#its even more fucked if you start thinking on a systematic level

[kittykatinabag]

The vtuber enjoyer community is currently learning why multi-channel networks didn't work back in the old days of YouTube, except in the present day it's somehow even more fucked because the companies also own their channels and revenue sources and IP.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 23 - Cillian Murphy

You find another of the many, many reasons everybody fears the Underdark.

On AO3.

A voice snarls in your ear. No potion, and not any syllables you know. It’s a rolling language with trilled r’s, surrounded by lilting vowels and harsh consonants.

Then another hand fists in your short hair and wrenches your head back.

You don’t really think. Just lift your feet. You weigh more than a lotta people, and that should’a dropped you right outta this hold.

Only the fuckhead who grabbed you is fucking strong. You lurch, and their hold tightens in your hair and pain burns through your scalp even as the other arm digs into your trachea.

The person—gots hands, definitely some kinda person—snarls. Takes a step back. Which wrenches your head down, chin digging into your collarbones as your neck bones scream and you stumble along with them.

“Sorry!” you croak.

Whoever it is, they stink of blood. Of something low and nasty, and of burnt hair and burnt skin. Then they whip you into a kind of hold—oh god oh fuck they’re gonna break your fucking arm—and you spot grayish purple skin.

A fabled drow. Only this one’s alive and super fucked up, judging from the blackened burns along their forearm (sweet shit, is there such a thing as a five-degree burn).

It jerks on your bag.

“Okay!” you say. Try to drop it. But the bitch is impatient, and for a second time, somebody cuts your bag off your shoulder.

You glance around for Astarion. He ain’t here. Oh fuck, where—

Flash of white on the ground. He hit the deck. Lies next to a drow corpse, pale and unmoving, looking as dead as they do.

Unease twists your gut. He did ditch you before. Said he’d do it again…

Then he moves. Just the tiniest tick as the drow curses (you’re pretty sure) and tears open your bag. Astarion inches forwards. He’s not lying prone so much as he’s flattened himself like a big cat in the grass.

A small nudge against your mind. A thought drifting across, a snippet of memory not yours and a word you never learned.

“Surrender!” you say, the word shapes itself flatly in your tongue because you can’t roll the goddamned “r” right. And modulated in a way you ain’t never heard to indicate you’re the one doing the surrendering.

Astarion speaks their language?

The drow stills. Head moves. It’s…searching. Like it, like it heard that thought.

Astarion abruptly disappears from your mind.

“Surrender! Surrender!” you say.

The drow answers by kicking out the backs of your knees. You fall like a lamed horse, weight plowing into the ground and pain snaps through your bad knee. You barely manage to catch yourself before you completely eat shit.

The next words from that fucker mean nothing to you. It lets go of your hair to grab the back of your neck and your entire body tries to curl in. Which only seems to piss it off—its own r’s get super rolled.

It all but throws your bag at you. Spits something else. You glance up and spot a harsh looking man (you think). White hair, almost completely fallen out of some sort of top knot, and half of it (and a good section of his face) scorched black and peeling.

“Oh god.”

You don’t see the kick. Only pain lancing through your side as a boot connects with your ribs. You make an animal noise. Start to dry heave. But the fucker grabs your neck again and all but shoves your face into your own bag.

Your hands don’t really work. Everything in your body screams. You fumble once. Twice. Earn a slap to the back of your head so hard your vision bursts into specks. Then you upend the entire goddamn thing and the drow lets go a moment.

Leaving you to pant and wheeze and do your best to curl into a ball.

You been hurt before. But not like this. It was systematic, on the farmstead. Being handed a pocketknife and sent to the edge of the woods to select a switch. The procession to the stump. Being grabbed or shoved, sure, but not struck. Not this kind of swift violence. Not this level of hurt and so quick. Your brain just…freezes. Everything locks up, goes sort of hazy even as a small part of you in your head screams to get up, run, do something. But your body won’t listen. You can’t move.

You barely process that fucker digging through your stuff. Plucking up a few of your potions and some fish and…

And stops. Suddenly. Crouches very, very still.

Reaches for a crystal.

You dimly recognize it. From a body a few days ago (longer? You don’t even know how long y’all been down here, fucking caves). It static shocked you when you touched it, and you kept it in your bag ever since. Might be able to sell it or use it in some goddamn wizard magic brew.

Now that the charred motherfucker (why the fuck can’t you get up and run) picks it up like it’s the holy grail, and traces a finger along the side. Unfortunately, it don’t zap his ass (your staff lies right next to you, fucking move fucking useless hands goddamnit).

You manage a quick search for Astarion and you don’t see him. Oh god. Oh lord.

Then the drow turns back to you.

And pulls a knife.

Jesus fuck. He’s so fast. Too strong. This ain’t somebody you’re gonna be able to startle and blitz attack. And your body got no time to think of anything before the fucker steps over and grabs your hair again.

You killed people here. When you got the drop on them. When it wasn’t a fair fight. Before you had any real time to think through and look somebody in the fucking face.

You wish them fantasy stories was true. That in this moment, you were possessed by the ghost of King Arthur or some shit. That you fought and kicked and bit and screamed. Fought back, the way dead women get praised for in podcasts about the people who kill them.

But here and now? Hurt and battered and fucking locked in your own, useless body?

You only flinch away.

And the sonuvabitch jerks your head back and something cracks in you. A too-late, adrenaline “oh shit” kick and your arms flail. Does about as much as a kitten batting a tiger.

The knife against your throat still that. You clutch at his arm instinctively.

“Please,” you say, hating it, hating yourself. “Please! I can’t…I don’t speak your language. Please.”

Fucker gives you a shake. Like you’re a stupid puppy. Says something. Only…only the words echo weird. It ain’t at you, you realize. It’s at a gem in the handle of his knife. One that flares with light.

You got a second to wonder what in the shitfuck—

A mind pierces yours. It’s sharp and alien. A razor-tipped spear made of ice. You think you shout, think your body jerks, but that presence only drives deeper.

No, no, no! Not your mind! That was yours, not again!

It’s nothing like Astarion. Not even the accidental crash and tangle of the two of you that night. This one is focused. Cruel. Cares nothing as it slices through your thoughts. Through your memories.

It pauses on the farmstead, you kneeling in worship, keeping your head down because you got switched just a few days ago but the Pastor looked over at you and smiled this morning, and if you can be good, if you can please him and through him the lord…

Weak slave.

The word ain’t words or in English. Just a feeling. A thought. All of it comes from that fucking piece of shit forcing himself into your head and you shrink away from that thought like a kicked dog—

Then he pulls something from you. A more recent memory (red eyes and white hair and that hesitant look on his face as he held out them stupid panties—NO). You shove that down. Deep, deep down. He can’t see that. It’s yours, goddamnit.

But that dislodges something else and he immediately pounces on that. The pack you looted from the dead elfdrow. The pouch, and inside that, the crystal. It shimmered faint pink under your fingers. You reached down and gave the cool surface the barest brush and it was like touching a light socket. A thrumming wave wrapping up your arm, along your neck, up to the base of your skull. But it didn’t hurt. Just felt weird. And you made a sound and pulled away and then it was just a pretty crystal again—

Memory shard!

Then the fucknugget rips away and you fall to your hands, knees aching pressed into the hard ground. Your head pounds. Even the fuckface pants and closes his eyes a moment.

Your chance. The shimmering line knows. This is where you can make your break. Find a weapon, stab that bag of ass in the fucking throat—

The drow’s eyes snap open. His face, already made of sharp angles and hard lines goes rigid. His lips peel back. Then he reaches for you again and fuck you sideways, he’s gonna kill you and your soul will haunt his ass so help you god.

When something pale rises up behind him. Silver slashes to either side.

Astarion.

But the drow fucker is a tough sonuvabitch. He whirls as Astarion slices. Metal clashes on metal. Someone grunts. Astarion hisses something and the drow spits back. Then the drow does some twisting move, and Astarion grunts. Drops one of his knives. Tries to swing down with the other but his arm is blocked.

So he drops that knife, too. Catches it in his newly freed hand. Stabs up, right under the edge of the drow’s chest armor. You don’t think it’s a fatal move, but it does make the drow gasp and instinctively jerk.

Putting his throat in range.

Astarion hits him like a snake. Like a wolf. Bites fully down and then twists. Takes out a chunk of throat in a spray of blood.

The drow drops his knife and claps both hands to his neck, his eyes bugging out. His mouth flaps, but nothing but a wet gurgle comes out. He manages to stagger a few steps before collapsing. And even then, begins to crawl away, throat gushing between his fingers.

All the while Astarion stands there. Wipes his chin. Regards his fingers a moment before flicking the excess blood away.

He doesn’t pursue his dying target. He usually eats them. But he seems content to stay there and let the fucker bleed out. Die slow. Until the drow's arms give out and then the fucker keeps trying to drag himself along. You spot a back in a tiny alcove you didn’t notice before—must’a been where he was hiding.

Finally Astarion sighs, rolls his eyes, and walks over to stab the fucker in the back of the neck and give a savage twist.

You don’t move. Barely breathe. Hands numb and arms cold. Feet heavy and dead. Head stuffed full of cotton.

…are you in shock?

“Ast-tarion?” you manage and yep, your teeth are chattering. You’re in shock.

