#i submitted an easy for college yesterday that took me less work. but i had fun so

[medusaesque]

Lt. Kim Kitsuragi and the pale-

Warning- it's insanely long.

1. After life, death

One of the first thing you can learn about Kim is that he would hurl himself in death's way to save you. From the very first moment, Kim is related to sacrifice and death, it follows him wherever he goes-

The slaughterhouse.

He lost his parents at two years old. He worked a year in Processing (here's good post about that by @renmorris and @spilledkaleidoscope). He lost his partner, Eyes. People have taken a bullet that was meant for his more than once. His survivor's guilt is insane. He's killed six people. He's afraid of killing recklessly, and has a deeply unhealthy relationship with his gun (made another embarrassingly long post about that).

Kim also hears pale 'ghosts' on the police radio all the time, and talks about it like it's normal, and says he doesn't believe in ghosts.

If harry is with Noid during the Moralist dream quest (more on it later), Harry can even wonder if Kim is a ghost, prompting this beautiful exchange-

And he's not entirely wrong. When Harry gets shot, after Kim fulfills Espirit's promise he'll stand in death's way for him, you can ask as you fall into darkness what will happen to you-

It's the living who are ghosts. You can leave them behind and rest. Go into the wild pale yonder, along with everyone else Kim has ever cared about. Or at least you can try to.

When death is at the door, you have two options-

2. After death, life again

Kim might associate himself with death, but Harry associates him with life again and again- Death is darkness, Kim has a light bulb halo. Death is a sunset, Kim is a sunrise. Death is where you are when the game start, it's ready to take you, and then- a clarion call, the sound of a motor carriage, a detective arriving on the scene, and you open your eyes.

The game is very clear about Harry being a ceaseless agent of the world (here's a good compilation by @junawer) but he's not the only one. Harry stands at death's door twice, and Kim is his way back to the world both times.

3. After the world, the pale

So what is Kim's relationship with the pale?

As casual as he might try to appear, Kim is clearly uncomfortable with the pale, attempting to protect Harry from it. When Harry brings up the pale, he intervenes, genuinely worried for the fragile stability of his mind.

It's no more terrifying than water or death or that we're stuck behind our eyes for all eternity?? Sounds pretty terrifying Kim...

The key is in the moralist vision quest, When Harry attempts to each the Committee of Responsibility, and he hears the pale crosstalk coming through the radio, when suddenly-

"Pale is a shroud of memories and it doesn't really distinguish to whom those memories belong to. You could hear anything." You could hear anything, but you hear Kim. If he isn't with you, Soona even says that the odds of us hearing him, out of all the voices in the pale, are astronomically low.

We know the past has not been harmless to Kim, we know it's full of ghosts and cold winters, but that's not the thing that's eating at him-

Kim is afraid of forgetting. He's constantly writing, he thinks through his notebook, always recording, so he wouldn't lose anything. That's why the pale is so terrifying.

4. After the pale. the world again

The world is what it is. God is in his heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

Volta do mar is a skill unique to Kim, according to the stats of this pilot jackets-

It makes sense, seeing how the only real advance in pale transit is the speed with which an aerostatic craft can pierce it.

His Black jacket is a bit more complicated-

DISTANT ENEMY OF HIMSELF?? kim.... The connections to Seol is intriguing here, considering how Kim tries to distant himself from it. I'm also not sure what 'sitting down for volta' would mean in this context, would love to hear some of you guys' thoughts.

It's driving me crazy to think how Kim wanted to be pilot as a kid, and is walking around dressed like a pilot as an adult, to give himself the ability to navigate the pale. To return from the sea and fulfill the role he has to play in the world, the thing Harry thought about a million times-

But we know Kim has a bigger role to play, he's trying to do his part right now, convincing Harry to stay-

His connection to Harry can keep him on this world once again. Keeping the two of them together. Your real work is down here, both of you-

Kim was right, each of them has a role to play in the world, but it's not a minor one. Him and Harry are Revachol's only hope. If they stick together they could keep her on this earth, stop the end of the world.

UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT.

I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT.

I LOVE YOU.

[everyendeavor]

Robert Hubbell, Daily Newsletter

The Sedition Caucus

January 5, 2021

Joe Biden will be inaugurated on January 20, 2021. The Constitution tells us so. Nothing that has happened in the last week will change that outcome. The rest is detail. Indeed, a handful of GOP Senators have made clear that they will not object to the Electoral votes from any state. It is over for Trump.

