, and you’ll have to forgive me for being a doting father, but I won’t exhaust my daughter’s mental or physical resources to parcel out her healing. We’ll hear terms, we’ll discuss the offers and counteroffers over the next several days or weeks, and then we’ll let you know our decision.”

“You are holding her power for ransom,” Lustrum spoke.

So he’s using her as some sort of bargaining chip – or at least she’s using her powers for that. Even if she snaps out of her despair, he intends to offer her power only when the payment and rewards are worth it. I see, I see. If she does leave behind her trauma – somehow – then she’d turn into quite the advantage for Marquis’ block.

One of the female leaders, one Glaistig Uaine, speaks with the voice of the legion, threatening with an army featuring her fairies. I really don’t think that’s metaphorical, because this is Worm and the powers in this story do a lot of crazy stuff. By army of fairies, does she means the women in her block? Either way, she’s threatening Marquis here.

“You’ve said as much before, noble Faerie,” he said, “Rest assured, you can have me when I’m dead.  In the meantime, I will keep your warning well in mind.”

Ah, maybe Glaistig Uaine’s power has something to do with dead people, and Marquis will be affected by said powers after he dies, someday. Alright.

“Your daughter, too.  Your faerie is kin to the one that sleeps inside the girl. I have no doubt this Amelia is a healer, but that’s only a facet of her true strength.  I have decided I will not bargain with you, Marquis.“

By faerie, does she mean the passengers? Those things that give the powers to the parahumans, according to Bonesaw’s terminology? Does that mean this Glaistig Uaine has been gathering passengers? If so, that’s pretty terrifying, because she has so many.

Glaistig Uaine has expressed interest in dealing with Panacea as if they’re equals, and in so, she extends a hand to Panacea. After a moment, she accepted the handshake and curtseyed. Was that the right move? It’s a show of respect, and didn’t seem to me like she was making herself dominant or submissive in any way, so maybe this can be interpreted as an acceptance about being equals. I hope so, at least.

Seems like Glaistig Uaine taking a shining to Panacea is advantageous for Marquis, as this should be some sort of protection against everyone else. Hey, Lung, you saw that? Either way, word’s going to get out about this, and with some luck, it’ll make those who are getting impatient in Marquis’ block start calming down somewhat. Now it won’t be just Marquis saying Panacea is worth the effort, now Glaistig Uaine thinks that as well, and I’m having the impression people around here are wary of Glaistig Uaine. Marquis himself says here she’s powerful enough to make people listen to her. I sure hope so!

Seems to me the tension has subsided a little! One of the other leaders asks if Panacea can heal toothaches. Oh, I’m pretty certain she can! But would she want to? Marquis confirms she can, and some guy named Teacher protests because this will take away business from one of his lieutenants. Then maybe he shouldn’t be charging a small fortune for that! Although I’m sure Marquis wouldn’t just let Panacea heal any and all toothaches, so I’m sure the dentist would still have business.

During all this, Panacea finally speaks up, and it’s to make the question I’m sure many readers – myself included – have thought before:

“I know the answer’s no, but nobody really talks about it outside, so I’m not sure why… but with everyone we’ve got in here, why can’t we break out?”

This could be interesting! If there’s an answer beyond ‘we just can’t’, I mean. I remember Bakuda many arcs ago was toying with the idea of breaking out, so I think it’s not impossible. Still, it has to be extremely difficult, and I’m sure Dragon would stop any serious attempts.

Turns out there’s going to be lore built here! And it’s stuff Marquis doesn’t know. Coolio!

“Size warping technology.  The device might be no bigger than a football, and that’s hidden somewhere in the middle of the rocky mountains.  The warping apparatus would be bigger, but there’s nothing saying it’s anywhere close to the actual prison.  Reason we can’t break out is because we’re in a prison no bigger than your fist.  And if all of this is only this small,” Teacher held up a fist, then tapped it against the nearest table, “How far are you going to have to dig or teleport to get through a surface this thick?  Or through something as thick as that wall over there?  Or a hundred feet of lead with gallons of containment foam on the outside?”

I see! So it’s possible they’re all preeeeeetty tiny right now? And the tiny prison they’re in is surrounded by layer after layer after layer is stuff that’ll stop any attempt to escape. I suppose even if they manage to break through the wall and then the obstacles in their way, they’d still be minuscule. I bet the size warping technology is at the entrance of whatever building serves as the entry point for the Birdcage. Interesting! This sure puts a very tough obstacle onto any theories I had about people breaking out of the Birdcage at any point during the story. It’s not impossible, but the size warping technology part is making it muuuuch more difficult now.

