#it's 'i have a duty; and that duty is not synonymous with Violence; it can be feeding and healing the people you love'

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i want to go ahead and write up A Whole Thing about how ricky's arc ultimately comes down to 'protect what's yours,' in a way that tbh manages to be kind of the opposite of the toxic masculinity that trope tends to embody in western media especially. but also it relies on several other major essays about the themes in this show that i need to write up first to tie them all together with it. ashdjsjdjdh. Help

[dailyanarchistposts]

Joy is not happiness

With all this in mind, we want to pull happiness and joy apart, in hopes of further clarifying what we mean by joyful militancy. The happiness offered to us by Empire is not the same as joy, even though they are conventionally understood as synonyms. For instance, the Oxford English Dictionary defines joy simply as “a feeling of great pleasure or happiness.”[16] But whereas joyful transformation undoes the stultifying effects of Empire, happiness has become a tool of subjection.

Under Empire, happiness is seen as a duty and unhappiness as a disorder. Marketing firms increasingly sell happy experiences instead of products: happiness is a relaxing vacation on the beach, an intense night at the bar, a satisfying drink on a hot day, or the contentment and security of retirement. As consumers, we are encouraged to become connoisseurs and customizers, with an ever more refined sense of the kinds of consumption that make us happy. As workers, we are expected to find happiness in our job. Neoliberal capitalism encourages its subjects to base their lives on this search for happiness, promising pleasure, bliss, fulfillment, arousal, exhilaration, or contentment, depending on your tastes and proclivities (and your budget).

The search for happiness doesn’t just come through consumption. Empire also sells the rejection of upward mobility and consumerism as another form of placid containment: the individual realizes that what really makes him happy is a life in a small town where everyone knows your name, or a humble nuclear family, or kinky polyamory, or travel, or witty banter, or cooking fancy food, or awesome dance parties. The point is not that these activities are wrong or bad. Many people use food, dance, sex, intimacy, and travel in ways intertwined with transformative struggles and bonds. But Empire empties these and other activities of their transformative potential, inviting us to shape our lives in pursuit of happiness as the ultimate goal of life. Rebecca Solnit explains this powerfully:

Happiness is a sort of ridiculous thing we’re all supposed to chase like dogs chasing cars that suggests there’s some sort of steady wellbeing … you can feel confident, you can feel loved, but I think joy flashes up at moments and then you have other important things to attend to. Happiness—the wall-to-wall carpeting of the psyche—is somewhat overrated.”[17]

Similarly, feminist theorist Sara Ahmed writes that “to be conditioned by happiness is to like your condition … consensus is produced through sharing happy objects, creating a blanket whose warmth covers over the potential of the body to be affected otherwise.”[18] As wall-to-wall carpeting or a warm blanket, the search for happiness closes off other possibilities, other textures, other affections. Ahmed shows how the promise of happiness can be treacherous, encouraging us to ignore or turn away from suffering—our own or others’—if it threatens happiness. This promise has a gendered and racialized logic: Empire is designed to secure white male happiness in particular, while the feelings of women, genderqueer and trans folks, and people of color are intensely policed. As Nishnaabe scholar and artist Leanne Betasamosake Simpson writes,

I am repeatedly told that I cannot be angry if I want transformative change—that the expression of anger and rage as emotions are wrong, misguided, and counter-productive to the movement. The underlying message in such statements is that we, as Indigenous and Black peoples, are not allowed to express a full range of human emotions. We are encouraged to suppress responses that are not deemed palatable or respectable to settler society. But the correct emotional response to violence targeting our families is rage.[19]

Simpson shows how the restriction of negative emotions can take place in movements themselves: imperatives to be happy, nice, or kind can sustain violence, forcing out anger and antagonism. Unhappiness is pathologized along with so-called “negative” emotions like rage, despair, resentment, and fear when they get in the way of promised forms of happiness.

For those who refuse these imperatives, control and coercion lurk behind happy promises. Being perceived as a threat to the happiness of others—especially white men—can be lethal. These tangled webs of subjection are portrayed as individual failings or pathologies. Unhappiness, outrage, and grief are then perceived as individual disorders, to be dealt with through pharmaceuticals, self-help, therapy, and other atomizing responses.

The point is not that happiness is always bad, or that being happy means being complicit with Empire. Happiness can also be subversive and dangerous, as part of a process through which one becomes more alive and capable. But when happiness becomes something to be gripped or chased after as the meaning of life, it tends to lose its transformative potential. And if we are not happy—if we are depressed, anxious, addicted, or “crazy”—we are tasked with fixing ourselves, or at least with managing our symptoms. The wall-to-wall carpeting of happiness is an anaesthetic under Empire.

The challenge is not to reject happiness in favor of duty or self-sacrifice, but to initiate processes of thinking, feeling, and acting that undo subjection, starting from everyday life. Because Empire has shaped our very aspirations, moods, and identities, this always entails grappling with parts of ourselves. This is one of the fundamental questions that runs through the Spinozan current: How are people made to desire their own stifling forms of subjection? How do we come to desire the violent, depleting forms of life offered up by Empire? How do transformative movements get drawn back into the rhythms of capitalism and the state? And most importantly, how can we bring about something different?

Because Empire has a hold on our desires and the rhythms of our lives, undoing it cannot be about discovering a truth or revealing it to others as if we have all been duped. The kind of transformation we are interested in is not about converting people, or finally being able to see clearly.

[niece-jemima]

Hi hi!! How about 0, 4 and 10 for whichever S/I you'd like?

thank you both so much for these asks!!!

I'm going to talk about one of my Black Jack OCs, since it has the greatest actual development + is really dope IMO

0 (any influences/are they you/are they an OC). Um. So. I have grown up reading a LOT of sci fi. This S/I, in particular, is a very tall bipedal wolf supersoldier bodyguard, given to BJ as a gift for a surgery.

Wolf is bc I'm actually otherkin, specifically wolfkin! As for the other influences, I'm certain there must be some subconsciously, since this is a scenario I've done a few times. The only one that comes to mind is Mewtwo, from the first movie. I think the bodyguard thing came from reading a lot about how people like bodyguard ships, which has never really been my thing. But I wanted to figure out a way to MAKE it into something I'm into, and voila! fucking hugelarge science project who can't integrate into normal society!

1 (how do you develop lore?). tbh? it just kinda happens. as previously established, I really like scifi. so I'll just pull neat pieces of that plus some stuff from all the damn xenofiction I'm reading all the time! The reason I have it exist As It Does is bc in-universe there's already like aliens and surgically turning people into birds and stuff, so I figured having a made-up sovereign nation with animal soldiers wouldn't be all that weird, especially since there's already an in-canon nation with a top-secret military base (the ova Child From the Sky and the chapter it's based on covers this)

4 (what element represents them best?). hm... probably earth? it's very steadfast and unshakeable, sometimes to its detriment. Very good at keeping a damper on its emotions- comes with being born to obey. A big part of its arc is actually learning how to relax. Sure, it could relax back in the home complex, but it also wasn't on-duty and in front of its 'master' 24/7 back on the complex.

5 (symbolism?). HI I LIKE WOLVES AND WOLF SYMBOLISM. okay SO wolves are often associated with the term 'lone wolf.' this is false sucking advertising and a lone wolf is a dead wolf walking. They NEED others, social bonds are crucial!

My S/I went from being part of a 'pack' (the military/science compound) to being the sole guardian of a new home, to which it feels divorced of any sense of belonging. this leads it to act out and needlessly endanger its own life when BJ or Pinoko are threatened.

BUT as time goes on, Pinoko and BJ make it feel like part of their family, instead of a glorified attack dog, which it is in a somewhat literal sense, thus bringing the symbolism full circle!

8 (luck?). to be honest...? luck doesn't much factor into it. It can keep almost dying all it wants, but since BJ's Whole Thing is being really good at keeping people alive, dying's not really on the table.

That said, of course, being randomly selected as the 'gift' was an incredible stroke of luck, giving my S/I a purpose beyond dying for causes it's never been taught about and people who don't know its name.

10 (scariest moment of its life). It claims it doesn't experience fear. It knows (or believes) its life is destined to be violent and short.

But it does know fear. Midway into its character arc, both Jack and Pinoko went missing without a trace. Just as it was starting to learn to trust and to love, everything was ripped away. It spent a week and a half tracking them down, ripping apart anything and anyone between itself and its new pack. When it found them, weak but alive, it could not help but to hold them and cry.