But we cannot ignore the damage caused by the effort to overturn the election. In yesterday’s newsletter, I called the Republican Party a “cancer” on democracy. After reflecting on my choice of words for 24-hours, I believe I was too soft on Republicans. I failed to mention that the Sedition Caucus of GOP is composed of the same cowards who refused the constitutional command that the Senate shall “try all impeachments”—that is, to hold a trial on the articles of impeachment. Instead, in the face of overwhelming evidence that Trump attempted to bribe Ukraine to damage Biden, GOP Senators refused to allow testimony from witnesses. They refused to admit any documents not presented to the House Judiciary Committee. They refused to issue subpoenas so that House prosecutors could obtain evidence from witnesses who refused to testify unless compelled (like John Bolton). Against that shameful refusal, those same Senators now assert that Trump’s discredited allegations of fraud are sufficient to suspend the Constitution to convene a Soviet-style show trial to overturn the will of the people. Those are not the actions of a cancerous lesion on democracy. Those are the actions of enemies of democracy.

Several readers expressed surprise at my ire over the GOP’s effort to overturn the election by objecting to the Senate’s count of Electoral votes. They are right—I am angry. If you are not, you haven’t been paying attention to what is happening. The reason every American should be angry is not merely because the GOP has attempted to overturn the election; they should be angry because the damage from the failed effort cannot be undone. A sizable portion of the GOP caucus has adopted the view that the party holding a majority in the Senate has the unilateral right to choose the president—voters and the Constitution be damned! We are fortunate that their view will not win the day on January 6, 2021, but there is no guarantee that a different set of Republican Senators will restrain themselves in the future. They have revealed themselves as a party opposed to democratic rule. With a modicum of effort, Trump persuaded Republicans to exalt his desire to retain power over fealty to the Constitution. If that does not disturb you, nothing will.

The betrayal by the GOP Senators deepens with each passing hour. Their initial decision was seditious but became exponentially worse after they learned of Trump’s attempt to extort Georgia Secretary of State Raffensperger. Their objection to the Electoral votes on January 6th will make them accessories after the fact. As Jennifer Rubin wrote in the Washington Post,

The Dirty Dozen and reportedly 140 or so House members who also plan to challenge the results are attempting to obtain the same results Trump did by threatening Raffensperger . . . [T]he GOP has become an authoritarian, unprincipled party whose only purpose is to retain power by whatever means possible. It should permanently disqualify these Republicans from holding office.

Trump’s criminal conduct is getting worse by the hour. During Trump’s effort to extort Raffensperger, Trump insulted the U.S. Attorney in Atlanta as a “never-Trumper.” (BTW, the so-called “never-Trumper” was appointed by Trump.) It was an offhand comment but suggested that Trump viewed the Atlanta U.S. Attorney as an impediment to filing criminal charges against Raffensperger for failing to support Trump’s allegations of election fraud. In an ominous sign, the above-mentioned “never-Trumper” U.S. Attorney abruptly resigned on Monday, saying that “unforeseen circumstances” required him to quit his job two weeks early. See Talking Points Memo, “EXCLUSIVE: Atlanta-Based U.S. Attorney Abruptly Departs Office Sooner Than Expected.” A reasonable inference based on the above events is that Trump ordered the U.S. Attorney in Atlanta to file baseless criminal charges against Raffensperger. It appears the Trump-appointee declined to violate his oath and took the easy way out—heading for the exit.

It is true that some members of GOP leadership are speaking out. See Politico, “‘A new low’: Republicans chastise Trump over his Raffensperger call.” Despite the promising headline in the Politico article, the story cites only two sitting Republicans who have made negative comments about Trump’s call (Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger) but notes that several Republicans, including Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy, defended Trump.

It is also true that a handful of GOP Senators have said they will not object to the Electoral votes of any state. See The Hill, “Senate Opposition Grows to Objecting to Electoral College Votes.” GOP Senator Tom Cotton issued a lengthy statement explaining that objecting to Electoral votes is at odds with the Constitution. Cotton wrote,

The Founders entrusted our elections chiefly to the states—not Congress. They entrusted the election of our president to the people, acting through the Electoral College—not Congress. And they entrusted the adjudication of election disputes to the courts—not Congress. Under the Constitution and federal law, Congress’s power is limited to counting electoral votes submitted by the states.

Senator Cotton’s statement is correct. But before we give a Presidential Medal of Freedom to Cotton, let’s remember that he voted to exclude evidence in the mockery of Trump’s impeachment proceedings in the Senate. If Cotton had honored his constitutional oath in January of 2020, we might not be dealing with a second call in which Trump resorted to bribery and extortion. While we should all be grateful that a handful of GOP Senators will foil the Sedition Caucus, we should remember that all GOP Senators are responsible for empowering, enabling, and excusing Trump up to this point. They are the reason Trump believes he can act without restraint

Concluding Thoughts.

I promise to return to my usual format tomorrow, with less outrage and more commentary. But we cannot let this moment pass. We must never forget those who have revealed themselves to be anti-democratic autocrats who see the Constitution as a trifle when it blocks their pursuit of power.