He turns, eyebrows raised. Says, in a downright cheerful tone, something ending with “darling” and a question indicator.

Funny how you forget how wide his shoulders are. Because they really are. Or the way he tilts his head to the side and lifts his chin a bit. He didn’t used to do the chin thing. Not long ago, he’d keep it down, even when flirting or being a bitch. Keep himself guarded. This new gesture makes him look more confident.

These thoughts swirl through your foggy head. Along with “need a blanket” and “should probably lay down” and “shouldn’t you put the feet up?”

“T-thank you,” you say in Common, because goddamnit, you was raised to be fucking polite.

And the man has the fucking audacity to shake his head, raise a hand with his fingers curled like some Italian nona, and repeat the phrase in Chondathan.

You can only stare as he cocks a hip, says something you suspect is “you’re welcome” and then giggles a soft, little, “A-ha!”

[drdemonprince]

Your blog is like a breath of fresh air. Thank you for all the wonderful thoughts and writing.

That said I actually have a question. I am pro-palestine(it feels stupid to call it that, as if it should even be a debate) and in a very left leaning friend group. But also a very white academic one. You know the type, read Marx, dream of the revolution but continue studying to end up in 9 to 5s instead of doing anything(I am guilty of it too, this isn't meant as insult just a description)

Anyways, as you can imagine they have been extremely hesitant when it comes to having any opinion on Israel or Palestine. That wouldn't be a problem in itself, I know how to start topics with them and get them thinking usually but in this case there is an additional problem. Whenever I try to broach the topic I get shutdown with "Look at all the shit that is going on here, our country is falling into fascism, I just don't have the energy to deal with this conflict. Please don't talk about it because it's triggering". And I have zero clue what to do. Forget getting them to go on protests with me, I can't even speak to them about it and feel really guilty. Its me bringing up a heavily triggering topic after all. It feels wrong to feel guilty though. I know at the end of the day it's not important if I could convince some people to give a fuck but do you have any advice? How to get over this guilt or maybe how to broach a topic with that considered?

My main problem is my fear of losing my friends because I have been ill for some time(as in physically unable to leave the house for more than a short grocery run, or my visits to the doctor, because of pain and my friends are what keep me alive) and losing their help would be not good.

My exact situation aside, do you have advice for someone to broach a topic that others describe as unpleasant/triggering without causing a huge rift in the group?

Thanks for your kind words and your question, Anon.

I think your friends suck and that you can do better than them. I think you should get out there and find yourself some Black, brown, working class anarchist and anarco-communist buds (and Marxists who show up for others in a real, observable way in their regular lives) as soon as you can.

I know that wasn't the answer you were looking for. But I have seen this kind of entirely theoretical, jaded, self-superior, passive, white well-off Marxist type a thousand times before, and I've failed to ever see them show up for other people in any kind of consistent way.

And it's not only the people systematically crushed beneath the wheel of Capital half a world away that they neglect, either. They tend to be pretty shitty friends and neighbors when it all comes down to it on the micro-level, too. Their smug over-intellectualism and dispassionate cynicism allows them to justify remaining disengaged and going along with the status quo in a way that ultimately serves capitalism very well.

There is a theoretical basis to this selfishness and disengagement, I will admit. This type of overly academic Marxist typically believes that the fall of capitalism is inevitable, that humans lack free will and only behave as befits their obvious material interests, and that there is nothing that one can do on a personal level to hasten any kind of Revolution, so there is nothing left to do but wait, and take care of oneself, and allow the future to unfold.

This is a perspective explicitly advocated for by people like the Chapo Trap House guys, and among academic white boy communist types, it is incredibly popular. I remember hearing Matt Christman saying on his vlogs that he essentially does not believe the conditions allowing capitalism to fall will happen in his lifetime, and so his only responsibility is to just take care of himself and his family and be comfortable.

Ultimately, these types wind up sounding and behaving exactly like capitalist economists who believe that everyone is rationally motivated only by increasing their personal wealth. They are disengaged from politics except insofar as they like to make snide jokes about current events for their own entertainment and enrichment, and they don't see themselves as having the capacity to exert a positive influence on the world, nor any obligation to. It's bleak shit.

At the same time, if your friends are in the circles that tend to read and listen to and promote this kind of stuff, surely they have also been exposed to popular leftist voices advocating loudly for the Palestinian cause. And yet still they have done nothing.

Hasan Piker has been vocally pro-Palestine his entire career, and his Twitch channel has been providing near constant coverage of Palestinian issues since October 7th. True Anon has had multiple episodes on the Israel Lobby, the suppression of pro-Palestinian activism and journalistic coverage, and has aired interviews with Normal Finkelstein. Palestine is the central topic of nearly every Trillbilly Worker's Party podcast for months now.

These are widely popular voices among the very types of Marxists that you say that your friends are, and many of these creators are close friends with the Chapo Trap House guys, whom your friends almost certainly are taking notes from. So it's nearly impossible to imagine that your friends have not encountered the near constant coverage of the struggle of the Palestinians that all the rest of us have. And yet still your friends do nothing. Still they do not care, and dismiss you when you share with them how despairing you feel.

Your friends have turned off an essential part of their hearts, I think. And I don't mean they lack empathy. Not having empathy is fine, I don't have it either -- but I make the conscious choice to care about the Palestinian cause and to advocate for it, because it aligns with my values. I give a fuck. My giving a fuck is conveyed through my actions, not through what I think about or how I feel.

Your friends are showing no interest in learning more about this genocide or doing anything about it. Perhaps some degree of ignorance or hesitancy could be justified early on because the Israeli apologist propaganda is so far reaching, but we're well past the point of that explaining away inaction by now. Over 100,000 people are missing and over 30,000 are known to be dead and little girls are being shot by snipers while seeking medical care while babies are left to rot in their NICU beds.

Your friends know this. Maybe not everyone in the world does, but if they're so well-read about leftist issues, your friends do. And they have chosen, for some reason, not to care. They've disconnected from the pain the Palestinian people are in, unplugged from the steady stream of upsetting information, sought comfort in a politics that says all too conveniently that nothing they do matters, and when you try to share with them how much anguish you are feeling about the mass deaths happening throughout the world, they're dismissive toward you.

Your friends suck. If acknowleding reality and confronting the horrors of a genocide is too tough and triggering for them, then a lot of horrors here at home will be too much for their fragile egos too. There are so many leftists you could be surrounding yourself with instead, I promise -- people who give back to their communities, people who are in the streets doing the tough work of feeding and housing and fighting for the release from prison of people every day, instead of using those local struggles as a shield for their inaction on a more global scale.

Fuck these people for real. This is a big glaring red flag and it will be relevant to your friendship and your life. One day many of them might see you and your problems and your human needs as too much of a distraction from their dry academic jerk-off sessions too. I've seen it a dozen times. Sorry to be so blunt. But you seem like a person who is putting their attention in all the right places and I don't want to see that compassion squandered on people who won't ever show you the same consideration. You can find people who actually walk the walk, they're everywhere.

[infiniteglitterfall]

How are you holding up? I ask because I'm only, like, addressing antisemitism that leaks to my dash with every term related to Palestine I can think of blacklisted. And i'm like. Barely crlinging to fragile sanity. I hope you are better equipped to handle the stresses of this ongoing disinformation campaign. You're doing good and important work, which you must know, but I want to re-emphasize it.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

i swear to god I thought there was a way to reply privately to asks, but apparently either there isn't or I don't have the patience to find it again.

I think that you're describing how most Jews with any connection to social media feel.

The good thing, in a way, is that researching and fact-checking is my major coping mechanism. Researching and rebutting and arguing with people until I understand everything well enough to be pithy about it. Creating ways for other people to defend themselves and to push back. Doing the research to know when I'm right helps me a lot.

I'm probably as well-equipped for this as I can imagine being (that's not really true, I should be talking to people more about it and using 12-step tools to deal with it and gosh some therapy would be nice), and like... there have still literally been times when I've been triggered for an entire week by this shit.

Most notably: the time when I saw a clip on my TikTok fyp from some podcast where some journalist fully got all dressed up and prepared to go on camera, to say that she could imagine there were a few individual rapes on Oct 7 -- although she wasn't aware of any -- but that certainly there was no evidence of systematic rape, and that saying there had been systematic rape was dehumanizing propaganda.

Like. If you can't even take one minute to google whether there had been individual rapes before you go on camera. And you haven't heard of them two months after the fact. Then you don't know enough to talk about this, period. That makes you the very opposite of an expert on the subject. And yet, that is who gets platformed. Ignorant randos who have no personal connection to any of this.

I literally knew there had been gang rapes by Hamas within the first week of the massacre. Because I cared enough to do a search for eyewitness testimony of the massacre, and I found an interview on PBS immediately.

Or, more accurately: it was because it slowly sank in that the attack had been MASSIVE. 22 kibbutzim leveled in one day, hands-on, without an airplane or mortar shell involved. All those people killed the way you would kill a horde of zombies: burned alive, or shot and then mutilated, or cut up and then shot. Like they needed to double-tap, to make sure no one was coming back around.

Two years of planning. Almost half a billion dollars in funding from Iran. Detailed guides even to the dentist's offices and kindergartens and grocery stores they were invading.