And it realized that that is what fear means to it. It is a synonym for alone. A synonym for helpless. It knew that this was no longer a job it did simply because it was bred for obedience and violence. It would strive to keep them safe because failure is unthinkable.

~~~

Again, thank you both! hope this was some valuable insight into the way I write my characters, lol.

[egipci]

Sorry for the long message but I 100% agree about Alicent and Otto’s relationship feeling more viscerally wrong than the actual on-screen incest. With the Targaryens, incest is just an accepted and normalized part of life, and the show (unfortunately imo) doesn’t really try to unpack the harm in this kind of institutional indoctrination and grooming. Even with Daemon and Rhaenyra, they aged her up to be conveniently 18 when he takes her to the brothel, and it’s framed as sexy and liberating. There’s still grooming, but it feels like the writers went out of their way to sanitize it as much as possible so that audiences would root for them.

The intimacy, secrecy and AMBIGUITY between Otto and Alicent otoh is just so… uncanny. Especially with how the daughter/wife role she plays for both Otto and Viserys blur into one. And you’re right that this is definitely a gendered issue that can’t be compared 1:1 to a male character. A woman in this society is her fathers property first, until he hands her over to a husband, and in a way this implies that these two relationships are synonymous.

But I think it’s so interesting how both Dean and Alicent are so consumed by the idea of duty, obedience and sacrifice (especially to family). So much of their worth is tied to how useful they are and how much they can give of themselves to others. Their repressed bitterness towards the one who they feel managed to escape this burden: "While you flout all to do as you please. Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" to Rhaenyra + "You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?" to Sam. Idk I just love this kind of character who tries soooo hard to be a good tool even if it’s futile and to their own detriment.

hello hello sorry i'm late <3

I do think it's kind of strange/a missed opportunity that HotD isn't exploring the "why is incest bad?" question more. Neutralizing the social stigma allows for something deeper that just "because it's icky" (if you're at all familiar with communities where cousin marriage is common you would know that the "genetic risks" are at the bottom of the list of issues -- and even that is very distinct from sibling incest or uncle/niece, etc). I think the choking scene in the finale hints at something there to do with heir/heir rivalry, but other than that they're giving us a nice wholesome older man/younger girlboss relationship.

Anyway-- back to Alicent! I love her! She is Daddy's bestest girl! I haven't read the book but I know one change the show made was aging her down to maker her closer to Rhaenyra's age-- but imagine if they hadn't and we got to see her be her dad's wife for a while before being shipped off to Viserys. Like I said, John is so deeply parasitic and reliant on Dean, and we don't get to see Otto exploit her for his own personal *well-being* in the same way-- we see him comparing her to her mother twice: the first time he redirects her sexual appeal to another man, and the second he redirects her motherly influence towards her son -- I would say the best J/D parallel to that is the monster bait/ hitchhiker business and that outsourcing of sexual violence. Which isn't to say she couldn't have served that replacement spouse function for Otto-- my girl just didn't get the chance. And now I'm thinking once again about fantasy au J/D!

[gett-merkedd]

THE EXPROPRIATION

“From the earliest times there were men — comparable to today’s sharks — who, using brutal force and cunning, appropriated the common patrimony.

If they had limited themselves to this, it would have been little bad, since the damaged ones, adopting the systems of their marauders, could perhaps have regained the lost goods, perhaps reviving others.

The real evil arose instead when said marauders, to consolidate and increase the products of theft, constituted the authority and pretended to dictate laws to the world and precisely to those who had been usurped by them.

Thus there were tyrants on one side and slaves on the other.

The first solemnly proclaimed: “Property is the fruit of labor and savings and is sacred and inviolable.” And the defense of the hypocritical principle of sacred and inviolable property was entrusted to three shady figures who still reign: the gendarme — synonymous with brutality and ferocity -, the priest and the moralist, who personify the lie.

Against this principle philosophers rose up, who ruled: “Property is theft”; they were joined by thousands and thousands of slaves hoping for freedom and equality, and who divided themselves into schools and parties headed by shepherds, who are repeating — to the point of putting the public to sleep for the boredom they cause — their speeches about rights and duties of workers, on humanitarianism, altruism, justice, solidarity, brotherhood, equality, freedom, etc., etc., and, as if they were to build a building, trace the design of society future, between the dazed looks of the poor and the ironic smile of the rich.

These sentimental speeches are jeremiads, which seem to want to convince the owners to give up their possessions for the benefit of derelict humanity. But the rich are deaf, they are not moved and, above all, they are strong, because they have gendarmes, priests, moralists and social reformists more or less varnished with revolutionism; on the contrary, the rich, seeing that the people are content with whining and that they allow themselves to be duped by bad shepherds, become more and more bold and aggressive, and, as if the violence of the royal or republican authorities were not enough, they hire armed gangs to the defense of their capital.

I like speeches very little, much less sentimental and rhetorical ones; it doesn’t matter to me whether property is the product of labor or theft; I do not make considerations on law and justice, nor do I care to arouse feelings of humanity. I know that I must live my life as comfortably and as freely as I can, and I try to find the means necessary for this purpose.

“The right to life is not begged, but is taken”, so I say to my comrades: we live as anarchically as we can, without waiting for the laggard of the future, which for us anarchists will always have unhealthy rays.

Society rightly considers us enemies, therefore we do not seek any way of reconciliation, we reject the means of struggle that it offers us — means for political and trade union struggles — and we choose our means ourselves, and whether these are adequate for the difficult task that we face. we propose, superior to those adopted by our enemy. We accept the challenge and fight without respite or quarter, to achieve victory immediately and not in the year two thousand.

Force comes down with force, violence with violence, property with expropriation.

I attach the greatest revolutionary importance, the highest subversive significance to individual expropriation. It means: practical and effective rebellion against the system of exploitation perpetrated by the idle and the pleasure-seekers to the detriment of the workers; conquest of the right to life, joy and freedom, since society only tramples on the poor; revenge against property owners and social institutions. On the contrary, the multiplication of individual expropriations constitutes a true and profound social disintegration; and revolutionism and anarchism — today more than ever, in the face of the arrogance of the socialist party which claims to impose its dictatorship — have no reason to exist and to manifest themselves except as essentially anti-social tendencies.

The revolution, to demolish the present and future organisms of oppression and exploitation, does not take place on fixed dates on the barricades, but takes place every hour, every moment in the multiple assaults against society, by the unscrupulous and rebellious individuals.

It is necessary to overthrow and destroy all the principles that support the so-called civil society; and the expropriation of individuals, while on the one hand it poisons the existence of the rich, who feel they are suffocating under the weight of wealth in danger, on the other it undermines the social and moral edifice from its very foundations.

The systematic individual expropriation of the rebels and the strong, the irreverent violation of the dominant principles — religious, authoritarian and moral -, the iconoclastic profanation of all that is considered sacred and inviolable, constitute the foundation of revolutionary and anarchist criticism, the reason for being anti-socialist anarchism.

So we, being anarchists, rise up against the crusade of cheap humanitarians, of altruistic shopkeepers, who with plasters claim to heal social rot.

Those who approve of revolution and collective expropriation — beyond to come — and repudiate individual expropriation, are sacristans of the monarchy rather than revolutionaries. Let them speak of reformism — perhaps anti-parliamentary — but not of revolution and much less of anarchism.

Giulio [Jules] Bonnot’s example of action — to quote just one name — is worth much more to me than all the revolutionary preaching of the socialist anarchists.

Convinced of this, I address myself, not to the flock that does not want to understand me, but to men endowed with a strong will, and I tell them: awaiting the Apocalypse , let us carry out our expropriating revolution, to achieve our well-being and our freedom.“

— Erinne Vivani

[chim-aera]

spring has come and the skies are raining

March has come. it tiptoes in with a seductive flourish, oh so different then February's solemn steps. I've been chasing my own tail recently, biting my own neck, akin to Ouroboros but I will never taste divinity, I have once, but drinking it off another's lips is not the same as having the golden inchor flow within your own veins.

am I fading? oh Fates. Moirai, what do you have in store for me? have I reached the last chapter of my story? or am i finally beginning? I'm tired, of course, but remarkably the heaviness seems to have made a home inside my chest. It resides there, as if it belongs. it is quite far from being new, I've known this sadness since i could breathe, but this, oh this is different.

my bones are creaking with the weight of centuries, oh there I go being metaphorical again. oh little field mouse, who would love you when your mouth still tastes of honey and venom, my words may be feather light sometimes, but my tongue is still coated lead.

I have found myself being ripped in two. seperate pieces, shredded at the seams. oh how I wish to wither, to make myself soft and easily swallowed. to wash the poison from my skin until it's raw and bleeding. but the other half, the shadow will not let me. oh how I wish to let someone simply destroy me again. so I needn't do that dirty work all myself. but self destruction isn't a pretty cage like tortured love is. and love and hate are synonymous you know? I try to softly smile but I bare my teeth instead. how tired I truly am of fighting. but if I cease, who will pick up the sword? I will tell you who, no one. It is but my duty alone.

alas, here I am again. as I was when I was twelve, and first learning how to dissect my heart and place it inside glass jars and between book pages. here I am again. as when I was fourteen, writing my woes as if to attempt to drown out the screaming in my mind.

who could love this? who would love this? a fool, is what I tell you. but even fools have a certain genial charm to them if they do things just right. I, am neither a fool nor would i dare to call this shattered mind of my own wise. a clock that been warped and twisted by the claws of time. by the claws of the gods. I've met a god before, and oh in those pale moments I saw what true horror was. it was then I realized my shattered smile was nothing compared to the hatred glistening in his lovely features. I ran.

how do you outrun a god? oh, you don't. you can't. but damn did I try. they ripped my wings from me, you know. a simmering, bloody gape where they were torn from my ribcage. I still feel them ache sometimes. but there's nothing there.

how does one become lovable? do they swallow the violence in their mind and smile a smile that does not quite reach their eyes? or do they reach their hand out to the monsters in the darkness and hope the talons that reach back aren't any worse than you are?

I've done both, and I'll tell you creatures can be kinder in their own brutal way. they'll make your heart bruise and bleed, but never will they let it drop.

well, I don't have a heart to give anymore. I locked it somewhere on one of those shelves in my grandmother's bathroom and now I cannot remember the key. part of me believed I lost it the times I screamed alone as a child. perhaps I swallowed it with my own small mouth then, saying bitterly between wracks of breath, "you fool, you let them hurt us again, how can you protect yourself if you never even protected me??"

I wake up screaming again. but this time it's silent. It's always silent. who knows, maybe the sound will kill me. maybe the time I finally utter my agony I'll shrivel and perish right then and there. It'd be a far less messy end then what the gods have probably planned for me. but punishments are never pretty, are they?

ha, but oh I'll try. I'll keep breathing my shallow, ragged breaths. I won't give my divine audience anymore satisfaction then what they already find. but like I said; it is March, it is raining, and perhaps, there is still hope. one can simply dream, can't they?

[cursedwanderer]

Swedish folklore: Stories about hunting female creatures

I stumbled upon a link about what folklore is. The text mentions early written documents about a person hunting down a female creature. I just want to give a fair warning that these stories are dark and filled with death, violence and cruelty. I’m describing three examples from folklore and the third story involves violence against animals. It's not a very graphic description but if one doesn’t want to read about such things it’s probably best to skip it. 

The source for this deep dive is Bengt af Klintberg and the site literature bank from 2012. It's all written in Swedish but I’ve translated as much as I can using different translation sites and looking at synonyms for descriptions. https://litteraturbanken.se/presentationer/specialomraden/FolktroITryck.html

The first story document was written 1693 by the priest F. Sorbonius. He in turn had heard the story coming from a small village called Kiaby close to Kristianstad. 

A man named Hans was guarding seeds from the field but one night during his duty he met a large man on a horse, a stranger who asked if he had ever met Kiuge-Beldam or the mountain Beldam of Kiugekull. Hans then answered, “With good speed you may catch her.” After passing stones of three along his way to town Hans once again witnessed the large stranger approaching. With him was the corpse of a woman laying on his horse. Only this woman had sagging breasts that reached the ground. Once the stranger reached Hans he was rewarded with a coin and words of warning, “Daytime is yours, the night is mine. If I find you outside at night once again you will die.” When taking the coin it slipped through his hand to leave a hole afterwards but Hans swore it had been resembling Danish coins of old. 

Regarding the terms and words used in my translation. “a stranger who asked if he had ever met Kiuge-Beldam” From my understanding of the original story “Kiuge” might be a place or slang for a place since the text takes place in an area called Kiaby. In the first instance the female creature is mentioned as a “käring” which has several meanings in Swedish as it’s mostly used to describe elderly women and magical beings such as witches or nature spirits in folklore. The closest word I could find with a resembling meaning was Beldam and I really hope it somehow captures the essence of this story. “or the mountain Beldam of Kiugekull”. To my knowledge there are very few good translations for the word “bergsrå.” The word “berg” means mountain, but “rå” in folklore context describes a female creature that protects their domain. It is a short form of “rådande” or “råda” which in this case would mean “to dominate,”  “ruler” or “ruling.” I could probably use “queen” or “lady” but the text doesn’t paint the being with any dignity and there is never a moment where her voice shines through either so I decided to use “beldam” again. The next example was written down by Klas Olofsson and was believed to take place sometime during the year of 1800. In this story it’s not a large stranger but Odin, who sometimes in younger folklore was described as a king from older times. In this story the creature is a “skogsrå,” a female ruler of a forest and takes place close to Gothenburg where most of these stories have been told. One moonlit night a man followed the old road of Norlhe below the Gallows hills. All of a sudden he heard sounds of barking dogs getting closer from above. Then followed loud breathing from a running woman who told him to keep quiet if anyone asked for her and as soon those words had been spoken she was out of sight. Soon enough sprung a man on his horse from the direction she had followed. The rider held a rifle under one arm and turned to him. “Has ya’ met one runnin’ down this road?” Instead of directly telling him what had happened only moments earlier he pointed out which direction she had taken. “I sure have." Once it was said the rider quickly kicked both heels to spur his horse and was soon gone. Sounds of barking kept going but died out as a shot was heard from a distance. When the rider returned on his horse there was now a dead woman laying in front of him at the saddle. He turned towards the wanderer when speaking anew. “It was well ya’ didn’t go silent with it, or I might have you shot.” It was Odin. To my surprise there is another example written down 1988 by a young mother from Vällingby. This story has some drastic changes but is wearing some of the old folklore elements. This is the third example and it involves violence towards animals.

Last year my mother told me about a warning that was aimed towards two new parents. According to this warning there was a danger in keeping a dog after the child had arrived as said dog could do harm out of jealousy. Despite hearing this the couple kept their dog and had it guarding their newborn as it was often left to rest under an open sky. The woman in this story was preparing dinner as usual while her newborn was resting and guarded outside. All of a sudden there was a loud screaming followed by a deafening silence. In rushed the family dog with blood smeared around its mouth. In blind desperation she used a frying pan to knock it out before rushing out to her garden. What she witnessed was an unharmed baby beside a snake with its head bitten off. When realizing what had happened she became mad with sorrow as the dog had been killed by her own hands when it had in fact protected her baby.

[eleord]

there’s a small essay that’s bouncing around in my head about disco elysium, masculinity, humanity, and poverty. it’s bad don’t read it

it’s a big part of Lely’s characterization that he’s poor. he’s from Oranje, which is a developed country that forms part of the moralintern, but he was forced (”“) by his financial situation to go into the military and become a mercenary. the moralist who you question in the Smoker’s apartment laments that Lely was “cut down during his prime earning years" - the most important part of who Lely was is how much money he can make. when you tell the moralist that Lely was forced to become a mercenary out of poverty despite being Oranese, he remarks that “that’s not how we do things where I’m from.” for all (because) he’s a moralist, he doesn’t actually view Lely as a person. when you tell him that Lely was “a motherfucker,” he gets offended, saying that you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, when that’s *exactly* how Lely would have referred to himself; we learn from Klassje that Lely found some sense of security in romanticizing the violent life that he had led. but to the moralist, the type of violence and masculinity that Lely represents is so abhorrent that the moralist refuses to see it, DESPITE the fact that Lely was working for a military contractor that takes moralintern contracts.

you, as Harry, also must contend with your masculinity and how it figures into your job as a police officer. you and Lely are often juxtaposed - Harry has the option to show tenderness to Lely, and dreams of himself as the dead body hanging from the tree. we don’t know anything much Harry’s past, but we do know that Harry and Kim are both very poor - the RCM does not pay that much money. both Harry and Kim seemed to have joined from a sense of duty: Harry for Dora and Kim for Revachol. throughout the game, Harry has to confront what it means to be a police officer in a part of the city that does not want him there. he is subject to the union forces, the hired mercenaries, and the disrespect of the locals. he’s trapped in this web that he learns about throughout the game and has very little agency in. to a small degree, i think the game’s approach to fashion is sort of part and parcel of the poverty: it’s one of the only ways you have self expression, but you’re still limited by what you can find lying around or afford to buy. it’s also no accident, i think, that a lot of the clothes you get are either really boring or not traditionally “masculine.”

and then you have Kim, who is gay, comments several times on the way you dress, is obsessed with large machinery, is visibly tickled by your infatuation with the smoker, and has a belief system that seems to revolve around the RCM.  Kim’s masculinity is directly in conversation with his status both as a police officer and as a gay man. Kim cares (no he doesn’t, yes he does) about being cool, which to him, seems to synonymous with being in control. it’s plausible that desire for control is what allows him to believe in the RCM: at least it’s Revacholians policing Revachol instead of the moralintern (or mercenaries) doing that job. i think you learn that the RCM was a compromise, but that the moralintern would *not* have allowed Revachol to go without some kind of occupying militia force. He’s killed people, he wants to arrest Klaasje (if you do this, you later find out that the moralintern has her killed in prison), he helps you get out of paying Garte what you owe specifically *because* you’re a police officer. (i think the scene with Garte is FASCINATING bc like, yeah, as a character you don’t want to have to pay 130 real, but as a person you can recognize what a dick move it is for Kim to call Garte tacky for charging you for the destruction *you* wrecked while *not* doing your job as a police officer.) But he’s kind to Harry, he’s so cool, and he generally doesn’t like it if you’re mean or racist. and like - that’s sort of it. at the end of the day, he’s just a guy trying to do the best he can in the situation he’s in. all the characters, even Lely, are just kind of guys. Titus is just a guy.