I received several thoughtful emails from readers who urged me not to condemn the entire Republican Party because of the actions of GOP members of Congress. One argued that there are responsible Republicans (citing Mitt Romney and Liz Cheney). Another reader said that we must be open to the possibility of healing the rifts between Republicans and Democrats. I previously agreed with those viewpoints. No more. The Republican Party is Trump’s party. Ninety-four percent of Republicans voted for him in 2020. They voted for him after he attempted to bribe Ukraine and his impeachment. They voted for him after he locked children in cages to punish their parents for coming to America. They voted for him after he encouraged white nationalists and neo-Nazis to resort to violence. They voted for him despite the fact that he is a misogynist and racist. They voted for him after he blamed unarmed black men who were shot in the back and slowly executed in public. Virtually all Republicans know exactly who Donald Trump is, and they are just fine with that fact. The leadership in the Republican Party is responding to the base. Let’s not pretend otherwise. GOP leadership is not the problem. The entire party is the problem.

Trump is the undisputed leader of the Republican Party and will be for four years, at least. If you are still a Republican, your presence in the Republican Party gives him a veneer of respectability. Get out before it is too late to save your honor, dignity, and reputation. (Italics, o.p.)

In 2020, Biden won the election because he convinced 20% of Independents to abandon Trump. While I won’t try to dissuade readers who want to devote time to healing the supposed “rift” with Republicans, I believe that Democrats have more useful things to do with their time. Like registering new voters, increasing turnout, and convincing Independents their future is with the Democratic Party. The Republican Party has crossed the Rubicon, declaring itself to be an opponent of democracy and an adversary of the Constitution. The only path forward for Democrats is to double-down on democracy and embrace the Constitution's promise more fully. If pursuing a path of greater justice, equality, and liberty means that we bruise the feelings of those who oppose those values, so be it. We have important work to do, and we must not tarry. The mid-terms of 2022 are hard upon us!

About this newsletter. I started this newsletter at the urging of my wife (a.k.a. “Managing Editor”) as a way of providing support and hope for my three daughters and close friends who were shocked and anxious about Trump’s election. This is a private communication among friends and like-minded people who opt-in. I try to be accurate, but I have a definite point of view and sometimes resort to satire (I hope that is obvious). The last thing I want to do is add to anyone’s stress, so read these newsletters only so long as they are helpful to you in making sense of these turbulent times. Otherwise, put down your smartphone and go for a walk. Be well!

Robert Hubbell

rhubbell@outlook.com

Los Angeles, CA 91436

[elisaenglish]

This Is Water: David Foster Wallace on Life

Revisiting the tragic literary hero’s only public insights on life.

On September 12, 2008, David Foster Wallace took his own life, becoming a kind of patron-saint of the “tortured genius” myth of creativity. Just three years prior to his suicide, he stepped onto the podium at Kenyon College and delivered one of the most timeless graduation speeches of all time — the only public talk he ever gave on his views of life. The speech, which includes a remark about suicide by firearms that came to be extensively discussed after Wallace’s own eventual suicide, was published as a slim book titled This Is Water: Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life (public library).

You can hear the original delivery in two parts here and here, along with the the most poignant passages.

On solipsism and compassion, and the choice to see the other:

“Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute centre of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centredness because it’s so socially repulsive. But it’s pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute centre of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people’s thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.

Please don’t worry that I’m getting ready to lecture you about compassion or other-directedness or all the so-called virtues. This is not a matter of virtue. It’s a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self. People who can adjust their natural default setting this way are often described as being ‘well-adjusted’, which I suggest to you is not an accidental term.”

On the double-edged sword of the intellect, which Einstein, Steve Jobs, and Anne Lamott have spoken to:

“It is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotised by the constant monologue inside your own head (maybe happening right now). Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about ‘the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master.’

This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.

And I submit that this is what the real, no-bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out.”

On empathy and kindness, echoing Einstein:

“[P]lease don’t think that I’m giving you moral advice, or that I’m saying you are supposed to think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it. Because it’s hard. It takes will and effort, and if you are like me, some days you won’t be able to do it, or you just flat out won’t want to.

But most days, if you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she’s not usually like this. Maybe she’s been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it’s also not impossible. It just depends what you want to consider. If you’re automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won’t consider possibilities that aren’t annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.”

On false ideals and real freedom, or what Paul Graham has called the trap of prestige:

“Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that they’re unconscious. They are default settings.

They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing.

And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving... The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.

That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.”

On what “education” really means and the art of being fully awake to the world:

“The real value of a real education [has] almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

‘This is water.’

‘This is water.’

It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime.”

In the altogether excellent Magic Hours: Essays on Creators and Creation, Tom Bissell writes:

“The terrible master eventually defeated David Foster Wallace, which makes it easy to forget that none of the cloudlessly sane and true things he had to say about life in 2005 are any less sane or true today, however tragic the truth now seems. This Is Water does nothing to lessen the pain of Wallace’s defeat. What it does is remind us of his strength and goodness and decency — the parts of him the terrible master could never defeat, and never will.”