Okay, looks like things are going better than Marquis expected! Panacea isn’t fully recovered, but she is speaking with people, so that’s progress. The meeting continues, the leaders turning against one another, and Marquis feels some of his tension evaporate. I guess that means his ruling over his block will stay untouched for a while longer!

On their way back, the topic of Glaistig Uaine’s powers is touched. Neat, let’s see...

“No,” Amelia replied.  “I saw her physiology when I touched her.  I couldn’t see what she sees, but I see how she’s carrying them inside her, drawing an energy from them.  And there were three more, just beside her, and she was using that energy to feed them… but they weren’t active?”

“She collects souls of dead and dying parahumans,” Marquis replied.  “Or the souls of any living soul that gets on her bad side.  But they’re not souls, really.  Teacher says they’re psychic images, photocopies of a single individual’s personality, memories and powers.  She can have a handful active and doing what she wants walking around at any given time.”

I see, I see. So, what if her power is to take people’s passengers and make those psychic images with those? Would that make sense? If so, then she indeed is very powerful, no wonder she gets people to listen to her, and this is also why she’s one of the first prisoners of the Birdcage. She’s just too dangerous. Now I wonder how she got captured, hah!

The problem, though, is that if I’m correct then her power wouldn’t work on civilians, unless absolutely everybody has a passenger and it just simply stays asleep or something.

Panacea, having touched Glaistig Uaine, talks about the impressions she had. She doesn’t confirm or deny my theory, but she does confirm whatever Glaistig Uaine is referring as ‘fairies’ is sentient. Whatever knowledge this brings Panacea also brings her grief, as it may have given her a realization related to what she did to Glory Girl.

The words hit her like a physical blow. She hugged her arms close to her body, and her hair fell down around her face.  “My sister.  I used my power on her.  Unmade her.”

Ouch. I still get shivers when I think of what may have happened to Glory Girl, given the situation was oddly vague yet descriptive back then, but this sure makes it sound like it was very nasty. Which...isn’t really inaccurate, given Brandish and Photon Lady’s reactions.

Marquis is sympathetic, trying to be supportive for Panacea, listening to her when she says Glory Girl was her family, and...well, that he isn’t. She’s glad he is in her life, but he’s not family. I guess he’s more like...a friend. Understandable, it’d be pretty difficult to think of someone as your father after so long without seeing him, and then refusing to think about him after she found out who he was.

“And,” Amelia blinked tears out of her eyes, “Already, I feel like I’m betraying Victoria, that I’m already forgetting her.  For just a few minutes, thinking about what I just found out from that girl, I stopped thinking about Victoria.  It’s my fault she isn’t there anymore, that there’s only that thing I created.  If I stop thinking about her, if I stop hurting, then I feel like I’m wronging her.”

Ah, so that’s part of the reason for her current state. She’s intentionally trying to block everything so she can focus on thinking about Glory Girl, keep her memory alive out of respect for who she used to be. Bad news, Marquis: she’s not going to leave this behind. Ever.

In a rather nice move, Marquis realizes Panacea wants to preserve Glory Girl’s memory, and takes Panacea to go see a tinker who makes tattoos. He wants Panacea to get a tattoo related to Glory Girl? Hmmm...intriguing. I wonder how Panacea will react to that. Either she’ll be grateful and take it, or she’ll interpret is as an insult towards Glory Girl.

She’s kind of in the middle. She’s going to take the tattoo, but it doesn’t seem to me like she’s too excited about this. She won’t get Glory Girl’s face or anything like that, but she will get something.

Marquis turned to his daughter. “If you decide to get it, I would advise a symbol rather than a face.  He won’t get the description exactly right, and the image will distort your mental picture.”

“I couldn’t remember her face as it was when it counted, anyways,” Amelia said, a dark look crossing her face.

...great. I’ll now have to remember what Glory Girl is now either faceless or has a distorted face. Oh crap, here comes the goosebumps again. I’m sorry, it’s just that Glory Girl’s situation creeps me out a lot just from thinking about it.

After the tattoo, Panacea is taken back to her cell, where she talks aloud, to Dragon. Dragon’s systems will register the message and pass it along if it’s worth it. Judging by what I read here, Panacea is talking about the conclusions she reached from what she found out by touching Glaistig Uaine.