you have all this masculinity spilling out of these characters: Titus, Harry, Lely, Kim, (even the murderer at the end who got fixated on Klaasje), all of whom are given these pretty rounded stories where you can interpret their actions as them doing the best they can in the system they were born into given the information they have. on the other hand, you have the moralist, who is the only character you meet in the game who has the power to leave Revachol (depending), and who, arguably, is the only character who has the freedom to express himself because of the relative freedom afforded him by his position. the moralist has *optionz*. and to him, Lely, Titus, Kim, and Harry are not really people. your attempts to (sometimes violently) assert yourselves in this desperation are gross to him: “that’s not how we do things where I’m from.”

but he’s *boring*. it’s a fascinating trick to make the moralistic choices so fucking *boring* in the game. because by choosing the boring option, you’re sort of erasing the complexities that come along with just being a person in a sociopolitical reality you have little control over. there’s so little in the game that you can know the outcome of in advance. when I confronted Ruby and turned her machine off, I was horrified to realize her next plan was fucking suicide. you don’t know if forging the signatures for Evrart is the right decision; even when you return to him the game tells you not to expect that you actually got one over on him. the game doesn’t let you rest easy with the knowledge that you did the right thing even with the tribunal: either way, approximately the same number of people die, and i think it’s very purposeful that you *can’t* talk your way out of this situation. sometimes, people are going to die.

you play as a really fucked up guy in a really fucked up situation investigating a fucked up murder, and basically everyone you talk to has their own degree of fucked-up-ness. you can try to be political to somehow change the situation, but that’s time you could be spending helping people in more direct ways, and the likelihood of success is highlighted as absurdly low. morality is very much a luxury afforded to people who have money and power.

and like, who are you allowed to be, what kind of man are you allowed to be, in these circumstances? do you become kim/titus control freaks, for whatever faction is most appealing? or do you explode into overly romantic, violent shards like harry/lely?

Whatever you pick, you're just a guy.

[mosswillow]

Alone - Dark!Thor x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Adult content. Dark!, kidnapping, forced marriage, noncon/dubcon, oral (male receiving), violence, spit kink, Smut, Thor is mean af in this.

Summary: You’ve been hiding on earth for years after running away from an arranged marriage with Thor. What happens when fate brings him to your place of work?

A/N: This is part of the Synonyms series. You can read them as stand alones or all together. I encourage reading them in order if you want to read all of them but you do you. This is the idk fifth or sixth one I think.

Word count: 2k

All you’ve ever wanted in life is to be left alone. You ran from a life of luxury years ago, escaping from the expectations your parents and society had on you. The expectation to marry a stranger, to have his children, to spend your life in a gilded cage. You had to fight against a lifetime of brainwashing telling you that it was your place and your duty. You left in the dead of night shortly before you were to be sold off. You live on earth now, working at a bar and flirting with assholes for tips. You have your own tiny apartment and quiet life. You love it.

You hand a drink to a regular before turning to reach for another glass and pouring a beer. It’s been a busy night and it’s only just starting to slow down a little after 2am. Tomorrow is your day off and you can’t wait to catch up on sleep.

You almost don’t notice him walking in. If it weren't for his obnoxiously loud laugh you wouldn’t have looked over to the door. It’s Thor, your betrothed, the literal God you ran from. You stop working for a second before running to the back and hiding, having a mini panic attack. You didn’t think anyone was still looking for you. Sure, you knew Thor had left Asgard and now lives with the Avengers but you’ve never even come close to running into him. There’s no reason he should now be in your place of work.

“Are you ok Y/N.” Your manager says, cocking his head.

“I’m sorry boss, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Why don’t you go home, I’ll ask Amy to stay late.”

You thank him and get your coat, pulling on the hood and looking out at the room before walking quickly through the bar. You open the door and in your haste run straight into a wall of muscle. Thor grabs your shoulders and steadies you. You try to back away but his hands stay gripped to your shoulders, shaking them slightly.

“Y/N”

Fuck.

You look up into his angry eyes and give a smile.

“It’s… Thor right?”

Pain shoots through your shoulders as Thor tightens his grip.

“How did you find me?” You breathe.

“Twas luck. I walk in for a drink and there you are.”

You try to take a step back again and this time he lets you go.

“Ok, well it was good seeing you.” you say, preparing to kick ball change your way out of the state, or maybe planet.

Thor grabs hold of your wrist.

“You know I still have a claim on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”  

Thor holds you while he thinks. He reaches out to your face, cupping it in one large hand.

“It’s my right.”

You wrench your hand away and throw a punch, landing it on his jaw and sending him back several steps. He smiles and raises his hand, catching his hammer and fixing his eyes on you. You turn to run but don’t get far before he slams his hammer on the ground and you fall. Tears stream down your face as you try in vain to crawl away. He grabs you and turns you around, pinning you under him. Everything goes black as he punches you in the face.

---

The first thing you notice when waking is the metal cuff. You pull at it, crying out in rage when it doesn’t even bend. It must be made of something strong to hold you. You look around the large bedroom searching for anything that might help but find nothing. The door opens several minutes later, thor walking though it. You pull at the cuff as he slowly takes steps toward you.

“Don’t do this Thor, just let me go,” you beg.

“I’ve slept with many beautiful women,” Thor starts.

He reaches you, holding out his hand to feel the bruise on your cheek, the one he gave you.

“But none of them felt right, None of them were you.” He continues.

“No,” you cry.

“You belong to me Y/N, how dare you run away from that.”

“You’re one to talk. Where are we right now? Sure as hell not in Asgard.”

Thor’s eyes narrow as he leans in. “You know nothing of me.”

Thor gently strokes your face, moving his hand to cup your breast. He leans in to kiss you and you spit in his face, glaring at him with contempt. He backs away shocked before wiping the spit from his face.

“That’s not how this is going to go little lady, I’ll give back everything you throw at me.”

Thor grabs your jaw, pushing his thumb against the side and forcing it open. He spits into your mouth and you choke before swallowing.

“And I’ll make it ten times worse.”

“You say you had sex with lots of women but it never felt right? That’s weird because I’ve also has sex with plenty of people and you’ve never even crossed my mind. You’re just not all that memorable I guess.”

Thors entire body seems to grow as he storms across the room and grabs a key. He unlocks your hand and climbs on top of you, grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head. You’re used to being the strongest person in a room but now Thor holds you easily with one hand as you struggle in vain.

“I’m the only one you’ll think of again, soon you’ll be begging for me.” He says grinding against you.

He kisses you, sucking in your lip and letting it go with a pop. You flinch as he grabs your clothes and rips them off of you before tearing off his own. He flips you over with ease, pushing down between your shoulder blades and slaps your ass a few times. You cry out as he gives a sharp thrust, his cock stretching you out painfully.  

“You say no but your body betrays you…” You bring your hands to your face as he thrusts over and over. “... So wet.”

Thor lets out a husky moan as his cum pours into you. He pulls out and sits next to you on the bed, grabbing your torn shirt and cleaning himself off. You sit up, pulling the blanket over yourself and staring ahead in shock. He kisses you on the forehead and grabs your hand again, cuffing you in place.

“Just until you learn your place,” He says as he pulls his pants on and walks out of the room.

---

Thor isn’t gone for long. He comes back holding a tray of food and drinks. You reach out for a grape and he pulls the plate away, taking the grape and holding it up to your lips. You take a shaky breath, shouting at him in your mind and imagining yourself punching the smirk off his face. You open your mouth and he feeds you several pieces of fruit and cheese as you sit wordlessly on his bed, his cum still smeared all over your thighs.

“Can I use the bathroom please?” you ask.

Thor smiles and kisses your temple.

“Of course.”

He unlocks your wrist and you walk to the bathroom, relieving yourself and pulling on a bathrobe you find hanging beside the tub. You take a deep breath and throw the bathroom door open, running full speed out the door and through a hallway. Thor comes after you, yelling and cursing but you keep running full speed.

You run into a large living area where multiple Avengers sit watching tv. They all stand and run towards you, blocking your exit and you raise your fist. You recognize Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and Sam Wilson staring at you, arms raised in fighting stances. Thor reaches the room as well and they surround you.

“You couldn’t have found one without super strength?” Tony asks Thor.

“I have no interest in human women.” Thor replies.

You kick Sam in the chest and he stumbles back, knocking over a lamp. Steve comes up behind you, grabbing you and you elbow him in the stomach, pulling him above you and throwing him across the room. Tony takes a step toward you but before he can throw a punch a woman comes up behind him and hits him over the head with a lamp. She stands shaking as Tony turns to her and grabs hold of her.

“Fuck, Sam get your girl before she hurts herself.”

Sam walks over to the woman, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the fight.

“No, I’m sorry Sam, please I’m so sorry.” She cries as she’s dragged away.

Thor throws a punch and you catch it but don’t see his other hand coming for your stomach. You fall to the floor coughing and he kicks you in the side.

“Jesus, Thor.” Tony says.

“Don’t underestimate her, she’s stronger than humans.” Thor says, grabbing your hands and pulling them behind you. You feel a pinch in your neck and the world goes black.

---

This time you’re not cuffed to the bed. You look around and realize that you’re in a windowless room. You push the wall, already knowing it will be made of something too strong for you to break. You walk around, opening up a dresser and rolling your eyes at the nauseatingly feminine clothing and explore a large bathroom.

“Tony helped make this for you,” Thor says, making you jump.

“Tell him fuck you for me.” you sneer.

Thor sighs and leans against the bathroom door frame.

“You won’t be getting out of here.”

You push past him and to the door finding it open. Behind the door is a small hallway and then a second door with a second keypad. Smart.

“It’s not forever. We’ve already found several incentives to help you feel more comfortable here.”

You turn to Thor and raise your eyebrow.

“How much do you care about the little bar you worked at?”

The implication sinks in.

“You would ruin innocent people's lives just to keep me here?”

“Darling, I’d do much worse than that.”

Thor pulls you by the waist to the bed, sitting down at the edge and pushing down on your shoulders until you kneel. He puts his hand under your chin.

“Open up baby.”

You clench your jaw.

“You will lose this game.” he says, gently coaxing at your jaw.

“Leave me alone!” you scream, tears falling in earnest.

Thor grabs the back of your neck, pushing you to the bed. He gets close to your ear.

“You want to be left alone dear? Ok, I’ll give you what you want. Call for me when you’re ready to behave.”

You hear both doors close and lock and scramble into the bed, folding yourself up into the fetal position under the blanket. You let yourself cry for hours before falling asleep.

---

You sit in your windowless room, knees pulled up to your chest and tears stains down your cheeks. You’re not sure how long you’ve been isolated at this point. You haven't eaten in days and feel weak, both physically and mentally. Screaming sounds stream into the room in random intervals so you’re always on edge and unable to sleep more than twenty minutes at a time. Every time you get out of the bed all the lights turn off forcing you to stumble in the dark.

Thor can punch and kick you, breaking and bruising you until the pain seeps into your bones. You’ll get up each and every time ready to fight. This however, this is so effective that it makes you miss him, it makes you want to cry in his arms and beg him to save you. You close your eyes and shed one more tear before calling his name. He walks in minutes later, approaching you and gently grabbing your jaw, his intentions clear. You open your mouth and close your eyes as he pushes his dick in, fucking your throat until he comes. He pulls you into his lap after, placing a blanket over you and holding you close.

You clutch on to Thor like he might disappear if you let go.

“Please don’t leave, I’m so tired.” you cry.

“Shhh, it’s ok baby, you can sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You shake in his arms, slowly falling asleep despite the anxiety that fills every inch of you. He did this to you, made you terrified of the very thing you’ve always wanted.

To be left alone.

[jostenneil]

do you think that people that praise nobara but bash sakura actually cares about a good written female character in the shonen? idk it seems like ppl attach this title to female characters that have a “no shit attitude” and good physical strength. but what’s wrong with being vulnerable and insecure but having the agency to grow from it? In fact, I would argue sakura has more agency and these traits and complexity than nobara does.

Bluntly speaking? No, I don’t think they do. To me, what’s been so influential about Sakura as a character and her impact on female shounen heroines to follow is the fact that she is very much a product of shoujo tropes and narratives moreso than shounen ones, and that caught people off guard (to the point that it angered them, obviously). I would actually say that what makes her so likeable and relatable to me as a character is that emotionally she’s far more messy than Naruto or Sasuke, who are actually pretty straight laced in the majority of their actions and decisions. They respond very logically to their individual traumas in opposing manners, and that’s what sets the stage for their series-long clash as rivals or something more. 

Sakura, in comparison, isn’t someone whose feelings, decisions, or actions are as clear cut. In the beginning, she’s a little bit selfish, a little bit mean, and it takes the range of her experiences during Part I to mold her into someone with a broader sense of empathy and kindness. Sakura is a normal girl living a normal life who just wants to have a normal crush, until she’s thrust into a team of people all traumatized in some of the worst ways possible, and she has to learn to cope with that while maintaining her own sense of identity and purpose. That’s something that especially becomes a focal point of her growth after the time skip, and as a whole it’s a narrative arc very reflective of the classic shoujo. The thing about her story that’s compelling is there’s this constant back and forth between loyalty to love or duty. Sakura is someone dedicated to building up her strength and skill for the purpose of contributing to and supporting her village, but at heart she’s also the same girl from her childhood who just wants to live a normal life, for her friends to be okay, and for the boy she loves to realize that he is someone worthy of love in the first place. The complexity of that interplay over the course of Part II absolutely fascinates me, especially because it’s something she struggles so much with. A lot of people tend to act like Sakura is naïve or blind to the reality of her circumstances, but I would argue that she’s the most emotionally and realistically grounded member of her team. It’s what makes her internal emotional struggle so hard, because she’s fully aware of the realities, but they nonetheless break her heart and she doesn’t actually like having to acknowledge them. It’s an incredibly human response, and why I think her actions during the Kage Summit Arc and even afterward are so understandable, because, yes, there is strife and blood and war, but doesn’t love still mean something in the end? I think shounen fans who tend to hate her absolutely abhor that aspect of her character, because they can’t stand to see someone who would dare go against the grain of what makes battle shounen so addictive and enjoyable a genre. They’re being asked to contend with a character with more complex motivations and feelings, and they can’t stand it, especially because that complexity manifests in the form of a character who doesn’t have the heart to hurt the people she loves, because more than anything, she just wants them to be okay first. It’s not wrong that Naruto’s philosophy with regards to Sasuke is to fight violence with violence, that’s his prerogative, and there’s reasoning behind it. But there’s also nothing wrong with Sakura trying to appeal to Sasuke’s emotional side first, especially since he is someone who has been so thoroughly traumatized into relying on violence as a coping mechanism. That’s something she acutely recognizes, and yet somehow, it’s almost impossible for a good portion of shounen fans to recognize this themselves, and so you have either people who egg on Sasuke’s dismissive behavior with her or people who act like he’s the devil incarnate because his extensive trauma makes him respond non-ideally. There’s no room for nuance, because at the end of the day, a girl who cries over the boy she loves, or who cries at all, is a miserable human being and has no place in a shounen, regardless of her feats otherwise. 

And then, we have Nobara, who admittedly is a cool character, too! I like how her back story shapes her philosophy with regards to her admiration of and cooperation with the people around her, and how that mindset of hers grows and changes as she spends time with the other students at Jujutsu High. But, while it does present an interesting premise and fairly logical growth pattern, there’s honestly. . . not much more to it beyond that? Nobara is never paid the same amount of attention by the narrative as are Yuji and Megumi, and then it’s not like challenges to her philosophy are a significant focal point of the story (in the sense that it’s not really like her personal arc majorly shapes the story itself). It shows up where it’s needed, and then it’s more or less pretty neatly resolved and tied up with its own bow within a hundred or so chapters. Could she come back from the “dead”, and there theoretically be more done with her character? Maybe. The recent interview from Gege where he talks about the circumstances of her death was interesting. But something he also talked about in that interview is how the series is more than halfway over, and it’s like, is there really a lot more that he can accomplish with her narrative arc when there’s so much else that’s more important and needs to be resolved? I think people like Nobara because she’s someone confident in her own motives and her own sense of self, and that’s great! I love to see characters like that. But it’s also ridiculous to see her constantly lauded over Sakura when she’s hardly afforded a comparable significance to her own story, let alone an extensive character arc where her own personal development matters and is constantly challenged at large. People are far more concerned with dominant expressions of feminism, and that being synonymous with a “strong” female character, than anything actually bordering on a complex and fully realized character. And I don’t mean this in any sense as a criticism to people who like Nobara’s character. I’m just saying that it’s sad to see shounen fans constantly settle for bare minimum and not ask for more, or seek out more for themselves. Nobara, and several of the other female characters in Jujutsu Kaisen, deserve to have their narratives and characters be fleshed out on par with those of the boys. I wish more people were willing to acknowledge that. 

[sazzafraz]

whatever its free

almost all of that doc is unsalvageable as in its just my notes to self which are. uh. not a narrative

She picks her coffee up and shifts the plate aside. The paper underneath is dirt smudged and barely legible. Sakura takes a sip of her coffee and contemplates what it would like to be truly surprised by the shape of the new world. 

The paper is old, she would have been fourteen when she saw it last, and it has not aged particularly gracefully. Underneath the official Konoha header is the tight scrawl of the jounin commander and the messy script of her shishou’s hand. Underneath that is Sakura’s own handwriting. The strokes are timid and rushed, like a little girl being scolded for stealing her mother’s lipstick. Sakura wasn’t quite a child when she signed her name to the bottom of the page but she wasn’t far enough away from ribbons and cupcakes to truly understand. 

I, Haruno Sakura ID: 012601, shinobi of Konohagakure and citizen of Hi no Kuni under our Daimyo, the 23rd of his title, do solemnly swear to never reveal the details of mission 123-575-889b. I understand that in signing this oath I agree to-

Well, a lot of things. Underneath all that, in a neat box that Sakura has never once seen filled out, is a small red stamp that says Redacted.      

And to think it was going to be such a nice day. 

so the thesis of this was going to be the thin line of sakura’s duty and morality as well as what kunoichi are in terms of ‘shadow work’ (the non pagan kind) and like. the set up was after ‘history has its eye’ which i WISH i’d finished because its conceit is necessary to most of the extended ntfs universe but, here: 

danzo is taken to trial by a jury of his peers in Oto and Konoha, considering the length and breadth of his crimes Uzumaki Karin is called in to way judgement as part of a good will diplomatic gesture. concurrently tsunade is trying to keep konoha steady while wave after wave of black ops missions are being redacted and the whole shinobi world is being forced into an awkward position by the sharp difference in values between it and the civilian populace. in the past uzumaki mito deals with becoming the wife of a very famous, very powerful man who can and does skirt the necessary politicking of ninja bullshit, accidentally setting precedents that would echo forward to danzo’s trial. along with managing her brother in law, who is absolutely NOT perfecting a jutsu that raises the dead and harvesting organs to sell on the black market in between creating humane policy, and her husbands ex, who just committed treason and is slamming bijuu into each other like its a game of paddywack and is also sometimes right? infuriating