Complement with the newly released David Foster Wallace biography.

Source: Maria Popova, brainpickings.org (12th September 2012)

[stunudo]

To share our stories is not only a worthwhile endeavor for the storyteller, but for those who hear our stories and feel less alone because of it.

Joyce Maynard

Teamwork Makes the Dream Work:

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Female Reader as she joins the Team

Setting: Early Season 12

A/N: This is a piece about how someone with some quirks fits into the BAU. xoxo Stu

Your name: submit What is this?

The elevator ride was quiet in the early morning hours. Yesterday you had spent the day filling out transfer papers, tax forms and personality tests. Today you would be meeting with the acclaimed Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, a team any agent worth their salt knew to be the best of the bureau. You had accepted the promotion from cyber-crimes without hesitation.

Moving across the country was a risk you had taken and you walked into their hive like office with the intention of making it worth it. Standing at the top of the stairs, with your back to the wall, you were able to watch the life of the room below unfold. Slowly the junior agents trickled in, this group was competitive and diligently handling the mundane details of the job the profilers were overqualified to do.

Then, SSA Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner entered the bullpen. He walked passed you, obliviously. You were used to blending in, not physically standing out.

“Sir?” You asked to his back. “I am Agent Y/L/N, where should I set up?”

His dark eyes glanced over you, his profiling skills on automatic pilot. You raised your eyebrows in earnest, still awaiting his response. “The third desk on the left of the stairs, Y/L/N.” Hotchner finally placed you. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thank you, sir.” You nodded at your commanding officer as you headed back down the steps, to locate the desk for your time there.

The remaining profiles joined the bundle of desks as the clocked ticked closer to the eight o’clock hour. You knew each member of the team by file, so you were prepared before they introduced themselves. This was good planning on your part as not one of them approached you or made eye contact.

Dr. Reid was nearly late, he rushed in from the elevators. His tall form ducking out of the strap of his bag. Agent Jareau caught his eye, “Cutting it close, Spence.” He nodded at the blonde woman, his mouth a frog-like grimace of inevitability.

Garcia walked into the close network of conversing agents. She caught your eyes on the group and smiled. Her dangling earrings swayed as she waved enthusiastically. Your new teammates finally acknowledged you, their faces a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Guys,” Penelope gestured towards you. “This is Y/N Y/L/N, another tech goddess has arrived, my lovelies. Be good to her.” She grunted the last bit, eyeing one agent warily. You shyly waved at the scrutinizing faces of your co-workers.

“Not quite a goddess, more of a demigod, really.” You explained, reshaping your hair behind your head. The confusion wasn’t fading from their faces. You looked up to Hotchner’s perch realizing why everyone was acting this way. “No one told you that I would be joining the team.”

It was a fact, not a question. You shared a bewildered look with Penelope and shrugged.

“Have you ever prepared a consult profile?” Agent Jareau had approached your desk after the awkwardness had dimmed over the course of the morning.

“Not officially, but I would like to. IF you can double check it for me?” Her face encouraging.

“Of course, take these and just drop them off to me when you are done.” JJ set four files on your desk. The work was straight forward, there were cases from all over the Southeast. You answered the questionnaires and went a little overboard in your notes on the analysis sections. You always felt it was better to be thorough than vague.

It was around one when the dark haired man with the easy grin on his face stopped by your desk. Alvez, you recalled, his file at the top of the BAU stack.

“Sorry about this morning, my name is Luke Alvez.” The nice agent was holding his hand out to you expectantly. Refocusing to interacting socially, you paused longer than normal to accept his handshake.

You firmly gripped his hand, “Not a problem, Agent. So you were the last newbie, any advice for the latest transfer?”

He chuckled, “Just use the skills you already have. We all say we don’t profile each other, but we do. We just don’t talk about it.”

“Profilers version of Fight Club?” You nodded, mildly amused.

“Sorta, yeah. Want to grab some lunch? I swear, we don’t always stare uncomfortably.” Alvez was really showing his sweet side.

“Sure, let me just leave these for Agent Jareau.” You stood and dropped the folders into her in tray across the aisle. As you glanced back at Alvez, he had walked towards you. He put a guiding hand onto your shoulder. You immediately panicked at the contact. Your chest and face flushed. Your combat training kicked in and you spun out deflecting his hand with a stiff forearm. Your left elbow then connected with his other palm, his strength holding you in place.

Your mind cleared and you disengaged; tense and embarrassed. After a few dozen questions coming from Alvez’ staring eyes, you exhaled. Slowly you shook the blood back into your hands. “I’m sorry, I am sort of weird about being touched.”