And it was very plain to, I think, nearly every Jew on earth that this was an attack aimed at Jews. Even before any recordings of attackers saying "I'm inside with the Jews" or "I killed 10 Jews with my own hands" even came out. Even though everyone else was denying it from the moment it happened.

And I felt compelled to learn more about what happened.

To KNOW.

To bear witness.

Even before it became apparent started to seem like the rest of the world would rather die themselves than bear witness to us. Even before it became apparent that Hamas had been telling people Israel would commit genocide in response before its fighters even left that country.

A reasonable person, imho, would ask why the fuck Hamas would commit such atrocities if if thought Israel would respond by killing every Palestinian in Gaza.

The Palestinians in Gaza are certainly fucking demanding to know why the hell Hamas thinks it gets to start a war on them, why its leaders get to hide out and evacuate their families while demanding civilians bleed and die for it, and why it doesn't goddamn turn itself in and give back the hostages.

But anyway.

But that's the thing. I looked it up because I was compelled to. I identified with the people attacked. I needed to know what had happened to us.

That's something outsiders would only do if they were allies.

We know, now, that we don't have allies on the left.

I've seen post after post after post, hundreds and hundreds of comments, on Jewish Reddit, asking if other progressives are okay. Asking, "how are you dealing with rejection by the left??" Asking if others are also shocked and confused and betrayed. Talking about how many friends they've lost who went masks-off antisemitic. So many people who've had to end long-term relationships when their partners went masks-off.

There's usually at least one politically conservative Jew in the comments laughing wryly and going, "wow, you really thought you were safe?"

Sometimes they ask why we're on the left if everyone there wants to kill us. Then we defiantly point out that it's not any different on the right. Or that we're not going to abandon our political beliefs for anyone.

Anyway.

I didn't even watch the podcast clip past that moment.

I ragequit. I went to the file of eyewitness testimonies I'd already put together, after weeks and weeks of denial. (And by "file," I mean "draft in gmail, because it saves automatically, and it's easy to find, and i don't know why it's better than google docs or dropbox paper, but it just is.")

I took the clearest, most authoritative ones and put them into their own document -- which i did make in dropbox lol.

I duetted the video, or whatever the fuck the one is in tiktok where you just take 5 seconds from one video and the rest is your own. It's not duetting. Idk.

It was the middle of Hanukkah. I recorded a video where I read each of however many testimonies I had, and lit a candle before each one. It was almost 10 minutes long, even though I made them as short as I could.

I didn't post it.

I was triggered all to hell for a whole week. I was staying up till 3 or 4 in the morning, researching horrifying rape testimonies, arguing with people on the internet, then sleeping too little and too late, then doing it again.

Watching myself lose a whole week to this. Knowing I couldn't do anything about it. Half-angrily, half-numbly thinking about how I couldn't afford to lose this much job search time, this much unfucking-my-life time. How I couldn't afford to have people I didn't even know fuck up my life even more.

And the bitch of it all is that the tone of the discourse makes me strongly suspect that if we said, "hey everyone needs to walk it back, you guys are deeply fucking up the mental health of pretty nearly the entire Jewish community," people would just respond by angrily telling us anti-Zionism is not antisemitism, mockingly saying that's what Zionists deserve.

Thanks for asking <3

[kotoneshiomiofficial]

i also think imo a lot of ppl assume they were gifted kids when they actually weren't....? like i have a lot of the same feelings of "I did school naturally" but I was a B average student in middle school. and then i started failing in high school..i think most people (not saying this judgementally, i started fucking up in 5th grade~10yo) do school from elementary to middle school "naturally" since there isnt as much homework until high school. i also dont think taking AP/honors classes should really count as "gifted"........especially since, tbh, at least from my experience if youre struggling or have SSD/IEP/special ed (like i was in highschool) they just assume you cant do those classes in the first place. they dont even offer them. whereas if you dont, they assume you Can do them by default. the whole conversation is basically just internalized ableism..."oh, im not as good as the default like i thought i was, im actually at stupid sped student level!!". <- this is the subtext to the discourse which is so gross since most of them dont even realize this. i think the amount of ppl who can actually be defined as "gifted" are those who skip grades...which is def not who dominates the conversation lol. and like you said it really undermines the fact that people are struggling so much more just to stay afloat in grade school and there should be much more attention paid to how we are being harmed systematically by the education system rather than "i never learnt how to study bc everything came easy to me and now i have anxiety". not to mention things like the lack of support in general coincides to diagnosis being the only thing that officially Validates the need for help in the eyes of school administrators, but even then the barriers to diagnosis are vast and numerous. (economic, parents doing medical neglect and not believing you need help so the school system doesnt either lmfao, etc). but even then...i was in the therapeutic/psychiatric circuit (2 times inpatient hospitalization , 3 times partial, a bazillion therapists and medications) since i was 10 years old and neverrrr got diagnosed with adhd until i looked for an adhd specialist myself. not a single non-specialist recognized any symptom....... we are literally screwed systematically and ppl want to focus on labels like "gifted kid". + a big issue with college in particular that no one brings up is that beyond the stupid fucking costs that punish failure, the more painful college is the more "prestigious" it's seen to be. they do not actually want it to be accessible. yale got into trouble recently for kicking out their suicidal students, lol. they do not want anyone who struggles to be there and tarnish their reputation. just like how "gifted kids" are more upset their reputation as gifted was tarnished because of their icky brains. sorry if none of that made any sense/was very US-centric, i am 100% agreeing with you if none of that was clear.

i think you're right. thats what my last comment was about, how a lot of the discourse seems to center around "well i WAS doing so well but then i did bad and everyone started treating me badly". its treating the adults reaction as legitimate when its absolutely not.

[queen-mabs-revenge]

oh no no no 100% agree with you on all of this, and yes omg pls lets interrogate! i think you're so right in all the points you bring up, but i think that gets into more granular detail of what i was trying to say about modern mainstream story telling -- it's constrained by the accepting the system as it is and so is only able to present the 'best possible' but ultimately inadequate solutions within that system. i think that's why at some level it's never going 100% feel fulfilling to the audience as a complete and wholesome solution to the problems its setting up to be solved. the bittersweetness of the narrative is in that underlying political contradiction and presenting, if that makes sense?

like obv i'm kind of brute force looking at it from the political position that the whole shebang is fucked up and needs a systematic overhaul lol. but bc of that i think even the solutions the show presents, that address all of the things you correctly bring up, ultimately feel unfulfilling and upsetting because if the show's world is a reflection of our world, we either consciously or subconsciously understand that the entire situation is deeply fucked up on a level much deeper than those pat solutions can ever address? i think stories like this expose to a tiny extent the contradictions of putting the moral onus on fixing these problems of systematic alienation and exploitation on the atomized individual/nuclear family unit (even if that just manifests in feeling kind of iffy about a dumbass football tv show lmao).

(courtesy read more bc i'm chronically long-winded)

like absolutely the story is showing the problem that both henry and ted are harmed by both their distance from each other and ted's unresolved trauma from his own father dying by suicide. but i think the solution of him moving back to the US to be a present and healing parent is challenged in a lot of ways by the entire arc of the show so far. the past three seasons of development kind of demand the question of how ted can actually be a good parent if that's contradictory shown community bonds that help make ted a more fulfilled human? and i don't think the show can answer that question satisfactorily within the boundaries it's functioning in... which are the boundaries of the reality of the capitalist world in which the story is set (that we're being asked to interact with as a reflection of the world in which we live). and the solutions to these problems in our reality are just as impossible and anti-human to everyone in the nuclear family.

and yes yes yes 100% the gendered aspect of the uncompensated labor and its rigid feminization (as both cause and justification for not compensating that labor) can't be ignored bc it's essential to the story! but that's the contradiction exactly exposed imo? the bourgeois family is literally designed to further demarcate and fossilize the idea of strictly gendered labor that's been carved since the beginning of class society! that michelle was more than likely left with the brunt of the uncompensated reproductive labor even when ted was there, and that now she's close to 100% responsible for it is absolutely true. and yes, ted going back to help shoulder a share of that uncompensated reproductive labor does present the possibility of that being made less of a gendered burden of feminized reproductive labor for her.

but like... holy shit that's bleak!!! even going back to the disintegration of their marriage -- like... michelle has to compromise to maintain a relationship that no longer fulfills her and/or that's causing her harm just bc it's the way she can have some of her uncompensated labor relieved? her financial burden shared?? and even ending that relationship means she's got to start a new one to have those issues addressed bc there's no systematic solution??? it's so so so fucked up bc it's actually reflecting the reality of our irl relationships being forced into transactions to bridge the chasms of exploitation! and again, i think that even if ppl aren't clocking it consciously, we've all lived this shit our entire lives so ofc it's gonna feel like a bitter pill when it's reflected back to us in our media as moral correctness and nobility.

i think the reason why it feels like a pretty upsetting conclusion (even for people not watching the show like a fucking unhinged maniac with marxist goggles lmao) is bc it's the classic thing of presenting the inadequate and individualized solution to the systematic problem as the noble and morally correct thing to do, and more problematically as the only ever possible solution to the problem bc there's is no alternative (that's compatible with capitalism lmao hmmmm🤔).

and like...i think both things can be true at the same time -- it's only human that we to try and ease each others alienation and exploitation under this system and that narratives reflect that, but i think a lot of modern narratives just kind of parrot back (without even a little interrogation) the idea of the nuclear family arrangement as the only way to ease that burden, and present themselves as a morality play of why that arrangement is your noble duty, when actually it's the cause and execution of so much of that alienation, exploitation, and violence to begin with?