we follow these three storylines until on the second day of his trial, after it becomes clear that the cultural differences are too wide to safely gap (the shinobi look like they want to go easy on them, the civilians are setting a precedent that will be real hard to roll back) Danzo stands up and is like ‘i have the’ wisteria papers’ of most of the people in this room hmu if u want ur secrets exposed’ and everyone just loses it

hennyways our bodies possessed, the sakura fic, was about one of these redacted missions that takes place when sakura is about 14, new to her apprenticeship and a target for assassination by danzo, tsunade plays a game of keep away sending sakura on a dangerous mission in T&I which involves her learning how to do ‘honeypot’ work. she and her instructors, a multi time failure of the jounin exams and a clan member with opaque interests, journey to what will eventually become kuebiko hospital. long story short, tsunade plays a sharp hand, danzo is nearly assassinated and sakura becomes a queenpiece in espionage, her poor disposition for it aside

and the meta story was going to be me thinking about then-11 years in this fandom and all the good work and the poor about sex in the time of shinobi. i’m not gonna name names but important here: consent. i am the most boring person on earth about this but how consent both narratively and meta-narratively has been reconstructed heavily in the last nine years or so. i started reading naruto fanfic in 2005. no one warned for anything. maybe explicit content and seme/uke nonsense but apart from that? no. and while i’m not going to get on a soapbox about this, because it doesn’t matter much, a bulk of naruto fic was written before a03, which means a bulk of its trends were too. back to consent, the concept of duty to village and a shinobi way already blurs consent. did kakashi actually consent to receiving his sharingan for example, that's a life long body alteration. can you truly consent to die and kill for your country blah blah. where this intersects with sexual consent is......wide ranging. i remember how often ‘sex training’ was part of harem fics and teacher/student dynamics and while i practice a YMMV mindset i found the inclusion as a natural outcome of being a shinobi really weird? sex work is not easy. full contact sex work is not easy. you can’t exactly train for it and while there’s certainly the idea of geisha (gross western ideas) the place that they take up culturally is not synonymous with sex. the kind of sex work exemplified in these fics again, would not be something you would want a career soldier for, too many tics and nics. and i don’t really believe the market for it is going to be so large that a dedicated team makes sense. especially when a normal sex worker would probably do fine? so this weird combination being stuck together as a realistic outcome is just baffling.

so i put sakura in it. proud sakura, who wouldn’t bend to anyone. virgin sakura, who cared about her body in a way that a kunoichi shouldn’t. and finally emotionally hurt sakura having lost her whole team to outside forces in the position of having to learn intimacy and sabotage as a form of violence. it was never going to be detailed but the point was to draw lines about the body and what it does. the female body specifically. and the problem immediately became that like, she would have to be vulnerable to do it. it became an examination of what women where willing to ask other women to endure. what sakura had to construct to be able to do it. i’ve pretty much maintained my position that of team 7 sakura is the only one whose actually good at her job. i realise now that this sounds darker than it would have been. i can’t say it was all like, current day ideas of consensual but no one would have said shit in 2008.        

tldr: sex workers as information gatherers is mildly realistic, shinobi as sex workers just generally? not so much.  

[mbti-notes]

So, I'm an INTJ who often (especially in the past) have tried to be open and supportive to friends and an ex of mine when it comes to certain problems. I noticed that I often jump to trying to solve their problem for them or offering suggestions and end up neglecting their emotional needs in the end—there's maybe a 50% chance that I was helpful at all. The other alternative is accidentally being taken advantage of and used as a crutch, which I'm luckily done with. Is there any better way to help out when I can hardly understand how a friend feels outside of just being frustrated or anxious?

Practical information and advice about handling emotional needs is already covered in the Emotional Well-Being section, please read. I will use your question as an opportunity to elaborate on the concept of helping, since people often ask about it.

Being able to help effectively is not just one particular skill but a set of skills. I use the word “skills” because they can be learned as long as one has the motivation to study, practice, and improve. Most people know that helping skills are invaluable in a variety of professional and personal contexts. I would also argue that helping skills are essential for personal growth because they play an important role in overcoming the self-inflicted limitations of egocentrism in the process of ego development.

1. Empathy Skills

To be an effective helper, the first thing you need is a decent level of emotional intelligence. This involves having good emotional awareness, knowing how to identify and label feelings and emotions correctly, and knowing how to express feelings and emotions constructively. It is very difficult to understand the emotional life of others when you aren’t even able to understand your own or, worse, when your own emotional life is stunted, repressed, unstable, or dysfunctional. Work on improving your emotional intelligence and, if necessary, learn through healing your own emotional issues and wounds. If you suffer from all sorts of unaddressed or unresolved emotional issues swirling around in your unconscious mind, you are very likely to project them onto people, which will handicap or undermine your attempts to help them.

From having a healthy emotional life, you are able to practice the emotional empathy that is necessary for having a caring and helpful attitude. In human beings, empathy is a very natural emotional response to suffering, due to our evolutionary history of being a cooperative species. Unless you have neurological damage/deficits, you should be capable of feeling bad when you see someone else feeling bad, if only because you know how shitty it is to experience badness. That is the basis of empathy in a nutshell.

I use the phrase “practice empathy” because, when life is busy or too self-involved, it is all too easy to brush others off. Worse, some people are very averse to negativity and actively suppress their empathy so that they never have to feel guilty. Suppression of feeling, taken to extremes, may lead to callousness or aggression. Practicing empathy means that you actually stop and take the time to get in touch with your empathy, to really feel it, whenever you witness suffering. By actively deepening your empathy, you have a natural source of motivation to lend a helping hand.

Emotional empathy is how you nurture your moral character and moral virtues, i.e., to become an ethical, kind, caring, and compassionate person. By contrast, cognitive empathy is about having the ability to construct an accurate theory of mind and using it to assess human problems carefully, so that your solutions take into consideration how each vested party will be impacted. Another term that people use fairly synonymously with cognitive empathy is perspective taking. It involves putting yourself into another person’s shoes in an effort to understand: how they think, what they feel and why, what motivates them, what they need and desire, and the behavioral strategies that they are using to achieve their goals. The assumption is that, when you understand someone’s perspective more fully, you are better positioned to respond appropriately and effectively.

One of the reasons that people are drawn to type theory is because it offers insight into important and legitimate differences between people. Different people have different priorities, needs, and goals based on their cognitive functional stack and their life circumstances. This should always be taken into consideration when you’re trying to help. One of the most common pitfalls in helping people is operating on the assumption that they are similar to you, which leads you to overlook differences and apply the wrong kind of help. When you’re trying to construct a theory of mind, type theory gives you a leg up by opening up your mind to different possibilities and pointing you in useful directions for investigation. For example, if you are N and the other person is S, then you start off by understanding that your way of perceiving situations is very different from theirs, perhaps completely opposite, which should give you pause and force you to learn more about their cognitive process.

Emotional empathy and cognitive perspective taking must go together, otherwise, one or the other may lead you very astray. Emotional empathy, on its own, isn’t enough for being a good helper. In fact, some people have very strong emotional empathy and make situations even worse because they just act immediately on their feelings without any consideration for the consequences. For example, some people reflexively jump to defend perpetrators of violence because they empathize with them more than the victims. Cognitive perspective taking, on its own, isn’t enough for being a good helper. In fact, many people use their perspective taking ability to cheat, swindle, or manipulate for selfish gain. For example, con artists and snake oil salesmen often prey on people’s fears and insecurities to turn a profit. Thus, treat emotional empathy and cognitive perspective taking as equally important but separate abilities.

2. Relationship Building Skills

While empathy is useful for building moral character and perspective taking is useful for constructing an accurate theory of mind, the key to helping is learning how to apply these concepts within the context of relationships. You may feel deep empathy but fail to help. For example, you just freeze up like a deer in headlights once you see someone crying and sobbing in front of you. You may have an accurate theory of mind but still approach the situation the wrong way. For example, you correctly pinpointed your toddler’s fear of large crowds, but your paternalistic approach is to throw them into the middle of a huge crowd and force them to deal alone. 

To avoid these kinds of problems, you should always approach helping as a collaboration. Collaboration means that two people put their minds together for a shared purpose. To collaborate well with someone requires two things: 

i) Trust: Trusting someone means that you believe they have your best interests at heart. To trust is to have an open heart, which means that you give people the benefit of the doubt. Trust is very important when you’re trying to give advice. If someone trusts you and gives you the benefit of the doubt, they are better able to understand your intention even if you say the wrong thing or offer unhelpful advice. Trust helps to quickly smooth over misunderstandings or miscommunications by reminding us that people are good and mean well.

ii) Rapport: Positive rapport means that two people are able to communicate comfortably because they care about each other as well as speak freely because they do not have undue fear of judgment or punishment. Good rapport puts everyone at ease, which helps to maintain an open mind. Rapport is very important when you’re trying to give advice. If you have positive rapport with someone, they will be more open to entertaining new ideas and solutions. Positive rapport makes problem solving a more easygoing and even enjoyable process.

Needless to say, if you don’t have someone’s best interests at heart, then you should stay out of their business until you do. Helping someone should ultimately come from a place of care. Different people have different trust thresholds (often due to past trauma), so you may have to work harder to earn some people’s trust than others. To earn trust means to prove to someone that you care about them and can be relied upon. This generally involves being attentive to their needs, offering support when needed, honoring your relationship duties and responsibilities, and keeping your promises. 

Needless to say, if someone doesn’t feel comfortable talking to you, then you shouldn’t try to force them. Make an honest judgment about whether you’re the best person to help them or not. If you’re not the one, you can still offer help, but don’t get offended if they don’t take you up on it. Different people have different conditions to be met before they feel comfortable enough to share their private business, so you may have to work harder to develop rapport with some people than others. Positive rapport is basically good communication, so work on your communication skills as needed.

Learn the sorts of words and behaviors that help put people at ease. Learn to listen intently, patiently, and empathetically. Learn to pause and ask the right questions when you don’t understand. Learn to offer feedback in a kind and constructive way. Learn to be less judgmental, impatient, or critical, i.e., the kinds of traits that cause conflict, distance, and fear in relationships. Learn to avoid prejudice and mindreading, i.e., the kinds of behaviors that cause harmful and gross misunderstandings between people.

3. The Helping Process

Once you’ve used your empathy and perspective taking skills to establish a good foundation of trust and positive rapport with someone, then you are well-positioned to help them. Always remember that human affairs are an art - not a science. Humans are complex and each one of us unique. There’s no “methodology” that you can follow perfectly to handle every relationship perfectly. A big part of being successful at relationships is simply to be adaptable. Observe and listen more carefully so that you know when it’s time to change your approach.

That said, there are some general guidelines that will help steer you in the right direction whenever you feel lost. Professional counselors are specifically trained to help people with their problems, so there’s a lot we can learn from their training process. I will summarize and adapt a commonly used three stage model of helping that anyone can apply to their relationships:

Stage 1: Gather the Facts

The person experiencing the problem is the one who knows it best. Therefore, the first step isn’t to panic about “what should I do”, rather, always start by getting them to elaborate, in as much detail as possible, so that you understand the situation fully from their point of view. Ask several open-ended questions to give them the opportunity to freely describe the situation, what happened, what may be causing the problem, how they feel about it, what they have or haven’t done about it, etc. After hearing them out, summarize the situation in your own words and ask them to confirm whether you’ve understood everything. The key skills needed in this stage are curiosity, listening, and verifying.

Stage 2: Encourage Awareness and Insight

Oftentimes, people aren’t able to tackle a problem on their own because they don’t know exactly what the problem is - look into their mind and you will see a giant mess. Giving them a chance to express their thoughts and feelings out loud is sometimes enough for them to understand the problem and come up with their own solutions. You should always encourage people to think for themselves whenever they show the tendency, because ideas always stick better when they come from oneself. This also addresses the problem of people becoming too dependent on you. Ideally, the goal of any good helper is to eventually make themselves obsolete, by teaching people to stand on their own.

If after elaboration, you’re still not clear about what they need, then be more direct in getting that information, usually through making more direct inquiries. What you do at this point really depends on the situation and the kind of problem you’re dealing with. It may be enough to ask them whether there’s anything you can do to help and, if so, what would be the best way to help. They might say that they’re not looking for a “fix” but simply want someone to listen, then step back and listen with empathy. You may ask them point blank what exactly it is they need or want. You may ask them what they hope or wish for. You may ask them about what objectives or goals they’re aiming for. You may ask them about the obstacles and challenges they’re experiencing. You may ask them whether they would like your help in analyzing the problem. 

Don’t make assumptions about what they need when they haven’t even expressed their needs, which means that you should NOT be stepping forward with a “solution” until you’re absolutely sure that it’s what they want. The key skills needed in this stage are providing emotional safety, encouraging people to reflect more deeply, and inquiring into psychological motivations.

Stage 3: Implement Action

This step is only relevant if they are committed to solving the problem and want your help with it. Collaborate with them to analyze the problem by determining its cause(s), entertain various ideas and solutions, and make a list of all the choices available to them. Help them evaluate their list of choices by illuminating the possible effects/outcomes, pros/cons, or cost/benefits. This will allow them to make a more informed and intelligent choice.

Remember that they are ultimately responsible for choosing what to do - not you. Even the best advice will fall flat if the person doesn’t feel like they can carry it out. THEY have to feel comfortable enough with the choice to put it into action. This means that you must always have an eye on their comfort level. When someone expresses any kind of uncertainty about whether they can implement a solution, it is often a subtle request for more/better support. If that’s the case, go back to stages 1 and 2 to dig deeper into what’s holding them back. It may be an internal or external obstacle, and once you’ve identified it, you can help them remove it. 

To implement an idea usually requires coming up with a practical plan, strategy, or method of attack, so help them draw a feasible roadmap. Set up concrete measurements or benchmarks to measure progress or success. Sometimes, they may need your help to break a big plan down into smaller steps in order to avoid feeling anxious or overwhelmed. Sometimes, they may need you to educate, guide, or mentor them to learn new knowledge for overcoming a particular challenge or obstacle. Remember that what seems easy to you may be very difficult to them, so don’t make assumptions about their capabilities. Monitor their progress and offer the appropriate support whenever you observe that they are faltering. The key skills needed in this stage are brainstorming, critical analysis, planning and organizing, quantifying progress, encouraging people to improve, knowledge building, and providing emotional support as necessary.

4. Boundaries, Boundaries, Boundaries

It’s very important that you maintain proper boundaries when helping people. You are not a professional counselor and, even if you are, there should always be a sense of equality and reciprocity in personal relationships. A healthy relationship cannot be one-sided, unequal, or exploitative. 

Respect Your Boundaries: You must have your boundaries to protect yourself from exploitation. There are many people out there who have no qualms about taking advantage of kindness, so don’t allow such people to worm their way into your life. Only get involved when someone genuinely needs your help and you are quite confident that they will benefit from it. Remember that helping should ultimately set people up to be independent. If you keep people dependent on you, then there’s some ego problem that needs to be addressed on your part.

Respect Their Boundaries: Remember that everyone has their own life to live. Honor and appreciate individual differences. You may enjoy helping people and that’s fine, but there must be an element of selflessness in your help, so that you don’t get too invested in what other people do/don’t do. Once you start to place unreasonable expectations on people, you get yourself all mixed up into their problem, and then you start to show visible frustration, impatience, or disappointment. Then they might start to fear disappointing you and hide from you, they might start resisting your advice, or your help might even backfire spectacularly. In other words, your “help” just complicates and even worsens situations when you can’t properly respect people’s right to make their own choices in life.

To set proper boundaries circles back to the first point of having good emotional intelligence. You have to be aware of your part in the situation, the effects that you’re feeling, the effects that you’re producing, and monitor for negative feelings and emotions that would lead you to do something regrettable or harmful. Having good emotional intelligence is very important for good decision making in relationships and even life in general. I’ve already provided articles and book suggestions for learning in depth.

[ariainstars]

Congratulations, We Fell for Another Love Bombing or Thank You, Disney, You Did It Again

Sigh. Luke Skywalker is back. And Din Djarin and his child had to say goodbye. I never thought I would curse and say “Oh no!” when Luke appeared in that fateful corridor. 

I wonder why the Disney studios are doing this - trying to "make up” for the oh-so criticized sequels, I suppose?

The Jedi have made their time. It was shown and proven over and over again that their attitude is wrong and needs to change, and Luke was the last of the old school Jedi. Again, a Force-sensitive child is all but kidnapped by a Jedi: he obviously did not like to go. Mando is no longer the hero of the story, he was stripped of his agency and all of his personal choices were questioned and valued for null and void. But the Dark Saber is in his hands now, so he’s the heir to the throne of Mandalore I guess. Like he ever wanted that.

This show, which grew to be so well-beloved in only a few episodes, now is not “The Mandalorian” any more. Its new title is “Luke’s Skywalker’s Comeback”. Hardcore fans may be out of their minds with joy, but for us, who admired Mando both as a badass hero and as a father figure and loved the dynamics between him and Grogu, the whole purpose of the show is destroyed. And here I naively had thought The Rise of Skywalker was bad enough to teach the studios not to repeat its mistakes.