“You could say that.” JJ interjected snidely. Your eyes spun around the large office, every single pair of eyes were locked on your tussle with Luke. Perfect: from invisible to sideshow freak in the course of one day. Cyber crimes might have been the most obvious task force for someone with your sensitivities. But the reason you had done so well there was because even then you had thought like a profiler. ‘Well, here I am, BAU,’ you thought, ‘Might as well get the skeletons out of the closet right away.’

You did join the team for lunch, snagging a sub from the tray assortment in the break room. Reid’s furrowed brow told you he wasn’t sure how to address you. Lewis smiled gently as she chewed, you inclined your head to acknowledge her attempt. Slowly conversations began, swirling around as the team fell back into their rhythm. You continued to observe and eat quietly. Their aversion to your presence lessened and you knew your misstep in the bullpen was dismissed.

But not forgotten, it was never that easy.

“Hotch, why didn’t you tell us that Y/L/N was joining the team?” Reid asked the older man as JJ and he had a quick moment aside.

“Because I hadn’t received notice that she had accepted the position, Reid.” Hotch admitted. “Agent Y/L/N has an exceptional record. She completed and surpassed every field AND written requirement we have.” The chief’s eyes emphasized this point; the presence of their newest teammate was not to be challenged.

“You should read her consultations, Spence.” JJ added, “I think she will do fine.”

Garcia knocked on the frame to Hotch’s door, her arms full of folders and pens. “Sir, conference room when you’re ready.”

The screens flashed the faces of three victims from Central Wisconsin. All college aged women, missing over long weekends. Cars were found abandoned along highways 45 and 49.

“We got the call after Abigail Brown went missing with the same M.O.” Hotch explained. A bright eyed face from a U.W. Stevens Point ID flashed on the screen.

“How long has she been missing?” You interjected. Garcia checked her watch.

“About 17 hours, well, since she last used her phone. We can’t pinpoint it further than that.”

“The unsub usually doesn’t dispose of the bodies until a week after the initial abduction. She may still be alive.” Reid proposed.

“Unsubs, you mean.” You corrected Dr. Reid. The team took a collective preparatory breathe at the slight challenge against their genius.

“Unsubs, yes, Y/L/N.” Reid agreed.

Hotch nodded, “Yes we have a team with at least a 50 mile wide comfort zone and an M.O. that may be linked to one of the escapees.”

“If I remember correctly Central Wisconsin is not that populous. Once you’re north of Madison proper, there are tourist towns and not much else.” Rossi mused.

“The combined population of the counties where the victims went missing is roughly one hundred forty six thousand seven hundred fifty people.” Reid articulated quickly, his need to be correct clearly driving him to share more facts.

“That’s pretty specific, man.” Luke noted.

“I took known population data from 2014 and extrapolated it with population trends of the region. Though I did round the figure. I find people are more accepting when I give estimations than precise data for answers.” Reid explained, Luke was listening quite intently.

“Alright, Reid, we get it. There are not many people in the area. That means there is more open land; both deciduous forests and farms.” Hotch pointed out.

“Also, I’m sure we are going to be drawing a lot of attention.” Lewis muttered.

“We’re the FBI, we always do.” JJ agreed.

“I am presuming she doesn’t mean you, Jareau.” You added softly. Tara Lewis and Luke Alvez shared a knowing look.

“Hell, even I stand out in parts of Wisconsin guys,” Rossi addressed the issue clearly. “There seems to be a mafioso wise crack waiting for me if I am too far north of Chicago-land.”

“Alright, we’ll work in teams, like always.” Hotch cleared the air. “Y/L/N, I hope you brought a go-bag. Wheels up in 30.”

To be Continued...

[elohveywrite]

Chapter 1 and 2 of Untitled Story

Chapter One (Teddy)

I stood in front of this council of the Seattle Sanctum, aloof. I couldn’t believe what they were suggesting to me. 

“You want me to find a protégé for the Aurora Sanctum? Me? Why not Beeza or Chidi?” I asked, truly confused. Beeza was the leader of the Sanctum in Seattle and Chidi was the second in command. I was only a member and had been a part of the Seattle Sanctum for two years. 

“You’ve proven to be an excellent asset to the team Theodore. So, we believe you can find a suitable candidate for the Sanctum.” Elizabeth the angel of the assorted council of five spoke first. I knew she was a beauty filled with grace and great assets, but she could be a bit too much sometimes. It was like she was trying to act human, but failing badly, while also being too proud at the same time.

“So, what are the qualifications for this recruit of ours?” I asked the council.

Calak was the first to speak up, he was a mage who survived hundreds of years of wars and plague thanks to his skill and intelligence with magic. “They need to be worthy, strong, and intelligent.”

Rolling my eyes, while running one hand against the stubble on my chin, I questioned, “That’s a little vague don’t you think Calak?” Calak looked down at me, his white hair blowing softly in a wind that wasn’t blowing through the room. It was more of a magical effect he had going on.