i think ultimately the solution presented of ted going back to the us does its best to solve the problems presented by the story within the limitations of the system it's accepting as inevitable, but i think the underlying reason why it feels so itchily unsatisfying and unwholistic is bc the audience at some level understands that it's just presenting and valorizing the usual bandaids on the bullet wounds of the real roiling contradictions under the surface of the story that's being told but not acknowledged. the contradictions we all live with and suffer under every day.

and no i'm not expecting mainstream stories to all of a sudden be revolutionary manifestos (altho ted baby maybe you should believe in communism xoxo) but i'm just rly interested in digging into why ppl react the way they do to those mainstream capitalism-steeped narratives (whether positively or negatively) and what that exposes!

always on my marxist bullshit, but the idea that a parent must be solely devoted to their child to the wholesale detriment and complete exhaustion of themselves is exactly why the bourgeois family is an act of universal violence. no one gets the care they need in that situation, and the ruling class continues to profit off of unpaid reproductive labor through the propaganda that parental exhaustion and monomaniacal devotion is pure, noble, and the only way a child can be raised without harm.

blended families, extended families, and other forms of borderless communal childcare have been the norm for the majority of human existence. the bourgeois family is an unnatural, alienating imposition completely geared towards justifying ruling class generational wealth consolidation, and beatifying a system that compensates 0% of the labor it takes to provide care, comfort, safety, hygiene, etc. for the reproduction of both tomorrow's and the next generation's labor.

anyway real facts this is why mainstream storytelling never can hit just right when it tries to tell the stories of parents and children with both being fulfilled and complete human beings. it literally can't propose a resolution to those contradictions unless it wants to start asking a whoooooole lot of other questions about families and social reproduction under capitalism....

[miafeystits]

political thought and the thought cabinet

or, how disco elysium makes a political argument through game mechanics

so, let’s talk about the political alignment mechanic in disco elysium. specifically, I want to talk about the politically-aligned thought cabinet projects in the game, and how the mechanical consequences they induce serve as another way to comment on what adherence to each political ideology means for harry’s development as a person

(note: i’d like to dig into associated political vision quests in the future, but at the moment i’ve only fully completed one (communism) and I’m not through my moralist playthrough yet, so I’ll hold out on commenting for the moment)

because, and I don’t think this is really a controversial take, we can pretty easily read the acquisition of skill points as a metaphor that systematizes harry’s character development throughout the story, as evidenced through the way that skill points, whether invested into specific skills or into new thoughts, are mechanical decisions that shape harry as a character through the ways he is able to interact with the world (especially seeing as certain skill levels are often necessary to not only complete certain tasks but to obtain certain parts of potential narration)

political thoughts, then, and the effects that they have on harry mechanically both during and after their completion can and imo should be read as commentaries on what those political ideologies do on a personal and interpersonal level (taking into account, of course, that you as a player basically have no choice but to play a harry du bois who is extremely invested in his ideology of choice, because hdb is nothing if not a man of extremes. the only way to play a more “moderate” or “apolitical” hdb is to opt out of completing any political thought at all. even the ‘indifferent’ political dialogue choices ultimately lead you to developing the moralist thought, and if you ever decide to research said thought and go down the moralist questline that does mean playing a harry that is deeply invested in moralism as an ideology—you can play harry as a centrist, but you can never play him as a moderate)

(note: this is something I’ve seen people discuss to various degrees before, but the ones I’ve seen have tended to focus on fascist runs of the game and how much disco elysium makes being a fascist suck—which are worth checking out for the record, as I’ve never played a fascist run of the game myself. so while I’m probably not pointing out anything new in that regard, I really want to point out how all of the political thoughts in de have mechanical effects that provide political commentary through gameplay, and how they contribute to the game’s larger political points)

so, taking all this into account, it’s super interesting to note that even though disco elysium allows you to play harry as a communist, moralist, ultraliberal or fascist, of those mazovian socio-economics is the only thought that offers additional xp

meaning, if we’re reading the acquisition of xp and skill points as a ludic illustration of harry’s character development throughout the game, the benefits of internalizing mazovian socio-economics make an argument that communist ideology is, mechanically, the political ideology that gives harry the most substantial tools to develop as person. 

this is despite having its own possibly negative effects on harry, shown mechanically through those negative skill bonuses:

there’s a critique here in regards to how far communism can take harry personally– at the end of the day, it is also an ideology that gives him a pessimistic and somewhat skewed view of the current world (from the solution description: “All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *fucked him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world,”) which manifests in those negative stat bonuses to authority and visual calculus. 

but compare this with the other political thoughts in the game:

moralism, in contrast, has mechanical benefits (and on the surface may appear more uniformly positive than the communist thought), but that main benefit is making harry feel better about himself, which is different than allowing harry to improve himself 

looking at the mechanical boost healing +1 morale alongside the (mostly theoretical) boost to volition (giving you a potential for high morale in general) & the fact that volition is described in-game as a skill that “At high levels…makes you hyper-sane. When you’re about to get funky, it keeps you normal. It’s a bit of a party-pooper,” we can see reflected here what the game says about moralism textually: that moralism is an ideology about maintaining the status quo, maintaining stability (although, stability for whom?) at the expense of any actual change, personally or socially—and part of how it maintains that is through professing ideas that feel good, but are ultimately more fluff than substance (the conversation with the Sunday friend being a great example of this in practice)

now, the raised learning cap to logic is a mechanical detail i find slightly trickier to interpret if i’m being honest. my initial guess as to its purpose is that it serves to aid the player in the moralist quest later on, which necessitates that harry succeed on at least one major logic check to complete it. however, there’s also something to be said about how moralism frames itself as the most ‘logical’ and ‘objective’ of its ideological contemporaries, as a way of justifying its continued power and the human cost that it necessitates. moralism’s argument for its own existence, the future ‘kingdom of conscience’ is also notably one that appeals to harry’s own internal sense of logic, as seen in the passive check below (from the initial ‘kingdom of conscience’ thought):

then there’s ultraliberalism, which is pretty easy to figure out imo—people subscribe to this ideology because it makes them money. if earning money is what’s important to you, subscribing to this ideology sure will make that easier, at the expense of empathy towards others.

and honestly, you might benefit mechanically from this thought in some ways—namely through the ability to more easily buy status-changing clothes, medicines, and drugs—but it’s important to keep in mind that those stat boosts are always temporary. the clothes can be taken on and off, the drugs wear off eventually, and medicine will only ever heal you to max health, never increase it. the only permanent stat change is that negative boost to empathy, which is the price of doing business.

and then lastly, we have fascism. and being a fascist, mechanically? sucks ass. i’m not the first person to say this and i probably won’t be the last. it gives you a negative stat boost that lasts the whole nine hours it takes to think about it– nine hours!!! that is, by my count, the second longest time to internalize a thought in the whole game. the other ideologies also give you negative stat boosts while you research, but the longest of them (mazovian socio-economics) takes only around 3 hours. notably, there are very few thoughts of this research length that induce a negative research bonus at all—most of the thoughts that clock in around 7 or 8 hours of research time, with some exceptions, have no effect during research. also, the only thought with a longer research time than this one is wasteland of reality, clocking in at 20 hours, which is the thought that mechanically mimics the process of trying to get sober after years of alcohol addiction

there’s also probably something to be said here in general about the time it takes to internalize each political thought—moralism (1 hr 25 min), closely followed by ultraliberalism (1 hr 45 min), are easy to internalize presumably because they’re the reigning ideologies of the world you live in—you are surrounded by their logics and their arguments, and it’s easier to maintain the world than seek to change it.

communism is presumably more difficult to invest into—you can see evidence of its defeat all around you. it is a decidedly radical position to take in a post-commune of revachol world

I’m honestly still thinking about why exactly fascism takes so long to internalize. my current theory (and a big thanks to @obeetlebeetle​ for helping me figure this mystery out as best as we can) is related to a specific line in the description for the revacholian nationhood thought (emphasis mine): “They've fucked this place….You have only a vague idea what this means, but it's clear that a *good strong state* must be erected upon the ruins, if any of us are to have a future.” as we see in looking at other fascist characters in the game– rene, measurehead, gary– their idea of both what is wrong with the world and how to ‘fix’ it (as well as who is the in-group and out-group in their worldviews) are so deeply rooted within a specific historical, cultural, and theoretical context and tradition, which harry “just lost his whole memory” du bois doesn’t have access to. as we see in the description above, a fascist harry is written as coming from a place of defensiveness, of wanting to blame the world’s problems on an out-group so as to absolve himself of sin or personal responsibility, but he only has the vaguest idea of who he’s blaming, and why– meaning this research time may, in fact, be needed to research, or to at least recover those memories

who knows though– maybe, perhaps, the time difference is so great because fascism is less about understanding the world around you than it is about evading anything resembling truth? not about stability, or personal gain, or changing the future, but returning to a past that never really existed. to quote a friend on this, it’s an ideology based in false and subjectively constructed narratives (which you can see in the aforementioned main 3 fascist characters’ differing visions of the world), an approximation of which even harry is even able to cobble together. perhaps, more so than the other ideologies, fascism is really a lie you have to take the time to fool yourself into believing, because you need to make up a story to go along with it.