Sixty-two miles above the surface of the Earth, the Simurgh changed the course of her flight.

...ah. Well that can’t be good.

The Simurgh’s flight seems to have scrambled the message. Was that intentional or just a coincidence due to her movement? It’s already pretty bad that the Simurgh seems to have decided to go pay a visit to Dragon. This caaan’t be good.

The message has been received by Dragon’s many systems as ‘duly noted’ and just thrown away, pretty much. Whatever Panacea found out must have been gamechanging. I really wonder what it was! I hope somehow in the future I can find out!

And that’s the end of the interlude. I liked it! It was good to see the situation at the Birdcage, and some more of Panacea is always nice. All in all, it was a pretty worthwhile read! Nice done, Mr. Wildbow.

But it still was awful timing. I insist on that.

I guess the arc continues next time, since this was a donation interlude instead of a normal interlude.

Next time: in four updates

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God -Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

“We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.” - D.H. Lawrence

-18 Days After-

Dean grabbed the hand without question and allowed himself to be pulled into the Jeep, before reaching for Emerson’s hand. What was his choice? Stranger in a Jeep or a bunch of fleshy monsters that were trying to bite their faces. It was an easy decision, if he thought at all about it.

“We have two more. My brother and her sister. They’re just ahead.” Dean pointed to where Sam and Pheli were when he and Emerson got settled in the Jeep.

“Thank you.” Emerson said softly. “We were dead out there.”

The person, who’s build lead them to believe was male, gave them a big thumbs up. Nothing else could be made up behind the mask. It was all too eerie, but so much better than the alternative.

The Jeep pulled forward, over more bodies, easily crunching over their bones. Sam and Pheliwere behind the glass door of the building, curled together. Sam’s eyes lit up when the Jeep door flew open and Dean waved them in.

“I thought we lost you, man.” Sam said as he helped Pheli in. they were hurrying, the groans of the creatures were too close for comfort.

“You almost did.” Emerson said, wrapping her arms around Pheli’s waist.

“Whose this?” She asked, eyeing the driver.

“We don’t know.” Her sister whispered.

The man turned toward them and after what seemed like some careful consideration before removing his gas mask. He revealed messy dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a perfectly straight white smile.

“Holy fuck.” Dean whispered. “Holy fuck.”

“Hello, Dean.”

A grin grew on Dean Winchester’s tired, pained face. A real one, not the kind that he had become so familiar with that was painted with regret and fear. “Cas.” The two men pulled into a tight hug. “Holy shit it’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. He pulled out of the hug and looked Dean over. “You’re not hurt, are you? Any injuries? Bites? They didn’t bleed on in you, or gas you, did they?”

“What?” Dean asked, alarmed. “No, uh, we are good. Fucked up my knee, and Phel over there got grabbed and hurt her ankle.”

“But they didn’t bleed into you? Your mouth? A wound?”

The group all looked at each other and shook their heads. “No.” Emerson said quietly. “Why?”

“You don’t know, do you?” The dark haired man asked. His chin was tight as he put the Jeep in gear. “We need to go.”

“What do we not know?”

“I thought it was why you were here.” Cas licked his bottom lip. “We will talk more when we get to the base.”

Emerson reached for Dean’s hand and he laced his fingers with hers. He trusted Cas. “It’s okay.” He whispered against Emerson’s ear. If someone was going to pick them up he couldn’t have picked a better person. She nodded back at him, her other hand on Pheli’s knee.

He drove quickly, taking unconventional turns to lose the creatures on their trail. The Jeep crunched easily over bodies and the trash in the street. Before they knew it, they’d lost the creatures on their tail, and were back on the road to the base.

It was right outside of town, just like Dean had mentioned. The perimeter of the base was a tall fence made of different items that seemed to be procured from the city, and then lined again by barbed wire. Cas leaned in and grabbed his walkie talkie and pressed the button. “Castiel Novak reporting in. I have four recruits with me. There are no level red injuries that I can see.”

“I hear ya loud and clear Hot Wings.” A gravely Southern drawl met Castiel’s through the walkietalkie.

“You won’t believe who I found.”

“Lookin forward to it, Brother.” The voice said as the gates in front of them were pushed open by men in military uniforms.

Dean felt his chest tighten at the sight of the men in their ACU’s. He unconsciously tugged at his dog tags around his neck. Castiel pulled the Jeep forward. “Alright, first we will get you to Medical to get checked out. Have you eaten?”