“You will know when you find them,” Mau interrupted. She was a demi-god that lived among the humans for thousands of years. “I will gift you this necklace and you must wear it at all times. It will glow a bright white once the worthy person is near you,” Mau finished reaching into her dress pocket to fetch the necklace she spoke of. Once she held it out, I reached for it and saw that it was on a golden chain. The rock or crystal rather was a round oval and clear like glass. Once I touched it in my grasp, the crystal felt perfectly smooth. As I put it on, I saw the crystal begin to glow from within. It wasn’t very bright, but it was enough to lighten my face, chest, and hands in the dim council room.

Ori spoke next, “I’m curious who the council will deem worthy.” As I looked over to him, I saw that Orion the young vampire truly did look inquisitive—even when nearly everything bored him to death usually.

“Whoever it is, has a lot of work ahead of them,” Nimue—the final council member and a witch--said to the group. I nodded my head and looked down at the crystal as it returned to its normal opaqueness.

“You have 72 hours to find them, Theodore,” Elizabeth ordered. “If you cannot find them by then, we will have to seek out more costly measures.” I sighed and brushed a hand through the top of my hair, smoothing it back.

I then left the council room, closing the door swiftly behind me. Making my way out of the building the Sanctum had repurposed for their use in Seattle, which was right smack in the middle of the waterfront near Pike’s Place Market, I headed south. This Sanctum was magically hidden, glamoured from the public eye. Only Sanctum members could see its location, glowing softly in purple light. Once I passed through the ‘portal’ barrier the loud cacophony of the tourist, shoppers and homeless population greeted my ears. I figured going to public places first in Seattle would narrow down my list of suspects so I started right close to home and walked over to the crowded market.

        *****

Chapter Two (Jules)

I stepped back into my SUV, a different one than last nights of course. I got rid of the one I used last night. It was burnt out in the middle of the forest, about two hours’ drive south of Seattle. It was lovely seeing things finally come to a close. And now, I was one hundred thousand dollars richer. Grinning, I placed the cash-filled bag on the floor of the passenger’s seat next to me. Now all I had to do was go visit my ‘banker’. 

Officially, Albert bought one of my paintings that he deemed worthy of one hundred thousand dollars. And by worthy, I mean he looked at three different options and said, “Whichever one you don’t want.”

I cared a bit more than he did, so I decided to give him the watercolor painting I did with a woman with lilac hair, dancing in a field of flowers and grass, with the mountains in the background. I named it “Elise” in my mind. But on paper, it was named, ‘Welcoming Spring’. Locking the doors, I sat back in my seat and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, before turning the car on and heading out of Albert’s driveway. It would be the last time I ever saw him.

An hour later, my money deposited, and papers submitted, I headed to my part-time job which was teaching art to children at an after-school club. 

I know, weird. A hitman teaching art to underprivileged children. What a riot. But sometimes I enjoyed it. They inspired me. Which was something I never thought a child could do.

Opening the door to the center, I waved at Ana the office clerk who smiled at me and waved back. “Glad to see you again Jules.” 

Nodding at her, I replied, “Same.” And then went to the room where my class was held so I could set up the lesson. Today I was going to have the kids do watercolors of animals and let them choose their backgrounds. Nearly done with getting everything ready, a few of the kids started to arrive.

“What’s up, Miss J!” I looked up and grinned at Julian who had a similar name as myself. 

“Not much Julian, is your mom doing better?” If I remembered correctly, she was in the hospital after she had a heart attack last week.

“Yup all better, she’s going to be released next week,” Julian said, his voice booming with happiness. I nodded and grinned as I got the paints set up for each group's table. 

“That’s great Julian.” I know I said it, and it probably sounded like I was happy, but really, I felt mostly nothing. I was happy that I didn’t have to pretend to be sad about her getting worse though. Pretending to be sad was always awkward. 

“Miss J, Alexis is going to be absent today, she broke her arm skateboarding yesterday afternoon,” Mike said as he rushed into to class with two other friends with him. I just nodded my head.

“That’s too bad, we’ll miss him,” I said, trying to put some sincere sympathy in my voice. Though even I admit it came across as bland. “Alright, who is ready to paint some animal silhouettes!” I announced aloud.

My lesson was to have the kids first take a quiz to see which animal they were most like out of the five I picked, and asked them the questions aloud I demonstrated how to sketch each animal’s silhouette. The two hours flew by quickly. The kids had me also join in and take the quiz. I assumed I would get the wolf, but I got the bunny instead which was odd—but they seemed happy about it so I pretended to be as well.