but anyway, let’s go back to what happens when you internalize revacholian nationhood. 

if you decide to go all in on fascism, spend a whole nine hours on it, what does that get you? just an increased proclivity towards alcoholism (more specifically: a mechanical boost that encourages the player to roleplay harry’s continuing alcoholism) and a -1 to your morale anytime you say something fascist

being a fascist, and attempting to enact fascism out in the world, sucks. the game does not want you to be a fascist. it makes you worse, and continuing to try to spread fascism only hurts harry—the destruction inherent to fascism manifests as self destruction as well. and the boost that it does give—making alcohol more effective—is a temporary one, and requires you to continue keep drinking to maintain its effects

(note: I know that it’s possible to level up a skill while it’s increased via drugs or alcohol and it will stay that way, but i’d argue that such raises ultimately come down to increasing the skill cap, which is mechanically distinct from giving the player more xp– and notably, to maintain that boost when not using drugs or alcohol, players still need to use previously earned skill points, which this thought does nothing to aid you in acquiring)

so, in conclusion I guess: I think the reason that disco elysium’s exploration of different political ideologies works so well for me is that it’s not just fluff. harry’s politics, whichever direction he leans, will change him as a person, and those ideologies are not equal or neutral: some of them will give you more tools to survive this world and to better yourself than others. and when they also affect gameplay it makes it clear that the ramifications of those politics are inescapable on a personal level as well as a wider social level, and makes those effects inescapable to the player as well.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 17 second part

(Masterpost) (Previous Post) (Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!!

Breaking Good

Wen Qing comes to visit Wen Ning in their backyard meth lab, and tells him that he fucked up a recipe, merely by taking a whiff of the concoction. She uses the approved "wave fumes toward self" way of smelling that you learn in high school science if you live in a country that believes in teaching science, which OP does not.

Wen Ning wants to know if they are going to have a feud, and she tells him there already is one. She tells explains to him that they're good Wens, not evil Wens, and that Jiang Cheng is fucked, and they should send the Jiangs away in the morning before Wen Chao comes around. 

Wen Ning whines at her about all of this, shifting into little-brother persona and acting like he didn't just take down 40 of Wen Chao's soldiers in a single night. He does this same persona shifting in his later unlife, with Wei Wuxian. When there is trouble, he's extremely effective, and can even tail WWX and Lan Wangji without getting caught, but then he is hopeless when dealing with turnips or children. 

Here, it seems like a version of Wei Wuxian's own little-brother persona, in which he pretends to be helpless so that his sister can take care of him.

#studyblr

Wei Wuxian comes into Wen Qing's head shop to ask her for medical books. He loves his brother so much he's volunteering for a research project. We've seen him be clever before; we've seen circumstantial evidence that he's a good student, but now we're going to see him actually buckling down and doing intellectual work.

Wen Qing thinks its hopeless and wants Wei Wuxian to get some rest. But he gives her puppydog eyes, so she sets him up in her library.

Wei Wuxian reads a huge pile of medical books and learns interesting things about the human body.   

(more after the cut)

Hopefully he does not splotch ink all over them while he holds this wet brush directly over the page. Why does he even have a brush in his hand? Is he taking notes in the margin? 

Wen Qing eventually tells him to take a break and go see Jiang Yanli.

Segmentation fault (core dumped)

Jiang Yanli is tending to Jiang Cheng, gently telling him to suck it up by citing their father, which is probably not the greatest idea. 

Yanli's wearing dark blue with white and looks awesome.  It's not Gusu Lan blue, but the blue and white is an interesting choice for the excruciating heart to heart they're about to have.  

Wei Wuxian shows up looking terrible, or the Xiao Zhan version of terrible, i.e. handsome and a little scruffy. But also worn out, unhappy, and fragile.

Jiang Yanli wants him to rest, but he wants to find a way to repair Jiang Cheng's core, and his mind races, trying to think of where he can get books and who can help him. His thoughts instantly go to Cloud Recesses and Lan Wangji. His face lights up at the thought that Lan Wangji will help him, and he hops up, ready to dash off and find him.

The first time I watched this I was like, dude yes you’re in love, but you can’t just dash off to find Lan Wangji, not when there’s a war on.  This time I was like, actually wow things would turn out a whole lot better if you got Lan Wangji to help you, instead of coming up with your own plan.

Mother Mother Can You Tell Me

Jiang Yanli tells him to slow his roll.  He's pushing himself too hard and she's afraid he will collapse. Then Wei Wuxian comes out and says what's driving him: maybe all these disasters are his fault.

It's telling, I think, that he cites Madame Yu, not Jiang Cheng, in this moment, even though Jiang Cheng has blamed him much more thoroughly and consistently. He's talking about one mother figure, to another mother figure, and looking for absolution.

He super does not get what he's looking for.

Jiang Yanli slowly lets go of him and goes the fuck off. She asks, rhetorically, what he's to blame for, and then lists off all of the shit that's happened.  She finishes up by saying, look at our situation; blaming won't help anything. 

It's unclear, because language/translation, if her answer is "it doesn't matter who's to blame" I.E. "yes, it's your fault, but I'm letting it go" or if she is saying "how does blaming yourself help anything?" I.E. "it's not your fault, stop being a drama llama."

Her body language, though, seems pretty blameful - she lets go of him, yells at him, sits down and turns away from him.  And his reaction is not one of shared grief, or of someone who is trying to get over himself; he's totally crushed, and he literally never unburdens himself to her again.  Even when he asks her, much later, about love, he immediately backs out of the conversation. 

There is no violence in this moment and her reaction is understandable, but this is kind of similar to that one time when his brother choked him in a beautiful field of grass, in order to make himself feel better. 

Then she kind of relents and takes his hand, telling him that she needs him and reminding him that he promised that they will go back to Lotus Pier. I don't remember him promising this, but okay. 

He puts his head on her lap and he cries, she cries, comatose Jiang Cheng cries; FUCK this episode.  

Jiang Cheng manages to cry only one tear and does it on the side of his face that his siblings can't see because he's not going to give them the satisfaction of sharing this moment with him, I guess.

When Wei Wuxian puts his head on Jiang Yanli's lap, it's part of a ritual for them, that they both are comforted by; he does it again much later, after they return to Lotus Pier. But this ritual does not actually do anything to relieve his burdens. As a male adult, and the only Jiang Clan disciple with any abilities, it falls to him to save the clan, whatever it takes, and he is heavily aware of it.

Wen Qing comes along and sees the sweet part of this complicated Shijie-Shidi dynamic, and decides to help with Wei Wuxian's research project. When the trio had just lost their parents, gotten sick, been pursued by enemies, & had one of Yanli's little brothers horribly wounded, Wen Qing was like, eh, I'll do the doctor stuff but that's it. But lap-crying is another level. 

Wen Qing: Nooo don't put your head on her knees I failed my saving throw

Group Project

Wen Qing goes and cleans up the mess in the library, putting everything in order and settling in to read systematically. Wen Qing probably has the prettiest bullet journal. (OP looks proudly at the 100 loose slips of paper and piles of random stuff on her own desk)

Wei Wuxian has shaved and rested and comes in with a tray of food for Wen Qing, and then goes to his table in the back to start working. He claims he made "porridge" for her and that she has to eat to gain strength, and she gives him an intrigued expression.  This moment is just blatant het baiting.  

In fact the food he brings her is clearly not porridge, which might just be a translation error, but also he totally can't cook, so it's not clear if he's joking and Yanli or Wen Ning made the food, or if this is just inedible.

The Things We Do For Love

Yanli is working in the meth lab and coughing a lot. Yanli's chronic illness is a sign of what's to come for Wei Wuxian, because strong cultivators don't get sick. Yet Yanli, as a physically vulnerable person, who has either a weak golden core, or none, is still intrinsically valuable.  Her presence in this scene is a reminder that Jiang Cheng's life is not, actually, over; he just feels like it is.

While Yanli cooks the meth, Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing have a study montage that is the equivalent of a training montage, except without "Eye of the Tiger" on the soundtrack.

Jiang Cheng remains unconscious. Apparently if you stick nails in the top of someone's head, you make them sleep, and in the back of their head, you turn them into part of your zombie army. Fortunately Wen Qing's aim is good. Jiang Cheng is looking devastatingly handsome as usual the TV version of unwell, and has grown a perfect Dorito-chip of stubble on his chin to go with his new 'stache.

Eventually Wei Wuxian changes back into his non-vampire robe and he finds the answer in an old scroll book. The Ikea instruction picture shows arrows going from the guy on the left to the guy on the right.  Clearly it's not a great procedure for the guy on the left.

Wei Wuxian's face shows us exactly how not great. 

Like walking in the rain and the snow and there’s no place to go and you’re feeling like a part of you is dying

He goes outside and gazes up at the trees and the sky as he contemplates the sacrifice that circumstance is forcing on him. He's not even making a choice at this point; his choice was made the moment he found the procedure. But it's going to be a tremendous loss for him. He values sword cultivation at least as much as Jiang Cheng does; he even fell in love with a boy over crossed swords. So he sits and just kind of comes to terms with this new understanding of his future. (Big gifs here)

Wen Qing finds him sitting, stunned, on the porch. She doesn't know what's up so she just sits quietly with him until he's ready to tell her.