“Not in a while.” Pheli squeaked, suddenly hyper aware of her empty stomach.

“We will get some rations for you and set you up with a place to rest.” He put the Jeep in park. The area seemed to be sectioned around an old strip mall. There were units that had new spray painted signs of their uses. They stopped in front of a shop that had a big sign that was painted Medical in dripping red spray paint. “The guys will be happy to see you, Dean.”

“Me too.” He grunted.

Castiel swung his door open and got out of the car, the rest of the group followed his lead. Pheli leaned on Sam for support. Emerson jumped out before Dean, and held out a hand. He winced as his bag leg touched the ground, but he didn’t lean on Emerson. “You good?” She asked him softly. He shrugged in response.

Cas waved for them to follow him into Medical. The door chimed, perhaps the bell was left over from when it was a shop. It looked like the shop used to be a clothing store, the walls were still lined with garments, but the rest of the racks were taken out and moved. There were folding tables scattered intermittently that were covered with sheets to be used as exam tables and beds for the injured.

“You’re back!” A small woman said, looking up from her table. She was organizing medical supplies. “Hello Clarence.” She almost purred, moving from behind the table toward Cas.

“Meg.” He said, his blue eyes studying her. “I have some patients for you to look over. New residents. No level red injuries.”

“Have they come into contact with any Rogues?” Meg asked, pulling her dark waves into a ponytail.

“Swarm of them in the city. My timing was impeccable.”

“Rogues?” Dean asked with a frown.

“Not your turn to talk, tall dark and handsome.” Meg snapped, before turning back to Castiel. “You’re okay, Clarence? No close calls?”

“I’m fine.” He assured her.

“Good.” She exhaled before turning toward the rest of the group. “Name’s Meg Masters. I’m the resident doc around here. Just got lucky I guess. Take a seat. We will do physicals first, and then assess injuries. I know you told Clarence over there that you haven’t been bitten, but I’m still going to need to do a once over. Not worth the risk, ya hear me? Whose first?”

“Can you look over my girlfriend first? She hurt her ankle...” Sam asked, gesturing to Pheli.

“Sure.” Meg shrugged. “Bring Princess over here.”

“Cas,” Dean began, grabbing his arm before he could leave. “What do you know?”

“I don’t know if this is the right place, Dean.”

“I think anywhere is the right place. Rouges?”

He sighed in response, and pulled Dean away from Emerson so they could talk a little more privately. “It’s what we call the creatures that you encountered.”

“We came from out East, Cas. We saw the explosion. How were there effects way out here?”

“You really don’t know. Didn’t you go report when things went down?”

“I’m out, Cas. I’m a civilian. Not exactly anywhere for me to report to.”

“There were explosions everywhere. All over the US. A lot of bases were attacked. From what I understand the Capital is completely down. We haven’t received any communication or orders so we came here. Just like we all discussed.”

“It’s all dark?”

“That is how it appears.”

“Why are you so concerned about bites?” Dean frowned, his head spinning, but being back there across from his former brother in arms was bringing back old habits as he stood practically at attention.

“From what we can gather the Rogue’s were created from the blast and the red rain.”

“You had that here, too?”

“Haven’t in a while, but yes.” Castiel said with a sigh. He crossed his arms. “Things are bad, Dean. Our resources are good, but they won’t last forever. The Rogues are multiplying faster than we can pick them off.”

“Multiplying? I thought they happened from the blast.”

“That’s one way. From the intel that we’ve gathered, there are two levels. First level are the ones you saw. Nasty mother fuckers. They have the bubbled and burned flesh, and they are unbelievably hot to the touch. They’ll burn your skin right off if they grab ahold of you, and then there’s level two. These are the ones that have been infected.”

“Infected.” Dean repeated. “You’re saying this can be caught? Like a damn disease?”

“Exactly like a disease. Without a scientist or a real doctor it’s hard to be sure, but we think it is spread through bodily fluids. Saliva and blood are the big ones. Some of the Rogues also deplete a gas that is toxic. It’s unsure if this will cause an outbreak of the disease or not. No one has escaped the gas yet.” Castiel explained grimly.

“Christ.”

“You’re telling me.” He forced a smile. “It’s good to see you, Dean. It really is.”

“You too, Buddy.”

-2 Years Before-

“Winchester, do you need something?”