~~~ more under the cut ~~~

Star Wars ought to be a fairy tale. It is and always was one. I can understand that the prequels had to end in a tragedy, we all knew that from the start, but why the sequels? And now, why must this generally acclaimed and beloved tv show again appease hardcore fans of old with Luke coming to save the day, cancelling in a matter of minutes what the story had built up within two entire seasons - the relationship of the two protagonists, heart and core of the narrative, as it had been with Rey and Ben Solo? And when both of them had their relationship just getting started - Rey and Ben kissing, Din calling Grogu by his name and the latter seeing him and touching his face? Why make Rey a queen without her king, and Din a father without a son? 

Again, a Force-user is denied having a home: „Jedi training” matters more. By Luke of all people, the guy who never was trained in the first place (only very briefly), who except for a few lessons with Obi-Wan and Yoda was self-taught in the Force, and never understood that his strength lay with his compassion and his connection with other people, not with his alleged „superpowers”.

Think back to how Anakin, Luke and Rey were before they met the Jedi: unaware of their powers, compassionate, idealistic, brave. The Jedi mindset tainted their characters and lives, making them believing that they are (or have to be) untouchable and invincible, compelling them to live for duty instead of love, condemning them to a lifetime of loneliness. Will the Jedi never learn?

Though I practically grew up with the classic movies, I loved The Last Jedi; I can accept that Luke failed, and also that Han and Leia did. Nobody is perfect, and the Jedi mindset as well as the universally accepted idea that „Jedi” is a synonym for infallible saint-like hero was wrong in the first place, else the Empire never would have risen. Making Luke not the cavalry who came to save the day - until the battle on Crait, that is - but a man who failed and picked himself up again was much more meaningful, and I know not a few fans who felt inspired by this. Luke had saved his father choosing love over power, not the contrary. Some fans just never get it. To appease them, why not simply give him a new storyline of his own, instead of making him intrude in other Star Wars related shows? Why stop the new stories in their tracks just to bring him back?

Instead of seeing Luke as the grand kickass hero in a tv show that never had anything to do with him until now, it would have been more to the purpose to finally shed light on the thirty years between his father’s and his nephew’s death, to explain us where the Jedi and the Skywalker-Organa-Solo family failed to make such an outcome possible - the granddaughter of Palpatine taking over with their own blessing. There must have been a huge build-up between the end of the original saga and the fateful night at the temple when Luke briefly panicked looking into his nephew’s mind. Many fans still are convinced that „Kylo Ren just chose to be bad” because we hardly know how the relationship between these two was in the first place. (A very easy plot twist would e.g. have been Snoke warning Ben that his uncle sooner or later would turn on him, frightened by his power. The fulfilment of that prophecy would have made the night at the temple much more impactful.) 

I understand that the studios want to tease us, to make us watch the other shows, too. But honestly, I’m getting tired of feeling duped. Tired of getting attached to new heroes to have their purpose smashed just so the Star Wars dudebro fans can sleep quietly at night because „some Jedi will take care of it”. First the characters from the sequels, now the ones from The Mandalorian. You get to love the new characters, you root for them to find happiness or at least some closure, and then, at the last moment, poof!, the hero of old comes back and the story development stops right there. 

It is not right and it never was for the Jedi to take Force-sensitive children away from home, to enforce „you have to become a Jedi, like it or not” on them, to teach them not to have attachments, to make them focus on the Light Side thereby bringing the Force out of its much-needed balance. While Ahsoka saw that Grogu has formed a strong attachment to Din Djarin, Luke obviously did not, or he did not care. The irony is that he always wanted a father, and knows the pain of losing a father you’ve just found.

The Mandalorian felt like a consolation after Episode IX, a blessing for the fans for whom heart and soul are more interesting than nostalgia and „Jedi superheroes”. Now it’s just another kick in the guts. It’s painful and embarrassing to get to love characters so much, to get invested in their story so deeply, and then to realize again that they seem to mean nothing in the shade of the heroes of old. Ben Solo died young and miserable and Din Djarin and Grogu can now, I suppose, be miserable too. Can someone please explain to me why after the classics, no Star Wars film or show had an uplifting ending any more? With the possible exception of Solo, which was a nice filler but not a really important storyline. (I do not count Episodes I and II, they officially had a happy ending but it was tainted by the knowledge of what was to come.) 

Fans are not blind. We saw the parallels between Darth Vader and Din Djarin as well as the differences - both being cool and tough but the latter not disdaining to be a caring father at the same time. The entire show lived from the dynamics between the gruff but kind bounty hunter and the innocent-looking powerful child, ever from the first episode. Two years of build-up for nothing, as it was with the four years of the sequels. Mando has to relinquish Grogu, Rey loses Ben. What was all that for? Both Mando and Rey are fighters, they have done nothing else their entire lives. What is to become of them now that they have nothing to fight for any more, nor anyone to live for? Except staying on a planet that is foreign to them and, for all they know, inhabitable or at least inhospitable? 

With Rey and Ben Solo, the situation was different: she had proven good intentions but bad attitude (arrogance, violence, judgement) over and over, unable to deny her heritage, and even impaled her „antagonist” once while he was only defending himself. He had been the head of a criminal organization for years, and had committed patricide. Of course there are nuances to these characters and I still believe that they would have deserved another chance; I understand however that would have been unfitting to let the sequels end giving them a happy ending.

But in the case of Din Djarin, a man of honor, who has made friends and brought peace wherever he went throughout the galaxy? Grogu, the last surviving padawan of the old Jedi temple, who saved both his and Greef Karga’s life despite the danger for himself? What did they do to deserve being ripped apart like that? 

So, all I can say: thank you, you did it again. And, once more, just before Christmas. I wish at least these depressing endings would be released at some other time. 

I would dearly want to see a galaxy that finally learned from its faults, where family and attachments and Balance and free choice are not contrary to being a Jedi. I am in my late forties and I’m beginning to give up hope that I will live to see it. By now I am wondering whether George Lucas himself will live to see it. 

I always loved Luke. He is one of my favorite heroes. But now he’s become an insensitive know-it-all who suffered from his own daddy issues to the point that he almost died crying out to his father for help, yet did not learn not to separate fathers from children and vice versa and, on the contrary, is doing it over and over again. He did not even tell Mando his name, or where he could reach him. We don’t have a clue as to if, when and how the Clan of Two will meet again. 

I get it that since this show is set five years Return of the Jedi, it would have been difficult to ignore Luke’s existence altogether. And of course, we can rest assured that Luke will do his best for Grogu. But still: he has made his time. I wanted to see the new heroes going their own way, not hanging on the sleeves of the former generation. Mando is a man of honor, he had promised to bring Grogu to his own kind and he relinquished him despite his own wishes. (Not to mention that technically, since he identifies as a Mandalorian, by being a Jedi Luke is his enemy.) Why did Luke have to take the child away? His greatest strength always was that he was first and foremost himself and only in the second place a Jedi. What became of his trademark compassion? 

Before The Mandalorian, we have never seen a healthy and working father-son relationship in the saga. It was incredibly refreshing and heart-warming to see these two traveling through the galaxy and living through adventures together; also, contrarily to Yoda, Grogu saw a lot of the bad things happening in the galaxy with his own eyes, which certainly was good for his character development.

But in the end, both he and his „father” did not go anywhere. Like Rey in Episode IX, they found a) power and b) a surrogate place, but neither got what was actually his heart’s wish - a home. I can’t understand why. Deliberate cruelty? We never knew whether Han and Leia and Ben felt how painful it was to break up their little family for the sake of „Jedi training”. You bet Din and Grogu did feel that pain and loss.

Both as a person with a heart and a brain and an almost lifelong Star Wars fan I am sickened by the readiness of the studios to end all that this well-made show had built up, for the appeasement of Jedi worshippers who just don’t want to see that the Jedi mindset needs urgently to change. It can’t be that difficult to renew them for the better; there is no necessity to erase the Jedi completely and there is nothing bad with making them grow wiser and stronger by finally understanding and accepting the importance of attachments and family ties. Yes, I realize that being a father also means learning how to let go; but here we are speaking of a literal child, not of a young adult who chose his own way in life.

I thought that George Lucas knew why he sold his franchise to the Disney studios, given their tradition in telling stories about family and friendship. This development is not a triumph, it is unworthy both of the studios and of the entire Star Wars saga. I’m tired of producers bowing down before fans who see every shred of the saga through „Jedi are always right”-tinted glasses respectively who value coolness over compassion even though it always was the saga’s central message. 

Whatever happens in Season 3, countless fans will only be watching it asking, „Where’s Luke?” If Grogu should choose to join Mando again, everybody will be like, „But how can he want to leave Luke Skywalker of all people?” Some already see Grogu die prematurely, killed by the oh-so-bad guy Kylo Ren, for no other reason than to just to further prove how evil he is. In which case both Ben Solo and Grogu will have lived and died for nothing except for leaving a lot of heartbreak behind. 

There must be another and better way to honor the legacy of both Luke Skywalker and the original trilogy than to think up new heroes and then destroy their purpose for the sake of old times’ glory. Lucas himself had said that Star Wars is basically for twelve-year-olds. It seems not: it’s for the fans who were twelve years old forty years ago, when the first movies hit theatres. 

There are enough voices crying out for the sequels to be erased from canon. Who knows? This may be the next step into the past instead of the future. The sequels were hinting at a better future (Balance), Grogu was, too (family). But the grand past is so reassuring. The sequels tried to tell the audience to grow up and learn to do without their heroes, to see that even they were flawed and that the new heroes could grow beyond them. Fie on them, said the hardcore fans. Now it’s the turn of the younger generation, who got to know and love the saga with the sequels or The Mandalorian, to be like „WTF”. 