She doesn't love the plan.  

Thunder, Th-th-thunder

Wen Ning is bringing food up when he sees them arguing, and he is startled by situationally appropriate thunder and lightning. Having recently watched The Lost Tomb Reboot I've come to expect thunder and lighting to appear on cue in any possible situation, so the fact that this mini-storm clears right up again doesn't bother me.

What About You?

Wen Ning dashes inside to see what Mom and Dad are fighting about. They're having a polite shouting match because Wen Qing refuses to yank out Wei Wuxian's core. 

Wen Qing: I hate the idea of harming you Wei Wuxian: I don’t even understand that sentence

Wei Wuxian doesn’t, of course, feel that he is important in any way, and ignores her concerned and appalled expressions in favor of telling her to just do it anyway. Amazingly, this does not convince her. 

OP’s 177cm-tall son keeps telling her this

Then Wei Wuxian plays the "you know Jiang Cheng" card, which...I guess she does? Maybe he was chatting her up more than we saw in Cloud Recesses? He hasn't given her the comb or anything yet. Wei Wuxian explains that Jiang Cheng cares about gain and loss, and cultivation is his life. If he can only be ordinary the rest of his life will be ruined.

Wen Qing asks the question that nobody ever asks him: What about you? 

Wei Wuxian has literally nothing to say to that, possibly because the question is so new to him. 

Wen Ning doesn't know what's going on but comes squarely in on team Wei, of course, and begs his sister to Do The Thing.  How fucking horrified is Wen Ning going to be when he learns what The Thing is? What he is personally going to help do to his beloved friend? Yikes.   

Wen Qing caves, warning them that the chance of success is only 50 percent. Wei Wuxian is happy to take those odds.

Lan Wangji, projecting his voice from Episode 46: fifty percent, are you fucking kidding me?

Soundtrack: 1. Mother Mother by Tracy Bonham 2. The Things We Do For Love by 10cc 3. Thunder by Imagine Dragons

[thirty-five-owls]

Does this make sense or does it sound stupid

I see a lot of fans talk about Matt Murdock as a lawyer, a vigilante, a devout Catholic, but I think another really interesting angle is Matt Murdock as a sociologist and I can't believe I haven't been able to find anything on it.

I don't even know where to begin with this conversation because first of all I haven't read all the DD comics and second I'm not a sociologist and I have barely stepped into the doors of sociology. So I feel like I don't understand what I'm talking about. But if anyone has been exposed to the fundamental philosophy and theories behind sociology, which is an umbrella term that encompasses criminology, law, and justice, then I think suddenly you can empathize a lot with Daredevil's worldview.

It's not just about the acts of upholding justice in a court of law as an law practitioner, which certainly has its own charm and appeal, and I'm sure enthusiasts have talked and dissected this aspect of DD in depth, but the precursor to learning about the justice system is learning theories of sociology.

It's like the first time you realize you're beginning to understand the way this world has been functioning around you, how the structures were built by people long ago, and how the logic behind the structure came into being, and along with that, the flaws of its construction and how these flaws are now impacting, systematically and institutionally, every individual life at the same time.

In my opinion, no other subject you learn will quite achieve the same effect as sociology. It talks about such a large, omnipotent scale that is so deeply flawed in so many ways, these titans of social machinery sludging gargantuan bodies across the land that is filled with ordinary struggling people, and you learn about the policy makers' biases, limitations of their time, structures that are implemented during a period filled with ignorance and hate and people doing their best, and now the society is up and running and it's too late to revamp it without completely wiping the board clean and starting over and now we have such a huge fucking mess on our hands.

What do you do with this information? What do you do when you start to learn about the systemic injustices that created criminals? And what about the lives that the criminals destroyed? Who are we going to blame? The fact that it didn't just happen to this one individual, but it is happening currently to millions of ordinary people, people from our past, in our present, and stretching into the future, these systemic failures and institutional biases that are so massive in scale that you feel powerless and helpless against them?

And then you suddenly understand why he had to become a vigilante, he does it because he's a sociologist and he sees the bigger picture behind every individual criminal. They need to be held responsible for their crimes, but the society has failed them. This must be a thought that crosses every sociologists' mind: if I could help them I would. It's about upholding the accountability of someone who broke the law and hurt another living being while at the same time understanding that their lives were manipulated to fail by a deeply flawed societal structure, and the key is to balance the understanding of the causation and the delivery of justice. And as someone who studies the society by trade, his faith lies with the system, sociologists have to believe (but maybe I'm wrong) that the fundamental structure of the system works, it will work if we fix the human factors that introduced flaws into it.

It's like the way good scientists and medical doctors approach the world, by doing as much help as they can while minimizing as much damage as possible; sociologists are scientists too. DD simply had to become a vigilante, because he had the ability to do so, he had faith in the system and he understood profoundly its structural flaws. He witnesses the crimes as they happen, every night he listens to the city in pain, to a sociologist it elicits more than just anger or empathy after witnessing a random act of injustice, it's a deep sadness and tiredness that you get after learning about the root cause of suffering, after understanding exactly why things are the way they are, which is a mess, and now you know just exactly how impossible it would be to undertake the task of social change.

So then, he hears an individual in crisis outside his window, it would almost be unethical if he didn't act on it. (And then the guilt and the repentance that came afterwards are a result of his devout Catholicism which is like a whole different thing) But I really think every good sociologist would become the Daredevil if they had the ability to do so. Because if you were made to understand how different factions and levels of our society are fitted together to systematically create crimes, then you would understand exactly why it's so crucial for the Daredevil to give people second chances. It would almost be unethical if he didn't do so.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch19. Cut Off One Head…

Summary: The Avengers have been tracking Hydra for a number of months now, systematically making their way through each base that their intel provides them…but a routine business trip turns out to be something far more sinister than Katie and Tony were planning for…

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, bad language, angst… 18+

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: The next few chapters take a bit of DARK turn…warnings will be detailed. @angrybirdcr​ provided a special banner for these next three chapters, and another wonderful edit...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 18

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 September 2014

“I’m not saying that I’m not open to the idea, I just don’t understand why you think we need to buy the firm.” Katie said for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. Tony glared at her and simply shook his head as he sat waiting in the reception area of the office block in Minnesota. “I’m not even gonna ask what you were doing that kept you up so late you clearly didn’t get enough sleep last night you cranky brat.” Katie rolled her eyes but she felt a small smirk pulling at her lips as she remembered very well the events of last night as Steve had quite frankly lost his shit at the fact she was wearing the new baby blue lace matching underwear set he had bought her just because he wanted to, but she caught herself. “Sleep or lack of, has nothing to do with it. I’m serious, Tony. We don’t need it”. “Investing” he said holding his finger up “building the brand. That’s what business is all about.” She groaned “Thanks for the lesson on running a business, you know, in case I didn’t know how to, but that is NOT the vision I have for SIP.” “Look, you said yourself when this proposal landed on your desk you were curious.” “I am!” She protested, and she was. From the research they had done, the company that had approached them, Hall General Publishers LTD, held the same ideas as SIP, except they focused on Biographies that were published in series magazines. They had reached out to SIP for a potential collaboration on a fiction series that they had been approached to run and felt it was out of their field, but they were keen to see if they could join forces. It had instantly caught Katie’s attention and imagination but as usual Tony had gone off on one and suggested they buy the smaller company out. “I’m curious about their proposal, and the potential to do business, collaborate yes, but not take over!” “Look, it’s a day out of the office, chance to forget about Tin Man and Hydra” Tony shrugged and Katie gave a groan of frustration again. “And their profits are pretty impressive. We can use them, keep their brand…” “Whatever.” She glanced around at the foyer. It was clinical, white, all clean lines. Nothing like the entrance to Stark, sorry Avengers Tower as it was now called .Mind you, that was to be expected from a ‘rent an office’. Eddie Hall, the MD of HGP had requested the meeting take place away from either of their offices to avoid anyone catching news of the potential collaboration and had arranged to hire a room at block some 10 miles outside of Saint Paul. Tony had shrugged when Katie questioned it, saying it wasn’t unusual for people to hire external meeting venues in order to keep things under the radar. “Miss Stark, Mr Stark, I’m so sorry,” the dark haired man hurrying across the foyer said. He was about 6 foot tall, slim, and was wearing a sharp black suit. Both Katie and Tony stood up, Tony extending a hand.

“Mr Hall I presume?”

 “Yes.” The man said, shaking both their hands, his manner flustered. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I had to ensure the room was ready.”

“It’s only a few minutes.” Katie said smiled at him, “No apologies necessary.”

 They followed him into the elevator and he selected the top floor and turned to the siblings

“Thank you for coming out here. I know the cloak and dagger thing is probably a bit much but I don’t want people getting wind of it. There’s a few changes coming at the company and I don’t want any of them making any assumptions…” “Understandable.” Tony sniffed, looking around the elevator.