Half an hour later, I arrived back home at my sanctum. Finally, I was alone. It was nice to shed the ‘face’ I put on for others and just be my natural self. Since I lived alone, I was able to leave things as messy as I wanted or as clean as I wanted… and this week, I was going to clean. Everything was nicely labeled and organized, like a cutout of a magazine photoshoot. I placed my keys in their usual spot and went to the kitchen, filling my kettle with water to make tea.

I did feel things. People assumed--when I was younger that as a teenager diagnosed with at first conduct disorder and then later antisocial personality disorder or psychopathy--that I didn’t feel things. I did. I guess I just felt them on a different scale. Rage and anger were easy to come by. But now I took medications to help me, and they were doing great. I was less anxious, less impulsive. I even managed to go to college and graduate. I tried to become an art teacher, but failed, miserably. I couldn’t stand working eight hours a day, pretending to care about everything related to the job.

It was easier to do it in short bursts. 

So, I became an artist who did part-time work at clubs as a bartender, art projects at elderly homes, and after school art clubs. I painted in my free time as well. 

It wasn’t until four years ago that I went into the hitman business though. It all started after meeting an old friend. He used to be my dad’s friend in the military. My dad passed away after an accident my family had when I was a 14. That accident is kind of what caused my state of mind. I use to be a caring individual, I felt too much in fact. But after getting injured, being hospitalized for four months, and having my dad and brother die in the car accident—afterward, I changed. 

It was just me and my mom. My lovely mother. Well… she wasn’t all that lovely. She was a beauty--don’t get me wrong--but she was evil to the core. I don’t think she was exactly like me, but maybe a different version of me. She was abusive. I dreamed of the day I could crush her face in with my bare hands. Expelling all that hate right back at her in one brutal moment. And then I’d laugh and laugh.

Sadly, it wasn’t me that killed her. It was some stranger, a drug addict that attacked her with a knife. I was seventeen when it happened, and my dad’s friend took me in with his family afterward even though I was old enough to be on my own. I thought he was a nice guy until he showed me his true colors—catching him in the middle of a horrendous act. In the middle of disposing of a body in the garage, cutting it up into smaller pieces so he could dissolve them in a lye bath.

I didn’t tell anyone. Nor did I blackmail him. It simply wasn’t my business.

When I was 27, only four years ago, I met him again. And that’s when he said he could teach me. A way to earn money. If I was brave enough to do it. And I needed the money to pay off my mother’s debt to her creditors. 

Among all the damn flaws she had, gambling and doing drugs were the top of the list. I knew she wasted tens of thousands—it’s what my dad often had to cough up to the goons that came around threatening us. 

But really, she landed us in the millions of dollars of debt. Why the fuck would someone let her do that shit is beyond me. I thought he was an idiot. And I still ‘owed’ that idiot another million dollars out of the total three million my mom wasted. 

Vincent had me working for him as soon as I was 18, as a bartender. I also had a stint for about a year, luring rich assholes with my body, drugging them and robbing them. But as I got older, the less likely the men wanted to choose me. So, I bartended, then I used my art degree to help sell counterfeit art and ‘wash’ money at the gallery he owned. But I was getting tired of working for him four years ago and leaped at the chance of making larger amounts of money—even if it meant I had to kill people.

Pouring my tea, I thought back to the first person I killed. I nearly died myself trying to kill them. I planned everything out so well, at least I thought I did. I shook my head, angry at the messiness of that day and poured sugar into my cup. 

I still did bartend for him once a week—he wanted me to show my face each week to make sure I wasn’t going to vanish on him. So, I did it. Today was Thursday though, so I had the evening to myself. I headed to the art area of my studio apartment which was my loft above the kitchen, and I began to paint the real Elise. 

I painted her as though she were alive right now, smiling, happy. Glowing with her beauty. 

Pitiful.

[agirlnamedsteve]

I’m getting published! Cool!

Yesterday I got an email from the main editor of Killer and a Sweet Thang about a piece I submitted saying that they loved my writing and want to publish me in december which is some sort of weird dream for me. Not that it gives me any sort of recognition and it’s a really random website that not many people I know follow, but it’s a really big deal for me! I love online publications and would love to someday create a space like KAAST but mostly just love that I get to contribute something. And it’s a really deeply personal piece. I’ll attach it below. It’s basically just a revised version of a previous blog post. I was reading through the blog and seeing that there was such a wide array of articles, not all of them being about sex, and one of them even had to do with kavanaugh and who he is! I am assuming that the readership of this blog is anywhere from 16-25 ish probably? And I feel like the politics of my body is a way that I conceptualize my political involvement and also make sense of who I am. So I figured I would see if they wanted to publish me. It just affirms to me that this is what I want to be doing! Creative stuff! I like writing as though the world is my public journal. I am such an open book and love that about myself. Can’t wait to get back to school and see if there are any pubs I can get involved in.