Rogue One also had been a huge disappointment to me. Not that I found it badly made, but I went into a depressive mood for three days for the same reason: I did not like that I had grown so attached to all of these characters only to see all of them die. The infamous Darth Vader scenes and the design with the huge hints at the classic movies were no consolation. Nostalgia does not make me happy. Heart does. Rogue One, the sequels and The Mandalorian were all, in the end, deprived of all human feeling except loss and regret and many, many thoughts about what might have been. 

The Mandalorian was an excellent story on its own. It did not need Luke Skywalker. It is and ought to be Din Djarin’s story, who lost or gave up everything because he was afraid to lose the child: and now he did. It’s not comforting that he lost him to the alleged Good Guy. Luke of course won’t turn a hair on Grogu’s head, but he can’t offer him a home, we already know that. Ahsoka saw the attachment between the two and she knows the dangers of it; Luke does not know what drove his father to his terrible fate. If the sequels remain canon, then we already know that Luke will not allow his pupils having and keeping healthy attachments. And that does not promise well for the child’s future.

Unless the studios commit the madness of officially erasing the sequels and starting the saga anew, we can only hope that the child will not stay with Luke for long since it’s a good five years before he will start his own Jedi temple. Maybe he will die of a broken heart, poor little guy. And Din Djarin might become the new ruler of Mandalore, though sad and alone. But who cares: Luke is back. Please: I did not subscribe to Disney+ wanting to see Schwarzenegger movies. The lonesome hero can ride into the sunset for all I care, out of sight and of mind. Star Wars’ greatest strength always was its heart. 

My own take was that Grogu is meant to be a healer, and since Luke is not, there is no way he can teach him this particular skill in the Force. Anakin was a pilot and a mechanic, Luke and Ben also were pilots. None of them were Jedi by choice. Grogu is older than Luke and he was already trained at the old Jedi temple: he’s more likely to be a teacher to Luke than the other way around. Grogu as the first Force-user who values attachment and family over power and Jedi training, that would indeed have been a new hope. This backpedaling is shallow and useless. Even if Luke sends Grogu back to Din Djarin, this won’t teach him not to take a child away from its home, since only a few years later he will do the same thing to his nephew. (Although it would admittedly be an interesting plot point to see a small Ben Solo interacting with Grogu for a while.) 

Please give us back The Mandalorian the way it was, with its characters and dynamics. The themes and messages of The Last Jedi already were almost all aborted in The Rise of Skywalker; we didn’t sign up on Disney+ to see the exact same thing happen with The Mandalorian. I for my part am fed up with this kind of love bombing followed by a quick and coldblooded let-down. Star Wars may be a cult, but it need not be the kind of cult where you get hooked and then unwittingly follow a carrot hanging before your eyes. I thought the exaggerated Jedi cult was mostly made by the fans: the studios did not need to jump on this ship. This is not the Way. 

Now everything I feared is flaring up again - fans jubilating because “the Jedi are taking matters in hand” instead of accepting the failure of the Jedi mindset at last; and even insisting that since things are going so well, all Disney needs to do is to cancel the sequels from canon and everybody can be happy again. 

Please, please, give this tormented galaxy a chance to heal at last. We don’t need Luke Skywalker to save the day by killing all the bad guys. We don’t need the oh-so-powerful and perfect Jedi. We need faith in the Force. We need a home. Don’t take it away from us again. Thank you.

 P.S. If we see Luke again in Season 3, at least give the role to a live actor. That digital “rejuvenation” made him look wooden. Luke’s best trait, apart from his compassion, always was his smile.

P.P.S. What’s with Boba Fett claiming Jabba’s throne? I thought Jabba had a son. What in the galaxy happened to him?

P.P.P.S. I don’t mind kickass women, but honestly, I’m getting somehow tired of them. What became of the ladies of Star Wars, the diplomats, the good queens, the loving mothers, the accurate librarians, who contribute to the galaxy without killing (or hurting) anyone? I’m feeling kind of underrepresented here...

[iamnmbr3]

im very confused about the TVA and what it does specifically and how they’re fascists etc. is there a post describing thier duty somewhere? thanks

Ok. So lay-people often use “fascism” as synonymous with “authoritarianism” and “totalitarianism.” When people call the TVA fascist that’s the sense they mean it in. Properly from a political scientific perspective Fascism is a particular type of government - for example Mussolini’s Italy. There is no commonly agreed upon definition and it’s something academics debate a lot (for example some class the Nazis as Fascist and others don’t). Personally I tend to use the 1995 Stanley G. Payne definition of Fascism which can be summarized as:

A. Ideology and Goals:

Espousal of an idealist, vitalist, and voluntaristic philosophy, normally involving the attempt to realize a new modern, self-determined, and secular culture

Creation of a new nationalist authoritarian state not based on traditional principles or models

Organization of a new highly regulated, multiclass, integrated national economic structure, whether called national corporatist, national socialist, or national syndicalist

Positive evaluation and use of, or willingness to use, violence and war

The goal of empire, expansion, or a radical change in the nation's relationship with other powers

B. The Fascist Negations:

Antiliberalism

Anticommunism

Anticonservatism (though with the understanding that fascist groups were willing to undertake temporary alliances with other sectors, more commonly with the right)

C. Style and Organization:

Attempted mass mobilization with militarization of political relationships and style and with the goal of a mass single party militia

Emphasis on aesthetic structure of meetings, symbols, and political liturgy, stressing emotional and mystical aspects

Extreme stress on the masculine principle and male dominance, while espousing a strongly organic view of society

Exaltation of youth above other phases of life, emphasizing the conflict of the generations, at least in effecting the initial political transformation

Specific tendency toward an authoritarian, charismatic, personal style of command, whether or not the command is to some degree initially elective

So yeah from a political-scientific academic perspective the TVA is a violent totalitarian (and I would argue that they fit the strict political-theoretic definition of pure totalitarianism as described by Hannah Arendt since they have almost completely eliminate free will which is basically totalitarianism in its purest form on a scale real dictators can only dream of) organization that imposes it’s extremist will through the illegitimate use of force, but doesn’t meet the definition of Fascism specifically. (Fascism is a recent, earth-specific political ideology which is why Sylvie calling the TVA Fascists felt very odd and ooc). Some people in fandom are calling the TVA Fascist because in every day speech “fascist” is often used to mean “violent authoritarian” and even I have used the term in that way occasionally even though I don’t mean it in a literal, academic sense. 

[bidnezz]

Revenant [1/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary: 

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Something to note: This fic is extremely AU. I've fitted a lot of events that we know to be canon (such as dates of events happening) to fit my story, and the past events happened around the early 1900's, until present canon time. There are also many mentions of blood and wounds and lots of death in the fic, so please be wary if that's a no for you!

Chapter One

Rushing residents and evening traffic fills the bustling streets of New York as the surrounding sky begins to darken with the dusk of the setting sun. Nightlife begins as shadows emerge from the alleyways, and doors that lead to no good open with the creak of bad decisions. The Downworld rises to the occasion, drinks in-hand and smiles plastered. So, too, do the Nephilim of the New York Institute who patrol the streets to keep tabs on those unknowing of the dangers that lurk in the dark.

Alexander Lightwood stands alone, weighted with shoulders heavy and nervous energy surrounding him in his new office. 

Head of the Institute.

The words roll around his tongue, foreign in his mouth but synonymous with him now. It feels… odd. But welcome.

A knock brings him back, a light rapping of knuckles on the thick wooden door, followed by ebony hair and dark red lips encasing a grin that could only belong to his sister. “Alec,” she calls, her grin turning wry. “Or should I say Head of the Institute?”

“I’ve seen the position lost to better people than I, let’s not jinx this.” 

“People? Yes. Leaders?” Isabelle pauses for effect as she strides towards Alec, a dramatic flair he knows to always expect. “I haven’t seen a leader yet, more deserving than you, dear brother. You can be happy for yourself, Alec. Smile, gloat, live a little. Even in the confines of this tiny room.”

Hard as he tries, Alec can’t reign in the small smile that curves his lips. He won’t gloat, he won’t yell and cheer and celebrate. That’s not him. But he will allow himself to feel pride and happiness in this small moment in time with his sister, and he’ll lock it away as a cherished memory to strengthen their bond. This is a turning point for him, a chance to uphold the Lightwood name and make his parents proud. Finally, a chance for them to see exactly the type of leader they raised, a chance to prove that it was all worth it - will be worth it. A chance for him to look upon his mother’s face and for once see something other than barely concealed disappointment and contempt.

“Hey buddy,” A low rasp calls from the opened door to the office. Jace rests against the curved door frame, arms crossed and wide smile dimpling his cheeks. “Oh,” he starts, adjusting his posture to stand perfectly upright as he offers a small salute to Alec. “I guess I should be more proper in front of our new leader, eh?”

The twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile devolves into a shit-eating grin only pulls a small chuckle from Alec, and he reaches his arm out to grip Jace’s as he’s pulled into a rough, brotherly hug. It’s warm, comforting, and when Isabelle joins in - complete.

Right here, right now… this is the turning point for Alec. No more failing, no more letting anyone down. This is where his new life as a leader begins, where everything he’s worked towards shifts into what it was always meant to be. This is what he was born for.

So then why does it feel so empty?

There's a gnawing inside of his chest, a cavern of muddled introspection and half understanding. The goal was always this, the finish line has been crossed and his direction never clearer. But under the anxiety of being freshly anointed, if Alec were to peel away the layers of doubt and worry until he’s viewing his own satisfied ego, what else would he see? Happiness, of course, to some extent. Nothing more, and nothing less. Unfulfilled pockets inside of him that yearn in wonder, and desire for something more.

A mother’s love, perhaps. To be accepted and finally seen as enough. 

Yes. An affirmation from Maryse Lightwood herself, and Alec’s sure he’ll feel that last puzzle piece locked into place. ‘But for now,’ Alec thinks to himself as he watches Isabelle and Jace enraptured in a hilarious conversation no doubt at his expense, ‘I’ve got all I need right in front of me.’

With his day just beginning in the blossoming night, Alec prepares himself for the duties and responsibilities that lie ahead of him. 

On the other side of New York as the darkness creeps heavier, something more sinister begins to tear at the fabric that separates their realm from the rest.

---

A chime echoes through the halls of the Institute odd hours later, only a precursor to the dull bang as the wooden doors slam open to reveal a crowd of people in disarray. Alec, bent over a table in the main hall with the city’s layout and a small group of Shadowhunters, turns at the commotion brow raised and senses on alert.

“There’s a demon!” someone in the jumbled mess of bodies hurtling towards Alec proclaims. 

“He’s strong - too strong,” another one says with a gasp.

Jace steps forward, hand on the hilt of his seraph blade, the other on his stele. Prepared for battle, ready for a fight. “Where?”

Three voices begin to clamor all at once in a disastrous explanation that prompts Alec to step forward and raise a calming hand in the air. The voices stop, and Jace turns to him with a question at the ready. “One at a time or we won’t get anywhere. You,” Alec points towards the least frantic Shadowhunter of the trio, “what happened?”

The man winces as he takes a step forward, favoring the right side of his body. Red stains his clothes; it paints his pale face and each of his limbs. It’s blood, Alec notes easily, dried and congealing in some spots no doubt from the cold autumn wind on the way back to the Institute, but some of the wounds still bleed fresh. His blond hair is matted to his face with sweat and ichor and his lips are caked with a mixture of all three, none of it enough to hide the burgeoning purple bruises that are blooming on his face. If the man’s body trembles, Alec says nothing of it. 

“We were patrolling near Williamsburg,” the man begins, a slow nervous lilt to his voice. “There was an unusual spike in demon activity at dusk. We overheard residents saying it was a minor earthquake, but we didn’t believe that. We suspected it was related to the demons. And it was,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Alec and the room now filled with curious Shadowhunters. “There was a horde of them, Ravener demons. We thought it was just a basic attack, we didn’t know why they were there, but we prepared to get rid of them anyway. It was in the middle of our fight with the demons that someone else showed up-“

“Magnus Bane!” sputters the man in the middle, specks of red flying from his mouth and smattering the floor. “He’s back. He’s back and he’s here for revenge! That's what he told us!”

A gasp echoes in the silent halls of The Institute, followed by the low thrum of chatter as Shadowhunters begin to talk. To the side, Alec catches Isabelle’s gaze, stony and reserved in thought, but sparking with worry for the day’s sudden turn of events. 

“Let’s get you guys cleaned up and healed,” Alec steps forward, stele in hand and iratze on his tongue.

“I-It doesn’t work,” the blond man whispers, shaking his head and peering up at Alec with furrowed brows. “We hid in the alleyways and tried to heal. Perhaps it’s the poison from the ichor, but I suspect it’s tied to the magic that Magnus Bane hit us with that makes our healing runes null.”

More chatter from the crowd of people, louder this time, and Alec nods once before turning to the person on his left. “Clary, see to it that they’re taken care of and bandaged properly. Triple check healing runes and make sure we get a full analysis report on all your findings.” It’s an order given with a tone Alec hopes conveys exactly what he’s thinking. He needs to know what’s causing the iratze’s to not work, he needs to know if it’s just a reaction to the ichor or something altogether more threatening. More than that, however, he needs discretion. Kept under wraps, with only Alec and trusted company to know the answers. With the way Clary keeps his firm gaze and offers a single, silent nod, Alec’s sure she understands. 

“Everyone else,” Alec speaks, loud and commanding. “Back to your duties.”

The room pauses, wary and hesitant with the new information discovered and seeping into every conspiracy forming in the back of their minds. They want answers, they want clarity, they want knowledge that Alec doesn’t yet have. Resigned to knowing they won’t get any more than this, they file out slowly with soft whispers and bowed heads towards one another. 

It’s only several seconds later when he notices the hesitation spread across the injured Shadowhunter’s faces, a look shared between the three of them. They’re brimming with the words they want to speak, information they’ve withheld, just barely. Only, they’re scared and Alec’s not sure if it’s a result of the situation they’ve just encountered, or the consequences they think they’ll have to face. Quietly, Alec steps towards them and grants a reassuring nod.

“Sir, Magnus Bane-” the Shadowhunter’s words catch in his throat. Alec hasn’t heard this name in years, not since training, and it already feels exhausted. “He didn’t let us leave with our lives for nothing. He gave us a warning.” There’s another pause, ominous in nature and the patience Alec composes himself with is waning thinner and thinner by the second. 