They emerged onto the top floor, and he led them left down the corridor. Katie looked around, the whole place smelt of paint and there was decorating equipment dotted around. She frowned. “It’s a new office facility.” Hall explained, looking at her. “Owned by a friend of mine and they’re still kitting it all out. But he said this was the best room to use. It’s mocked up like a board room you see…” Katie nodded and shared a look with Tony, she was starting to feel ever so slightly uneasy. Tony just shook his head and patted his pocket where his trusty Iron gauntlet cuff sat. Neither of them had come with their suits, this was supposed to be a straight forward business meeting after all. But she took a deep breath, she was probably just being over sensitive after everything that had happened recently…

Hall stopped outside a door to the left and opened the room, revealing nothing but darkness. “Oh, sorry,” Hall let out a sigh of frustration, sweeping into the room. “Yes. Let me just… find the lights.” Tony looked at Katie, arching an eyebrow. 

No window? He mouthed at her, his hand slipping into his pocket as they stepped into the room, Katie not quite sure they should be to be honest. “Yes. Here we go,” the man said brightly, flipping on the light and flooding the small room with light as the door slammed shut behind them.

That’s why it didn’t have a window. It was a fucking storage room. And it contained three men in dark suits standing before them, each with a rifle trained on their chests. Katie instantly stopped, drawing a deep breath of shock. Besides her she saw Tony in the corner of her eye quickly move to pull the cuff from the depth of his pocket, but he suddenly stumbled forward and fell immediately, the cuff flying out of his hand as the man they knew as Mr Hall stepped round them both and leaned against the wall to their right.

Katie spun round to see another man to the left and her eyes widened as she instantly recognised him.

“Grant?”  She frowned, looking up at the face of her ex "What… what’s going on? "You know, I thought when you dumped all those files on the internet you might have actually read them.” He smirked, stepping forward and glancing down at Tony who had sat up and was watching him, his face contorted with hatred and rage. Katie swallowed as she took in his words before she shook her head as her eyes grew wide in sudden understanding.

“Heil HYDRA.” Ward’s smile spread further across his face.

The agents around the room started to close in. One of them, a larger built man who reminded her a little of Rumlow spoke in a deep voice.

“This is the one you say we need?” Ward nodded and at that point Tony slowly got to his feet, backing up, placing himself between his sister and the man who is advancing on her, the two of them backing towards the door.

“Need me for what?” Katie said, her voice soft as her back hit the wooden surface.

“Answers.” The large man said, looking bored at Tony’s display of protectiveness.

 “About what?” She said, a bit louder this time.

“Well, you see Kay…” Ward smirked and Katie turned to her left to look at him as Tony emitted a low growl in his throat at the use of his old pet name for her, Ward chuckled before he started again “We’ve had a bit of a problem since you and your boyfriend, sorry fiancée, congratulations on that by the way.” He smiled, and she glared at him in response “Yes, ever since you took down SHIELD, we’ve been a little bit on the back foot, constantly watching our backs, trying to figure out where SHIELD or the Avengers are going to pop up next. So we figured, we needed a bit of inside intel.” The larger officer yanked Katie’s arm and pulled her out from between the door and Tony, flinging her into the middle of the room where another one of the agents grabbed her. Another one stepped quickly in front of her brother, blocking his path to her.

 “Ok, stop…” Tony held his hands up, turning back to Ward and the other man. “If you want someone, take me. I’m more involved in the Avengers anyway…“

His voice was level but Katie could hear a level of desperation.

“Yeah, much as I’d love to take you in for a kicking Tony, the problem is she’s the only one of you who knows he’s alive and what he’s likely to be doing so…” “Knows who is alive?” Tony frowned as Katie swallowed thickly. Coulson, that’s the only person they could be talking about. But before she could say anything one of the agents butt Tony hard in the back of the head with the handle of his gun and he fell to the floor.

 Katie yelled out and started towards him, but the Agent holding her tightened his grip on her arm to the point of it being painful.

 “Now you’re gonna come with us, out of this building, quietly, no fuss and no escape attempts” The big man spoke to her “Otherwise Ward here is gonna put a bullet in your dearest bro’s head.” “And how do I know you’re not gonna do that anyway?” Katie whispered through her tears.

“Because it’s more trouble than its worth.” Ward shrugged. “And frankly, the thought of him alive, worrying about you is far more satisfying.” Katie glanced down at her brother, who was starting to push himself up, until Ward kicked him hard in the ribs and he collapsed, groaning, as Ward hit him on the back of the head again, knocking him out.

“Alright, alright!” She protested, her voice cracking. “I’ll come. Just leave him alone.” She was shoved harshly forward, her heeled feet slipping slightly as the door was pulled open. She stopped suddenly, turning to Ward. “You better watch your back .When Steve and the rest of the team finds out about this you’re a dead man.” Ward chuckled. “Quaking in my boots, Sugar.” She was shoved forward again, and managed one glance over her shoulder at Tony who was sprawled on the floor before she was shoved out of the room.

***** Tony groaned, as he pushed himself up slowly, the room spinning.

 “Kiddo?” he croaked, as he looked around. He was alone, no sign of anyone. He scrambled across the floor, and tried the door which was locked, before he slumped heavily against it, his trembling hands started to feel his suit pockets. His phone was gone, of course, as was his cuff and Katie’s laptop. He lay his head back against the door as he started to piece together what had happened. It was an ambush, Ward…HYDRA…

 Hydra had his sister. For information. About someone no one knew was alive? Were they referring to Fury? He ran his hand over his face again, and was just about to think about screaming in the vain hope they heard him on reception, but he stopped, suddenly. They hadn’t taken his watch.

Thick HYDRA bastards. 

With shaky fingers he pressed the button at the side and the face lit up orange.

 "Yes, sir?“ JARVIS spoke and Tony almost gave a sob of relief before he spoke a simple instruction, all he can think to blurt out before he gives into the throbbing in his head once more.

“Alert Captain Rogers. Send help.”

***** Steve was in the now finished training room with Thor. The pair of them were currently debating if the large room would stand up to them trying out a new move- Thor hitting Steve’s shield with his hammer to create the same wave it had done in the forest that time. It was useful, and Steve was thinking about perfecting it, seeing if it could be directed in anyway.

 “What metal is it made from anyway?”  Steve nodded to Mjolnir as Thor was throwing it up and down.

 “It was forged from the heart of a dying star- Nidevalir…” Thor said, as Steve picked up his shield.

 “It’s made from a star?”

 “No, metal, which was forged by a star.” Thor corrected.

Steve was about to comment that he still hadn’t answered the question when a red light started flashing in the corner of the room, along with a low siren, and Jarvis’ voice cut across them.

“Captain Rogers, Mr Stark has just sent a distress signal.”

 Steve instantly looked at Thor, swallowing slightly. “A distress…they were on a business trip. “I’ve no other details other than to alert you and send help.” There was a loud clap of thunder and Steve turned to see Thor was now clad in his armour and the God nodded at him as the two of them sprinted from the room. Steve’s mouth was dry and his mind was running overtime about what trouble they could possibly be in, but as they headed down the corridor to the armoury he found his voice.

“JARVIS, tell everyone to suit up and meet at the jet, now.” “Of course Captain. I’ve patched the location through to the jet.”

“I’m sure they will be fine.” Thor offered as some attempt at re-assurance. But as Steve shrugged on the top half of his uniform and grabbed his utility belt, he didn’t feel very re-assured.

Maria Hill met them in the hangar “I heard the signal, is everything ok?” “Tony and Katie…” Steve informed her. “They were at a business meeting but Tony just sent out a distress signal.” Maria looked at him and then nodded “I’ll start doing some digging into who they were meeting.”

 He nodded, and strode up the ramp to the jet. They’d been in the air about 30 minutes when Maria patched through to them

 “I don’t know who they were meeting but it isn’t Eddie Hill” she sighed “He was reported missing three days ago by his wife.”

 “So whoever took them got to him first.” Nat looked at Steve. “Took him out, replaced him with an imposter”

“And it’s probably safe to assume he’s dead.” Steve said, flatly. “Hill, start doing some digging. Into Hall…anything that might help.”

“On it Cap.”

It took them approximately another ten minutes to get to the location JARVIS had programmed for them. And it felt like ten years. Ever since receiving the distress call the entire team had been on tenterhooks, Steve especially, remaining stoic and unyielding, although he felt anything but, knowing his girl could be in trouble.

 The receptionists face was a picture when the Avengers, led by a focussed, stern looking Captain America stormed into the building and demanded to know what room the Starks were in. Tony heard them shouting on the corridor, Thor kicking over paint cans as he went, and he yelled, banging on the door.

 “Stand back…” Steve’s voice was loud before he aimed a huge kick at the door, breaking it easily along with the frame which splintered out of the wall.

“Where’s Katie?” Steve asked, swallowing and looking round, almost as if he expected her to be hiding somewhere.

“They took her.” Tony said, pacing in front of him “I tried to stop them but…”

“Who?” Steve looked at him and Tony sighed, his eyes brimming “Tony, who took her?” Steve’s voice was desperate.

“HYDRA.” he bit out, and Steve felt his mouth drop open before he took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. “I don’t understand…“ Thor began, but Tony cut him off. “And you think I do?” he shouted at the God, his entire body trembling as he stopped pacing in front of him “I… we…” He stopped, unable to speak, his breaths coming in short, rapid bursts. Steve was too preoccupied to notice. He was simply staring down at the floor, his posture slumped as he removed his helmet which felt like it was suffocating him, his head kept replaying what Tony had told him.

 HYDRA had her. They had her.