“Captain Novak, permission to enter?” Dean asked, standing at attention in the entryway to Castiel’s tent.

“Granted. What can I help you with?” Castiel scribbled at his paperwork on his desk, not looking up at Dean.

“Can I speak freely, sir?”

“Personal or business?”

“Personal.”

“Granted.” He finally looked up at Dean and smiled widely. “What can I do for you, Dean?”

“Morale is shit, Cas.” He said casually. “I was wondering if we could take some of the guys into town? You know, to have some fun.”

“I’m not sure if that would be wise. You do know these people want us dead, right?”

“I’m aware.” Dean said smoothly. “Or maybe a movie night? The guys are in a shit mood, sir.”

“Don’t sir with me right now.” Castiel waved Dean off. He’d been recently promoted, and there was no hiding that the two men were close friends. It still felt weird pulling rank. “But you’re right. I heard Garth crying in his bunk again. He’s a sensitive one.”

“He is.” Dean agreed. “Benny is down, too, Cas. He’s worried about his niece. I just think a distraction is in order.”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Okay, fine. We will arrange something. You’re due some fun, too, Winchester.” Castiel promised. “You head out tomorrow to work on those Humvee’s right?”

“Yup. Headed that way at oh-four-hundred.”

Cas grinned at him. “Up before the sun, I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“Yup, jumping for joy over here.”

“Alright, Winchester, get out of my fucking face so I can get some work done. Dismissed.”

Dean gave his friend a loose salute and turned on his heels before exiting the tent.

“What’s the news, Brother?” Benny asked, a cigarette hanging out of his lips.

“He’s going to work something out.”

“Strip club?” Charlie asked, wiggling her eyebrows. She was a tiny thing, pale with red curls that always fell out of her tight bun at the base of her head.

“Aw, you wish.” Dean caught her around the shoulder and rubbed the top of her head.

“Get off, you ass.” She laughed. She always looked at Dean as a brother and he felt the same. She was brilliant and nobody could deny her computer skills. She was a fucking genius, and why she was out in the dirt with a bunch of men was beyond him. “So what, a football tournament again?” She complained.

“He didn’t really say.” Dean shrugged. “But you know Novak, he’s good for his word. Now get back to work, you lazy assholes.”

He moved forward, back to the tank he was supposed to be tinkering with, his mind far away. “Dean, hey you got a second?”

“Hm?” He turned back to Charlie.

“Don’t leave without me in the morning, I’ll be heading out with you. They’re having some technical difficulties, and I’m going to see what I can do to help.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “We leave at oh-four-hundred sharp, don’t be late. It’d be a long ass walk.”

“Heard.”

-18 Days After-

They wrapped Pheli’s ankle and applied burn cream from where the Rogue got a little grabby. She would be good to go in a few days, she just needed to stay off of it. Dean’s knee was out of place, before Meg popped it back in. She warned him that it could happen again, since she didn’t have the resources to fix it permanently.

The sun was going down on the camp, the orange sky causing the tents and people to seemingly glow. Some were washing clothes, hanging them up on a line; others cooked over a fire in the center of camp.

“No fucking way.” A deep drawl came from behind them. Dean turned, recognizing the sound immediately.

“Benny?!”

“Hey, Brother.” The man said, pulling Dean into a hug. He wore a dirty Henley, and a gray hat over his dark peppered hair.

“Damn, it’s good to see you.” Dean grinned. “Oh, uh, guys this is Benny he was a buddy of mine from Afghanistan. He was in my unit. Benny this is my brother Sam.”

“So good to finally meet you.” Benny said, offering him a hand.

“This is his girlfriend Ophelia.”

“Call me Pheli, everyone does.”

“And her sister, Emerson.”

“Nice to meet you.” Benny said, kissing both girls hands. “Not very often we get pretty girls in here.” He grinned widely before turning back to Dean. “We are going to play some music by the fire tonight, like old times. We have to keep it low because of the Rogues, but one of our own is back. That’s cause for celebration.’

“Aw, man I don’t know. We are kind of tired, I think.”

“It’s okay.” Emerson said softly, touching his arm. “Benny is right. We almost died today, we should celebrate.”

Dean looked at her for a moment before nodding. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Alright. Fuck, I guess we’re in.”

“Great!” Benny said, slapping Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at the fire after dinner.”

“You got it.”