“Go on,” Alec presses, voice carefully neutral.

“He wanted us to relay to you that this is a Downworlder affair, and for the Shadowhunters not to meddle unless they’re prepared to begin a war with Edom.”

The words come out in a single breath, rushed and trembling. He suspects it was infinitely more intimidating and terrifying than it sounds coming from three battered and bloodied Shadowhunters, but the message is clear: Don’t get involved.

“Thank you,” Alec finds himself saying, thoughts already trailing into a plan of action, mind already gearing for only two options. The first, to take an observer's role in this newfound issue of Downworld battles. The second, to raise alert to the Clave and begin to fortify the Institute for the foreseeable attack once involvement is inevitable. Or perhaps a third option is available, Alec speculates to himself. 

Diplomacy. 

There’s very little he knows of Magnus Bane, what scraps of information left of him are withheld in Clave documents. He’ll gather up what he can find, form a case to present to an angry, vengeful Greater Demon, and see if some sort of reasoning can be made.

With a sigh, Alec thumbs away the blooming headache from his temples and heads towards his office, doubt already sprouting up in the corners of his tenuous plans. Nothing is for certain, of course. Who’s to say Magnus Bane will be a reasonable man with the quivering display he left for Alec at the doors of the Institute. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s going to get to the bottom of what’s going on and take care of it personally, Greater Demon or not, New York is Alec’s city now. 

---

Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn for decades until his banishment to Edom at the beginning of the 1900’s, was frequently described as a hedonist. Reports on him vary from year to year. Some decades he remained under the radar, shielded from the eyes of the Clave. Others, he became notorious for begetting impish troubles between the classes. The only consistency found in any and all reports of the former High Warlock is the tendency towards extravagance and self-indulgence, with a craving for social gatherings.

Leaning back in his seat, Alec traces a finger along the case of his device and focuses on two words. 

High Warlock. 

He was obviously well-liked at some point in time, formidable enough to be deemed a worthy leader, and charismatic enough to be seen as an ambassador for other Warlocks. There must have been great strength at his hands, and greater support backing him to attain the level of priority that he gained.

So… what happened?

Power, clearly, and too much of it. The same Warlocks who hoisted him up petitioned to get him banished, cried his name in the streets of Brooklyn and swore his downfall.

And they made it happen.

Warlocks from all parts of New York flocked and rallied towards Brooklyn in hopes of seeing the demise of one Magnus Bane. Clave reports account for groups gathering outside of his apartment, banding together to peel away any protection shields cast up in defense. Among them, a leader: Lorenzo Rey.

The Clave watched from the shadows, vowed to not get involved in affairs they deemed less than worthy, but insisted on documenting it all. And Downworlders are the definition of unworthy in the Clave’s eyes. 

There’s a nagging in the back of Alec’s mind, a wonder if anyone tried to help, tried to stop it. If there was another way. 

But no, Downworlder affairs need not be meddled in, especially when Shadowhunters were never involved in the first place.

With a sigh, he sets down the reports and rubs at the bridge of his nose. What makes this situation any different? Magnus Bane threatened for Shadowhunters not to get involved. He sent a message back in the form of barely living soldiers who were just doing their duty, a message sent loud, but not so clear.

“Are you going to report this to the Clave?” Isabelle’s voice pierces through his thoughts, and Alec prides himself on only showing a fraction of surprise when he turns to face her.  

“Of course I am, Izzy. It’s my duty.”

His sister peers down at him from her spot on the corner of his desk, eyes scrutinizing every emotion that flickers across his face. She doesn’t seem appeased with whatever she finds. “You can wait if you want, Alec. You can see what happens next. Try your plans first and go to the Clave later with your findings.”

Alec scoffs. “And have my position rescinded for failure to uphold the most basic understanding of status? The Clave will know everything I know, because that is what is right. They’ll know the best course of action, because they know Magnus Bane and what he’s capable of.”

Isabelle watches him for several long moments, trying to read for any hint of something to give away any of the thoughts running through Alec’s head. When she receives nothing, she nods and reaches for the handheld with the last report Alec was reading, and holds it in front of herself. She skims the words on the page, traces a slow finger from picture to picture, before settling on one that she sets down in front of Alec with a smile.

“You know, for a Greater Demon who’s here to enact his revenge on the Downworlders, he’s actually quite handsome.” Her lips pull into a smirk, and her eyes await a reaction, but Alec gives her none. He simply shrugs and locks the screen of the handheld. “He was, at least. Who knows what he looks like now after a hundred years in Edom.”

And honestly, the last thing Alec wants to focus on is the physical features of a Demon here to cause chaos. He doesn’t want to think about the picture of Magnus Bane in Clave documents, drink in hand and that perfectly tailored suit fitting his body, smiling at the photographer with his dark-rimmed eyes. It doesn’t matter what Magnus Bane looked like then, or even now. The only thing that matters now is the information he’s managed to scrounge up from every instance of this Demon’s name in Clave history, and how he can use that knowledge to his advantage. 

Magnus Bane was cunning, sneaky, and smart in the early 1900’s. He was dangerous then, and Alec’s not going to believe that Edom did anything but magnify that danger after a century of letting his anger fester.

---

Moonlight spills through the windows, casts soft light along the path Alex takes as he makes his way, resigned, towards the infirmary. 

The halls of the Institute are sparse with Shadowhunters now gathered in the training hall and library in hopes of strengthening themselves for whatever battle they foresee coming. It’s all for naught, Alec thinks to himself as he recounts the lackluster conversation that transpired between him and his parents just an hour ago, accompanied by Inquisitor Herondale. 

“You’re to remain on the outside and cease any and all involvement in these Downworlder... squabbles.” Herondale’s voice had cut sharp and left no room for questions. Squabbles. That’s the extent that the Clave had watered this threat down to. A Greater Demon, capable of stripping away their ability to heal without the use of mundane technology. A Downworld squabble. 

“Alec,” his mother’s stern voice had cut in, low and severe, “you need to make it absolutely clear to everyone that they are not to expose themselves to any fight that Magnus Bane chooses to partake in. Any patrolling Shadowhunters are there for one reason, and one reason only. To observe and record.”

Yes, to observe and record. To keep an account of what happened for Clave history. More ammunition for Shadowhunters to keep themselves separated from Downworlders, and information to add to the files of warlocks the Clave already suspects are dangerous. Fuel to the fire, all wrapped up in the innocent guise of history.

It doesn’t sit well with Alec, being a bystander to the havoc a furious Greater Demon might cause. The Clave won’t step in, they won’t be a helping hand in all of this, and Alec hates to sit on the sidelines of what could possibly be the worst decision in the history of the Accords. 

But the Clave has the final say on any Shadowhunter involvement in Downworld affairs. The Clave is every bit as responsible as Alec for whatever presides in Brooklyn in the coming days. The Clave doesn’t want to stop Magnus Bane, so why should Alec?

Alec’s fingers wrap around the cool metal of the door handle when he remembers his mother’s face, the expression she wore so unabashedly in front of him. Disappointment so thinly veiled underneath all of that carefully crafted apathy. Disappointment for the way Alec offered his solutions to Inquisitor Herondale? Disappointment in the way Alec questioned the motives of the Clave for hiding in the background when they could find an alternative to be part of the solution? Disappointment in Alec, for becoming Head of the Institute, clearly unprepared and unwelcome by even his own mother?

The smile that graced his mother’s features when he first saw her had been enough for the newly awakened pride inside of him, seeking the tiniest shred of affirmation from his harshest critic. How short-lived it was. How quickly had that pride deflated into embarrassment when he began to speak of the attack from Magnus Bane and his mother’s eye shrouded themselves in disapproval.

Perhaps he could have done something differently today. He could have proceeded with a different plan of action that would have appeased Herondale’s thirst for non-consequential knowledge, if he had only known. But now he does, and though redemption is not far off, it’s going to be an uphill battle. 

He’ll do better.

With a steadying breath, Alec pushes open the wooden doors to the infirmary and steps in.

There’s the distinct sterile scent of Iodine, and far more lines of IV that are hooked up than Alec is used to seeing. They’re a back up, mostly, for when an iratze isn’t enough, or the wounds are too infected with ichor to properly heal, but even then…

The click-clack of heels on tile brings his focus to the lithe redhead who steps towards him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. 

“It’s not the ichor,” Clary begins, wasting no time. She’s worked with Alec long enough to know he doesn’t think highly of beating around the bush or dawdling. “I was able to analyze the blood samples enough that I could detect a magical signature on all of them. Bane, of course, but it seems that the magic is keeping the wounds from healing. They’re not re-opening, so to speak, but they aren’t clotting and the stitches I’ve made don’t seem to be helping the process either. They just,” Clary inhales a deep sigh, and expels a shaky breath. “They just bleed. Not enough to drain them completely, but enough to cause substantial blood loss. With how much they’ve already lost and how much more they’re going to lose, they’re going to need several transfusions just to stay alive.”

Alec turns to face one of the Shadowhunters laying on the cold, white bed. There are bandages around his arms, patches of gauze scattered across his body and face and butterfly bandages to keep small wounds closed. But for every bandage, for every strip of white, there’s red that blots it. Small beads of blood that pool at each line of cuts until they brim over and cascade in a slow and steady spill of red that stains the sheets beneath. 

Three Shadowhunters in critical care, while not a huge blow, only paves the way for bigger hits in the future if Alec chooses to stand in the way of Magnus Bane. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take, to bet it all on the unknown, to subject the very same people who put him in this position to the torturous death sentence of blood loss. 

“What are we going to do, Alec?”

Clary’s voice is soft when she speaks, uncertainty replacing the confidence and assertion he’s so used to hearing. Yes, three Shadowhunters isn’t a big loss, but it’s an omen chilling enough that he doesn’t want to cause panic and worry within the Institute.

“We stay quiet about this. If anyone asks, the ichor and magic is causing a unique reaction that you’re working on a remedy for. They’ll be fine.”

They’ll be fine.

Even to himself, Alec sounds scared.

“Maybe we need to find Magnus Bane, we could talk to him and ask - “

“Ask what?” Alec snaps his attention towards Clary, who frowns up at him.

With a calculated pause, she surveys the room’s occupants. “We can ask him what he’s here for, what he’s trying to gain from this.” 

“He wants whoever sealed him away in Edom to pay.”

Clary’s brows crinkle together, and her eyes focus as she undoubtedly tries to recollect any information on Magnus Bane she’s heard of over the years. There’s not much to remember, not much spoken through word of mouth besides cautionary tales and warnings on why Downworlders must always be watched. The real meat of the situation is hidden in the files of cases over the years. Cases that litter Alec’s desk, pages of text that have been ingrained into his mind.

“Maybe we could help him,” She offers, timidly.

“Help him?”

“I know it sounds crazy, us helping a Greater Demon,” Clary begins. “We work on keeping the Downworld in order so to speak, right? We make sure that danger doesn't seep through into mundane territory, and so far it is. We can seek out Magnus Bane, see why he’s after these people, who they are, and what he’s trying to achieve. Maybe… Maybe helping him will bring more peace than leaving him to his own devices.”

Clary’s not wrong, at least to Alec she isn’t. It’s the better option, to help Magnus Bane with whatever mission he’s steering towards so he can be done with it. Get him out of the way before it becomes a bigger issue with the Clave. 

But the Clave. 

“The Inquisitor doesn’t want that,” Alec explains tersely.

Clary rolls her eyes and wears a common expression of distaste so many around him always do when the Clave is involved. “They aren’t here, Alec. The Clave only cares about the Law, with no regard to how it actually applies to all of our lives in the Institute. You’re our leader now. I understand you report back to the Clave, but they don’t have to know. At least not yet.”

It’s a temptation Alec won’t entertain for longer than a brief second. Going against the Clave is not an option. They’ve been given orders, and he’ll make sure they follow them. 

“We will not go-“

Alec’s words are interrupted by the high-pitched ringing of his phone that he answers immediately.

“Isabelle?”

“Alec,” There’s a loud crash that crackles through the receiver of the phone that instantly sets him on high alert. “Alec, he’s here. Magnus Bane, he’s come to Hotel DuMort with an army of demons. You need to come!”

“Hotel DuMort? What are you even doing there, Isabelle? You were told to stay out of this, you shouldn’t be anywhere near other Downworlders with Magnus Bane around!”

“Jace and I came to -“

There’s silence as the phone loses connection, and Alec can’t help the involuntary reaction of slamming his empty fist into one of the unoccupied beds of the infirmary. “Fuck,” he spits out, before shoving the phone into his pocket and making his way towards the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Clary shouts as she rushes to his side.

“You will stay here and stick to the plan, Morgenstern,” Alec grits through his teeth. 

“There is no plan, Alec! I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs, giving people false hope when I can go with you and help.”

A moment of silence. A moment where Alec feels the heavy thud of his heartbeat in the palms of his hand where his fists are balled so tightly, before he exits the infirmary in quiet anger with Clary trailing behind him. 

---

There are screeches and screams that surround the Hotel DuMort as Alec and Clary gather closer. To mundanes, only quiet calm and the sounds of cars honking with idle engines fill the late night streets, but behind the screen of blissful oblivion lies something much darker, something far more inauspicious. 

Sparks of red shoot from one of the top floor windows, and Alec and Clary dodge the shards of glass that sprinkle down on them as they search for an entrance. Magic enchants the walls and tingles against Alec’s hand as he pushes through one of the side entrances not blocked off with deadbolts and hanging locks. It would be almost too easy for any mundane to just waltz in, and he’s sure under different circumstances this would be a red-flag for Hotel DuMort’s compliance with the Accords to be taken into question.

The room inside is dark and empty at first glance, but a gasp from Clary and the tip of his boots hitting something raised against the floor shows him that they’re not alone. 

A handful of lifeless bodies litter the floor in front of them, surrounded by darkness and sparks of electricity from the light sources that have been shot out and electrical wires exposed. Vampires. Demons. Nothing left alive.

It makes the fear of Jace and his sister being one of these figures all the more real, and he finds the weight of his feet carrying him faster towards the staircase door. Logically, he knows that’s not the case. He’d feel it through their bond if something happened to his parabatai, and he knows that Jace would throw himself into the line of fire first before he let anything happen to Isabelle. With Clary hot on his trail they race up the stairs, stamina and speed rune lighting up and fading quickly with the wave of their steles. It’s only a few quick minutes before they’re paused at the door to the 7th floor, only stopped by the body of a dead vampire blocking the entrance from the other side. With a grunt and a shove, Alec pushes the door open and they step through into a fight that’s already begun.