“The Politics of My Body: Conceptualizing My Sexual Assault in a Post-Kavanaugh World”

I woke up relatively hungover in my hotel room and checked my phone to see more texts than I was expecting. Being halfway across the world, it’s not uncommon for people to check in on me and reach out during the hours when I’m sleeping since those are peak hours back home. Today was different though.

I was prepared for the news that a sexual assailant was joining the ranks of our oldest and whitest in government. I was prepared for the news, knowing fully well that even my foolish hopes that the outcries of survivors would make an impact on the vote couldn’t save us from this outcome. There was nothing I wasn’t prepared for, since the past two years since I started college and our country began its governance under yet another racist, sexist pig (I miss u Obama) I have felt that every news alert, every oppressive tweet, and every disappointment has just taken my body and thrown it against a building repeatedly. While it doesn’t show on the outside, my internal organs are bleeding and I have a heart that is bruised.

I received texts from friends who are with me abroad offering their support, from my older sister, former partners, and people who love me from all walks of life. I have recently made myself more vulnerable by sharing more personal details about myself on the internet and being much more politically active on my social media platforms regarding the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh and the nuances of women and survivors in a society where politics have never regarded anyone except white males as deserving of full respect. Reading some Brittney Cooper (“Eloquent Rage”) and the words of bell hooks and Cleo Wade and other intersectional feminist writers who I admire and engage with daily had been cathartic for me. It’s put things into perspective for me, and it’s expanded the ways that I go about processing difficult information.

First there’s the knowledge that women of color have always had it this bad. That Dr. Ford was more believable because she’s an academic and a white woman. That Anita Hill never had the chance Dr. Ford was given to be widely supported and believed. I’ve learned more about white feminism, and I’ve learned about who out of the men in my life are interested in speaking out and who will remain silent. I’ve appreciated and admired every person that has spoken out on their social media platforms and every person who had reached out to me and other survivors in any way, shape, or form to acknowledge our humanity and our anger. While it is easy for me to get caught up in the parts of my identity that have been more difficult–– being raised by a single mother, having an emotionally and physically unavailable father, growing up bisexual and struggling with body image, surviving sexual assault–– there are parts of my identity (my whiteness, upper-middle socio-eonomic upbringing, liberal arts college education) which grant me privilege and power that is simply not accessible to all people, especially POC. Additionally and above all, because I have benefitted from my whiteness, I often fail to see the intersections that amplify my power and recognize that regardless of how much I try to engage with female writers and activists of color, I can and should always be working to do better. And to know that I have this privilege, and to use it for the advancement of all people. But I digress…

That week I joined the survivors who came forward with their experiences of sexual assault. It has been two years and a few months, and I just never found the right time. It also took quite a bit of learning and unlearning for me to understand the depth and weight of what had happened to me. It took me a long time to remember that it was due to others not stepping up and sharing their stories and concerns with his behaviors of the past that I was put in the vulnerable position I was to be assaulted that night. He never would have been there in the first place if others had expressed their concerns of his predation. I don’t harbor any resentment for the situation I was placed in. I do, however, feel that it is my duty, as it was the duty of Dr. Ford, to out the people who have harmed us in an effort to make the world a safer and more just place. When I shared my experience, I don’t know what I expected. Learning that the process of due diligence meant that he needed to be contacted about what I had shared caused me immediate panic. I felt so heard and believed when I reported the incident. But I felt conflicted by the news that he would face consequences for his actions, or at least learn that he has had this lasting impact on someone he’s probably forgotten about. While I knew that must be part of the process, I had discounted how much it would affect me that he would have my name spoken to him, my experience relayed to him. I’m not pressing charges, so i’ll never have to sit in a courtroom opposite him and hear his voice, which will likely tell tales of assumed consent and blurred lines. The way I see it now, I was incapacitated, I blacked out during it, I have felt unsafe for myself and others in that space ever since.

On that morning, I drafted an email and decided I was done carrying the invalidation I was placing on myself on my shoulders anymore. In sending that email I didn’t suddenly become free. I didn’t call for celebration and I didn’t even feel different on the inside. But what’s followed has been the daily reminder to myself that I have survived and maybe even grown from my experience. An experience nobody should have to go through. Dr. Ford continues to be harassed daily, while I have been able to share my story in a much more quiet, almost secret in a way.

For people who are struggling with whether or not to share their stories, and those who have been burdened by the social media streams of personal experiences of victims and the reminder that so many people we know have been affected by sexual violence, I see you. I wish you peace. I know that even from my positionality it still took me a very long time and lots of support to come to terms with my experience. I have been realizing more and more that the need for me to speak out came less from a place of personal redemption and more from the understanding that my experience, my sexual assault, was political in and of itself. If we can’t hold men in our own communities accountable for their actions how can we expect that to be reflected in politics? It’s complicated, but watching Dr. Ford come forward with bravery and conviction convinced me that I could do the same.