“Dean!” Castiel called, waving at the group. “We have your quarters set up for the night. We don’t have an extra tent at the moment. We can do some shuffling tomorrow, but it’s a nice night so we got you and Sam set up under the stars.” He gestured to the set up that was under a tree. “The ladies can follow me. We have some extra space with Meg and me.”

Emerson replaced Sam on Pheli’s side. “We will go get settled and meet you.” She promised the boys before following Castiel to the tent.

Dean leaned on the makeshift crutch that Meg made him. “Fuck, man.”

“You’re popular here.” Sam said once they were alone. He grinned widely. “Want to go sit for a bit? You look beat.”

“I feel beat.” Dean said, before scanning the camp. “I think I saw a sign for coffee on our way over here.”

“Sounds good.” Sam agreed.

“Why don’t you go settle our stuff, and I’ll grab a cup of joe.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I want to get a lay of the land before we get too comfortable.” Dean said with a nod before hobbling toward the coffee counter. It was a small stand, set up with just a table and a crudely painted sign. She had a small fire behind her in a metal ring that kept the coffee heated. His stomach ached for food, but his head throbbed from exhaustion. Caffeine would have to do. He didn’t want to know the kind of nightmares he would have if he closed his eyes.

“Heard you’ve got the caffeine.” He said as he approached the brunette behind the table. She was turned away, fiddling with the fire. “We will be seeing a lot of each other.” He laughed dryly. He knew it was smart to befriend the person supplying him with coffee or booze. He was always very chatty with his bartender.

The woman laughed and turned to him. “That’s me. I must say, ever since I took over this position I’ve been very popular.” Her dark eyes caught his as she turned; her pink lips opened in shock. “Dean.” She murmured.

“Lisa.”

—————

Chapter Thirteen

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[soulvomit]

80s/90s professional culture and recent self-help/"personal development" culture actually encouraged distancing from people whose lives were "too complicated." Too messy. "Don't associate with that person. They will ruin your life." About anyone who did not have the perfectly curated "I have it together, and am NOT NEEDY" image. Being seen as "together" was probably a proxy for social capital as well as "adulthood."

This probably started with people trying to enter the professional world in the mid-70s and still dealing with half of their social world living the poor young person crash pad lifestyle (because I argue that the cracks in the wall of the middle class may have already been appearing in the 1970s; people appearing to reject the "American Dream" may need to be analyzed as canaries and Cassandras) and the other half being on drugs.

For some people, like my parents, that's what it definitely was about. They had a baby/toddler and eventually they came to see their hippie and old school stoner friends as part of the instability they were experiencing. Some of these people eventually settled into full time jobs, but as of the mid-70s, plenty hadn't.

My parents couldn't live in hippie crash pads anymore. Not with a kid. They were running into too many issues with their equally unstable friends, and their financial situation trapped them in these spaces for years.

They drifted around to whomever would give them guidance - Amway (which had mainstream square culture values), a couple of attempts at religion.

They were typical.

At first this was just about trying to figure out how to live in an adult world still largely run on Silent Generation mainstream values.

For white, culturally middle class to affluent men, this was relatively straightforward: use the college degree or whatever existing skills and social capital you had, to get a traditional job. Male work culture of the 20th century very much assumed a wife was at home handling things. "Leave your personal problems at home" totally assumed someone else was carrying that bucket. It meant in the 70s and 80s as it had in the 50s, that a man's wife was handling all of the personal relationships and interactions that didn't have to do with his workday. His wife would be the stage manager of his non-work life from behind the scenes. That's what it REALLY meant to "leave your personal life at home."

But women were now working full time, middle class corporate jobs, too. And that same mentality was still the rule.

Codependency talk and a new re-embrace of corporate work culture, found their way into the same conversations, much the same way that government conspiracy theories, aliens, and New Age became bedfellows: because they shared the same shelves of the bookstore.

At around this same time you also started to see the growth of codependency ideas and later, a popular book called "Women Who Love Too Much." (A solid book, but needs an intersectional update.) WWLTM became a network of support groups in the 80s (...that helped my mom leave my dad.) But so many of the stories in WWLTM are of 30something women (often, ex-hippie) who had been exploited as the Giving Tree in 60s/70s culture, a specific gendered toxic dynamic.

But you know how we have all seen good memes go bad? Like, cultural appropriation being a solid analysis and real thing, but in the last 5 years, it's devolved into a set of arguments that in no way resemble the original thing? For that matter, remember when MRA culture was specifically about the legal rights of divorced men?