The sight of vampires greet them; teeth bared, claws sharp and blades in hand fighting off the demons that surround them, ash covering the floor they fight ont. Clary whispers his name, but he doesn’t turn to her, focused critically on the threats in front of them. Alec takes one step forward, close enough to the nearest vampire that he can almost get a word in, before he’s swiped at suddenly by a Ravener demon. 

He dodges the first attack with several hurried paces back and reaches for an arrow from his quiver, before the demon fizzles out before his eyes. The final blow in question is dealt by Clary, who heaves a breath and grins at Alec as she pulls her seraph blade back from the fading particles of the dying demon. It’s one miniscule victory short-lived, however, because in its place pour in three more from the broken windows that line the walls. Alec nocks an arrow into his bow quickly and chances a glance towards Clary out of the corner of his eye, who curls her lips back in a grimace and readies for a fight. 

Together, they take them out. One after another, an onslaught of demons rush and growl and shriek in attack. None of them get close enough to injure, though all of them try, and it’s not until the remaining few pull back and crawl through the windows that Alec realizes they’re not retreating for the sake of defeat.

“Upstairs,” Alec breathes, ragged. “Isabelle and Jace must be upstairs.”

“The demons are no-doubt being called back by Magnus Bane. We need to get up there.”

A hiss from the side catches their attention, a wounded vampire covered in blood and ichor. “Going up there is a death sentence. Your other Shadowhunters were already doomed before they’d even reach the top floor..”

There’s only a brief look of worry shared between them, before Clary and Alec are racing up the next staircase in search of Isabelle and Jace. Jace isn’t dead, he knows for a fact, but the possibility of Isabelle being injured fuels him up the next flights of stairs that tug at his parabatai bond. They’re close, he can feel Jace and the feelings being pushed through the bond right now. Confusion, anger, worry… Fear.

Fear of Magnus Bane?

They’re close, so close now, and Alec knows he’ll finally get answers to all of the questions and worries pouring through their minds as he and Clary push through that final door that leads them to the top floor of Hotel DuMort. 

Relief overcomes him, spreads warmth through his body as he sees the golden blond of Jace’s hair, and his sister right beside him across the room. But it’s replaced, almost immediately, when he spots the scene that surrounds them.

In the middle of the room are two figures, Camille Belcourt who Alec knows to be the leader of the Brooklyn Vampire Clan, and someone he can only presume to be Magnus Bane.The pair of them ensconced in a circle of high red flames that prevent anyone from leaving or entering. There’s a conversation happening inside of it, screaming and yelling from Camille that Alec can’t hear through the roar and heat of fire, and wild gestures from Magnus Bane, whose back is turned to he and Clary. 

Scattered around the room are clusters of vampires fighting off the unending horde of demons, unsuccessful in their endeavors. Jace and Isabelle are with them, the crack of his sister’s whip snapping louder than the crackling of fire that licks at Alec as he steps nearer. There’s no way around the fire, no way for them to get any closer even as he and Clary fight their way through the demons rushing towards them. 

So they fight, continuously with only precious seconds in between each attack for them to catch their breath and gather their strength, but Alec doesn’t tire as the ichor mingles with the sweat soaking his clothes and coating his skin. He won’t give up until he finds a way to Isabelle and Jace, and he’ll die trying if he has to.

Another demon jumps at him, and this one catches Alec at an angle that his arrow can’t quite reach in time. The knowledge of being cut hits first, followed shortly after by the pain in his shoulder. It stings and burns, not from the fire, but from the magic laced and infused deeply within the demons themselves. 

It’s a minor inconvenience, he tells himself as he reaches for the seraph blade holstered to his thigh and jabs it into the back of the demon as he dodges a second attack. It hurts, but it’s nothing he can’t stand, nothing an iratze won’t heal.

It’s a lie he knows to be true. He can feel the magic tingling against his skin where the blood begins to seep from the shallow wound. He’ll be fine for now, at least long enough to get them out of the building and back into the safety of the Institute. 

A grunt beside him brings him back into the fight and he turns to see Clary swing her weapon into the skull of the demon closest to her, while kicking another into the fire beside her that consumes the demon with a sizzling crack. It’s almost more effective to use the fire to their advantage, Alec realizes as he and Clary share a knowing look. They change tactics quickly, rushing towards the demons from the outskirts of the room, boots thudding heavily against the hardened exoskeleton of the demons as they rush towards them. The vampires nearby take note, exhausted and battered far more than the two of them, and begin to follow suit.

It’s not long before the flocks of demons that pour into the room fade into a more sparse area of coverage and everyone involved in the small battle can take longer than a moment's breath. 

Whispers and speculation fill the silence when only a few demons are left remaining, being fought off by courageous vampires with a sudden need to direct their adrenaline. In the middle of the room the fire howls fiercer, brighter and hotter as Camille and Magnus continue to occupy the center, closer than ever to each other. 

There’s discourse, still an argument being had if the curl of the Magnus’ fist and Camille’s bared teeth are anything to go off of. It’s still too loud to hear the topic at hand, something unsettling and stormy brewing between the two, but then suddenly something shifts in Camille’s incensed demeanor. 

It’s as if a switch has flipped, as if the anger has evaporated with the heat of the flames, and left in its place a barrage of tears that trickle down her face. She’s frustrated, Alec can see it in the square of her shoulders, but she’s given up the fight to Magnus. Part of him knows it’s not his place to care about the outcome of the events that are unfolding before them, that he has other more pressing matters at hand, such as getting to Jace and Isabelle. But the flames don’t give an inch of slack, and the path to them is blocked almost entirely by dead bodies and debris. 

A pale hand reaches up, contrasting shockingly to the deep tan of Magnus’ cheek where it rests, color that Alec can see isn’t just the result of the shadows from the fire. From Alec’s spot behind Magnus, he can’t see the expression he wears or the effect this gesture has on him. What he can see, though, is the tense of his back through the black blazer that fits his body, and the way he straightens out the length of himself when presented with the vulnerability of Camille. 

And Camille, for all her false innocence and shrewd manner over the years, seems genuine for once. 

With rapt attention, Alec watches every step closer she takes.He can feel rather than hear the staccato click of her heels along the marble floor for every inch of distance she closes. He should look away, he thinks in a moment of polite weakness. 

But, no.

This is a deliberate display, a show the two of them are putting on for any Downworlder, Shadowhunter, or Mundane who will watch. And so he does. 

He watches, enraptured, as Camille raises herself onto the balls of her feet, black stilettos lifting and pale arms encircling the strong shoulders of the Greater Demon before her. He watches still, as the bright red lipstick that stains her lips also colors Magnus’ cheek and smears against their skin when she ducks her head into the junction of his neck. It’s almost too intimate for him to continue watching, the moment surely too much for them to all be allowed to partake in. It feels sinful, in a way. Alec almost averts his eyes, guiltily casting his gaze downward, when he catches Magnus’ hand reflecting back to him the brightest flames through the rings that adorn the fingers curling into the dark long locks of Camille’s hair.

Most importantly, in his bashfully thorough scrutiny of the scene before him, he watches Magnus’ other hand, unnoticed and dim in the shadows of their two bodies. A hand that ignites a soft blue nearly unseen through the fire, magic that produces a wooden stake to spear straight into the unsuspecting heart laid out before him.

A gasp, a lungful of staggered breathing fills Camille as she cries out in the same silent shock Alec feels vibrating through him. Her body, lithe and slender and her deep burgundy dress darken with color as she twitches and fades before them into slow settling ash on the floor, graceful and beautiful in ways that only the leader of the New York vampire clan could manage. But Alec pays her no mind as her memory slips lower beneath the line of his vision, all the while his eyes remain steadfast on the Demon before him. On Magnus Bane.

The fire lets up minutes later, and the surviving vampires rush towards Camille with their inhuman speed, crying and bemoaning the loss of their leader with wails that echo in the silence now befalling the room. There’s a tug in the pit of his stomach, a pull that he recognizes clearly as his parabatai bond. He should follow it to Jace, to Isabelle and undoubtedly Clary who is likely already with them. He knows, logically, what he should do now. He knows what’s expected of him, and he knows what’s right. And yet… 

Now that he knows for certain his siblings are safe, there are more important matters at hand. Like the fact that Magnus Bane now stands in front of him, piercing Alec with golden eyes and the hardened exterior of a Greater Demon who shows no remorse for having just killed someone. 

Time seems to move slowly as Magnus lifts a hand and summons a portal, an endless swirl of darkness that will release him from the destruction he’s leaving behind, that will take him further from the answers Alec seeks. Magnus turns then, takes one step into the void and the flow of time accelerates so quickly that in that instant Alec doesn’t realize he’s stepping through the portal with him until the roar of magic deafens him to the sounds of his sister’s call.

[skinfeeler]

i read twisted road to genocide by henri zukier today. the original published paper published in 1994.

it was an interesting read in a couple ways i hadn’t expected. while i feel that its portrayal of functionalism wasn’t exactly fair — functionalists are (to my knowledge and limited methodological expertise) mostly not ‘fluke historians’ and i feel a lot of this paper could have been written in a way that it would fit the archetypal functionalist canon, or at least the newer groupshift synthesis — there still were a lot of rebuttals of rhetoric that exists now still in some shape or form. turns out that the ‘financial anxiety’ type of apologia has existed for a long time, as noted under the ‘economic hardships’ section in the enumeration of various attempts to explain away necessary insights about the holocaust. i don’t think one can really say that ‘history repeats itself’ (or could be at risk to) in a methodologically sound sense, but it was certainly a great overview overview of rebuttals of those who would seek to replicate its horrors with the qualities of balance in cadence and formulaism that i find lacking in many papers. i will probably send it to family too since so far i’ve had little success in convincing anyone but my siblings of the structural complicity that was present in general but especially in the netherlands specifically. hopefully a well-cited academical source not written by the family’s problem child might do more to sway them. i visited the ‘resistance museum’ in amsterdam last summer. i kind of knew what to expect but it was disheartening to see it match the propaganda (mostly in the form of fictional quasi-historical narratives read to children in my circles, including me) in which a certain volksgeist of lionised mass resistance (of protestant bent) was attributed to the netherlands which seems largely unsusceptible to anything in the realm of coherent  histiography. this holds true even with the elucidation that many ministers preaching against the nazis and collaboration were also communists (who in this museum were framed as ‘socialists’ to be equated with the ‘national-socialists’, and therefore any and all communism in any advocates at all was erased) with every present piece of history (clippings of newspapers, pamphlets, photographs, and so on and so forth) framed with the appropriate text to soothe the sensibilities of visitors who were seemingly presumed to be gentile and generally culturally christian (and therefore, not queer or communist) and to appropriate both self-defense of targeted communities as well as leftist resistance (which of course largely overlapped) to this particular contingent.

no mention was made of the connections between say, calvinism and the general complicity of civil servants in doing the administrative work — wordly powers are not to be questioned, as all power derives from god according to paul of tarsus — that precipitated the majority of jewish people in the netherlands being murdered, with one of the highest death rates per capita in europe. while the netherlands wasn’t mentioned in this article, denmark was, which largely appears to have exhibited the opposite qualities in at least the bureaucracy and thus also largely yielded inverse results. there is more to say on this with regards to the dutch history of (ethno)religious segregation/pillarisation/federalism and the particular role that dynamic played in our country’s history (and continues to, with some would-be social planners with ambiguous intentions wanting islam to become a new ‘pillar’), but that’s not really what i want to focus on right now.

simply put, i could declare myself content with being more critical than my culturally christian family and the narrative of the culturally christian netherlands in general, especially as i am exiled from these structures and therefore have little personal interest in defending them— or even from refraining to attack them. however, especially after reading this paper, i have to come to the conclusion that i haven’t really developed beyond these relatively straightforward insights (even if they are rare in my country) in any real way for a few years now. what i think was extremely valuable in this article for me was not only the denunciation of the anti-sociological assertion that good and evil are essential properties of a human being but building on that, that they are ‘nurtured qualities of the mind’. i do not agree with this proposition without caveats for reasons beyond the scope of this piece of writing, however, the way that zukier expounds on this is, i believe, of timeless relevance. the nazis constantly stressed the horrors of their actions and indeed many battalions weeded out those too eager to engage in them — as one example people who volunteered to perform executions were summarily dismissed — but nevertheless viewed them perhaps not even so much as duties in service of some larger goal. however, first, crucially, considerations of such were seen and treated as largely external to any notion of morality or ideology worth considering, which he expounds on at length over the course of the history of nazi germany.

here lies something i think is crucial to any such person or people who see themselves as grand architects of ideology and the future (and i myself have been partial to this at some points): you cannot let yourself become callous to the existence of such forces of which you are not the primary target. there is no excuse for letting orthogonal ideological interests outweigh the threat of mass oppression and violence, especially in a time where such things are emergent again. there is responsibility in what projects one considers themselves part of and in the scope of these projects, to root out such indifference. even in light of certain zionist histiographies who have constructed a new continuity to integrate the holocaust in a historical and metaphysical scheme that leads from there to redemption through the state of israel in the levant (quoting zukier almost verbatim), one cannot allow themselves to be caught into cooperating with this sophistry where to disagree with such narratives must necessarily co-implicate indifference (or even hostility) to the people involved. no antizionist or antitheist schema can permit any form of ideological reductionism or bargaining of the still very real threat of genocide which may very well become institutional in a number of countries in the near future, as it has before.

to acknowledge this much in spite of the muddying of this issue by bad faith actors (whether in the form of zionist genocide enthusiasts or white supremacists and their useful idiots who seek to bargain or deny the holocaust) is necessary for everyone, and i very much also assert this to myself as an un-christian (and queer and trans and so forth) but still nevertheless gentile person. this much is clear regardless of any and all complex geopolitical reasonings which in the scope of this particular issue are really only worth mentioning in the abstract, even if they are very much worth discussing on their own terms— indeed, criticisms must exist which separate the struggle against bigotry from certain imperialist and pro-family agendas and to refuse such actors the monopoly on these issues. i’ll make sure to send this piece to my various academical peers and to discuss this with them to keep in mind even as we strive towards other common goals together— which must be and are by definition synonymous with exactly this refusal to equate the two. however, as established, defining and stating one’s owns interests is hardly enough when it comes to this kind of subject, and failure to do so cannot be tolerated, and this i insist to any fellow adversaries of organised religion who might read this.