Yeah.

That.

That same thing is what happened to the growing 70s/80s culture of post-hippie "getting it together."

That very same thing.

In 1976, "getting it together" was relatively benign.

But by the 80s, it began to separate the people who'd played at the counterculture lifestyle from the people who had been trapped in it. Not everyone could "get it together." Because deindustrialization was already starting to be underway as the party was ending, and in many cases, because the American Dream simply had not been on offer to begin with.

If your only means of doing so was via a factory job or via even the shrinking number of nondegreed female-dominated non-care/nonservice jobs (how many career secretaries do you know now?) then you had way fewer options than did someone who could enter the computer field or become a professional. And fewer options than did someone who could fall back on fields that got to be the last dominos to fall (pro sales people could shift from industrial to tech or real estate), instead of the first.

What's happened is that the ONLY visible middle class narratives of the mid 70s and beyond, until the 21st, were yuppies. Everyone else was deplatformed.

The "getting it together" meme came to be a proxy for your very fitness as a human being. It now included a backlash against the sharing and mutual aid culture of counterculture spaces, because many white, middle class Boomers didn't really know how to navigate the social world outside of the Hayea Code curated world of their suburban childhood. They were the first generation to try to figure out how that worked, and many failed. They were navigating drastic changes in social norms. It became a commonly repeated meme that your problem was the people in your life. (Because it often was. But this went the way many culture memes do.) Fuck em, focus on your job and only the people who support your getting it together. But the milepost kept getting shifted. "Getting it together" in the early to mid 70s might mean just getting a job and a stable place to live. That's how it started for my parents. As of the mid 1970s, it started to become apparent to a lot of people that holding a corporate job and raising a school age child were both often totally incompatible with having your burnout friends stay up until 2am playing folk music (this was a real thing my family did before my dad got a middle class job) on a weekday, let alone traipse a variety of lost souls through your living room on any given day of the week.

But the mileposts for "getting it together" kept changing up (just as "getting it together" of the 70s turned into "early yuppie" of the 80s) and probably because corporate standards were always about curation and appearances, "getting it together" came to mean that you did NOT have a hippie crashing on your couch, you did NOT have complicated personal life in *any way*, you did NOT socialize in a space where everyone openly slept with the same people or had complicated breakups, you did NOT ever have complicated caregiving arrangements... basically, either you were heterosexually married or you were a very, very cool-as-a-cucumber, self-contained single who never, ever felt heartbreak.

This is the sociopathic core of yuppie culture.

My analysis will hit the 90s at some point, but we wouldn't have had the 90s without the 70s and 80s.

I'm sure lots of the Divorce Boom of the 80s followed on 70s people marrying for all the wrong reasons, because they were trying to "get it together." And sometimes "getting it together" meant different things to the two people.

My dad became an early techie and stayed relatively close to left wing and liberal culture. After he and my mom split up, he married the hippie of his dreams. And he made good incomes off and on, but also struggled off and on and retired in a trailer; he *would* have been much more successful if indeed he had played the yuppie social games, because he willingly took on dependencies that yuppies shunned. There was a strong meme in yuppie culture, fueled by codependency discourse and a warping of Women Who Love Too Much but also "positivity," of not ever helping people, of not being close to people who could potentially financially rely on you or take time away from your work. "They've all made their own bed."

If my dad had followed that lead - he might have become stable, he might even have become rich. But he married a precariat class ex-hippie who had multiple poor dependents, and formed some "found family" around their mutual friendships. And as the person in the group with the most money, he was often relied upon for help.

That's exactly what late-stage Getting It Together non-neediness discourse was supposed to prevent.

For my mom, "getting it together" meant doubling down on respectability politics and traditionalism, putting herself in rich circles, and marrying a professional man with square values. She scrupulously avoided anyone who could "take her down with them." Which is good advice in many cases but in yuppie parlance, effectively meant distancing from any person who was not in your aspirational social class, and distancing from any person in any situation you have left behind (she dumped her single friends once remarried, as instructed by this culture meme.)

The difference between the outcomes for my mom and dad:

My dad lives in a trailer with his wife and their cats, but he has a huge extended family of family and found-family. Lots of people care about him. He's not going to have the problem of being alone in old age.

My mom really does risk being alone in old age because her whole social world was oriented around social capital pissing contests and that only works as long as you actually have the money to purchase a substitute support net.