 Banner grabbed Tony by the shoulders and gave him a single shake before he looked at him “Tony, focus on me, ok, keep breathing…”

 Tony slumped to the floor and Banner knelt down with him. “How did this happen?” Steve’s voice was thick as he turned to look at him. Tony swallowed and Bruce squeezed his shoulder “It was a trap. The man, Hall. We came to meet him only Ward and…” “Ward?” Clint’s head snapped round at the sound of that name, frowning “Ward is Hydra?”

Tony nodded and Steve let out a lowly growl of frustration.

“They wanted her, said they needed inside intel. I told them to take me, I said, take me instead, but they wouldn’t, Ward said that she’s the only one who knows…knows that someone is alive and what he’s likely to be doing…”

 At that Steve’s mind started whirring. Ward- she’d worked that last case with him and Coulson. She was the only Avenger that knew Coulson was alive, bar him, and no one knew she’d told him. Other than Fury that is.

 “Who’s alive, who were they talking about?” Natasha frowned.

“I don’t know!” Tony bellowed.

“Maybe they meant Fury?” Banner suggested, looking up.

Steve’s voice was quiet as he looked up. “They mean Coulson.”

 “What?” Tony wheeled round to face him “Coulson? He’s…he was killed, they buried him! We were at the funeral!” Steve shook his head before looking up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath “He’s alive. The last case Katie worked at SHIELD, the Asgardian staff case…” “The what?” Thor frowned, but Steve ignored him as he continued.

 “It was Coulson’s team she worked with. Ward was part of it.” “And you didn’t think to tell us?” Clint frowned at Steve

“What good would it have done Barton?” Steve snapped, before once more his hands ran over his face. The room fell silent until Nat spoke again.

“Ok, so even if he is alive, that doesn’t explain why they think she knows something.” she pressed “What do they think she knows that’s so important they’d risk taking her?” Steve grit his teeth “I’ve no idea. But I bet Fury does.”

“I’ll get Hill to find him.” Natasha says, pulling out her phone and leaving the room.

“I need to get to back to New York to access everything.” Tony said, suddenly “Start searching our intel, anything…” “What about the media?” Bruce suddenly said. “Should we release her photo?” Tony looked up but before he could speak Steve answered.

 "No. If we do that…” He shook his head. “The press’ll start digging and it could flush them further underground.” “Cap” Clint protested gently. “If we can get her picture out there, have more people on the lookout…”

 Steve shook his head, a miserable yet stubborn pout pulling at his bottom lip. “No.” “We are in the dark here!” Barton snapped.

 Steve turned on him, puffing out his chest. “There’s no way they did this and didn’t leave any sort of trail.”

 “A trail? Jesus Cap, these bastards grew within SHIELD for over seventy fucking years and no one noticed!” Clint snapped

 “I KNOW!” Steve roared.

Thor, who had been watching the exchange quietly up until that point stepped forward, placing his large hand on the Captain’s shoulder.

 “I know it is hard, but you need to remain calm Captain.” he said. Steve looked up at him, giving him a nod, taking a deep breath. Thor turned to Barton “I agree that we should have everyone we can hunting for little Stark, but maybe not straight away. We should regroup, get as much information as we can.” Clint nodded. “I’ll go see if they have CCTV. Maybe we can identify who else was with Ward.” Steve nodded at him as he turned and left the room.

 “I’m going to see if I can find anything outside.” Thor said “tracks, a trail…” he released his hold on the Captain leaving him in the room with just Bruce and Tony.

 Bruce had both his hands on Tony’s shoulders as the man sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands. “I tried to stop them…” Tony sobbed, his head rocking back and forth “I tried, I really did.”

Steve said nothing. He couldn’t. Instead he stood impossibly still despite the ground feeling ready to crumble beneath him.

*****

Thor’s search drew a blank. So after quizzing the staff who were distraught when they realised what had happened, they took the CCTV footage and headed back to base. The jet was silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

Steve was trying to make connections. What was Coulson doing, and why did HYDRA, mistakenly, think Katie knew about it? Why had no one told them Ward was Hydra? There was no logic in any of this, other than the fact they were desperate, broken and desperate to take the one person they knew for sure had a link to the assumed dead agent. And as that thought echoed in his head, he realised Barton was right. If he had told the rest of the Avengers about Coulson, then maybe they would have taken anyone else. The fact that he found himself wishing it was one of the others instead of her made him feel slightly ashamed but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly, the jet became hot and he felt the bile rising in his throat. He spun up out of his chair and just made it to the small bathroom at the back of the jet before he threw up.

They arrived back at base just after 2 in the afternoon, and immediately went into overdrive, running facial recognition on the CCTV, Tony instructing Jarvis to sift through the files for any mention of Ward in the vain hope it would give them a clue as to where they might have taken her.

Steve was numb, for once he was failing to direct his team, so Clint took it upon himself to organise everyone, which he was grateful for. Suddenly he felt his phone ring, and he pulled it out of his pocket as fast as he could, a low grown of frustration coming from his throat when he saw it was Sam.

 “Sam, I need to keep the line clear.” He answered, sharply.

“Woah, Cap…what’s going down?”

“Katie…” Steve stumbled over his words “She’s…she’s been taken, by HYDRA.” There was a pause and then the man spoke again, four words, before he hung up.

 “I’m on my way.”

Steve slid his phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath. He needed to focus. He was no good to Katie like this. He glanced over at his team, locked eyes with Thor who gave him a nod, and he strode across to see if there was anything he could help with.

It was an hour or so before they made any decent progress.

 "We got a positive ID on one of the Agents.” Hill said as she strode into the common room, handing Steve a file. He took it and glanced down, moving the surveillance photos they had extracted from the CCTV footage to one side, reading the information in it as Bruce continued. “Eric Jones. Ex SHIELD enforcer, clearly still active in Hydra. He worked out of one of the Canadian bases SHIELD had in Toronto, it fell when SHIELD did. We’re still running facial for the others, but I’ve told JARVIS to focus on the guy that Tony said was posing as Hall.” Steve nodded.

“We have a home address for Jones.” Hill added “But we’ve no idea if he’s been there recently or…” “We’ll check it out.” Nat stood up, patting Clint on his chest with the back of her hand. He nodded and stood up just as Steve spoke again.

“How did Ward know?” he looked up and turned to Tony “how did any of them know that you were gonna be there?”

Tony didn’t look away from the window as he replied "I don’t know. The company is real, we did all our research. They’re based in Saint Paul, not far from where we were.”

 “So either Ward got wind of it and took it as an opportunity or Hall was in on it from the start.”

 “If he was in on it then why kill him?” Thor asked gravely.

“Maybe they were worried he was going to blab.” Clint shrugged.

 “When we’ve been to Jones’ we’ll head over there, see if we can dig anything up.” Clint looked at Steve who gave him a nod before JARVIS cut across them.

 “Mr Stark. Director Fury and Agent Coulson are here.” “Send them up J.” Tony said, standing up.

 Steve took a deep breath and looked at Clint and Natasha “You two wait and see what he has to say before you go. It might help.”

*****

The news Fury and Coulson gave was received as well as could be anticipated. Thor let out a loud growl, turning over his chair in anger whilst the rest of the group started to angrily chatter amongst themselves, all except Steve. He simply looked at Fury, then got up from his chair, the anger radiating from every inch of his body as he strode towards him, jaw clenching.

“Rogers…” he began but shut up immediately as the Captain’s fist connected with the former Director’s nose with a satisfying crack which rang around the now silent room. Fury stumbled backwards, falling to the floor, and he wiped at his face, eyeing the trickle of blood from his shattered nose as waved away Hill away who had stepped forwards to help him.

 “Come on…” Thor patted Steve’s chest, “this isn’t helping anyone.”

 “You knew?” Steve glared down at the director. “You knew they had the damned thing and didn’t think to tell any of us that you were tracking it?”

 “It would have blown Coulson’s cover.” Fury staggered to his feet, wiping his nose. “What he is doing has to go under the radar…” “And because of that they took her.” Steve spat “Because Ward knows she knows he…”he pointed to Coulson “is alive, and because we worked with you to take them down, they think she knows something!”

 “Let’s just break this down…” Tony sighed, rubbing his face “How did they get it? I thought the Sceptre was on Asgard?” Tony frowned, looking at Thor. “You took it with Loki.”

 “No, I took the tesseract.” Thor said. “The sceptre was taken by err…not SHIELD, well a part of SHIELD but…”

 “Why did you not tell us about this?” Clint snapped, his usual placid mannerisms now spiked with anger as he turned to Maria. “Why has it taken us raiding fuck knows how many bases, and Nova getting taken for us to find out?”

“Barton, The rubble of the Triskelion took ages to sort out, the other SHIELD strongholds had been obliterated or infiltrated at the same time” she explained “Hundreds if not thousands of things have gone missing. Files, hard drives, laptops, alien artefacts, security badges, flash drives… the list keeps growing. We didn’t know it was missing until recently!” “Recently? How recent?” “Last week.” She looked down and Steve gave a snort as Clint growled.

“You should have destroyed it.” Steve looked at Fury, “Just like everything else you had in that god-damned lab.”

“We couldn’t” Coulson looked at him, and then Steve gave a sarcastic laugh as he understood perfectly what the man was saying.

“Of course not, because you never had it in the first place did you?” “What, I thought…” Tony began but Natasha cut him off.

“Sitwell and STRIKE collected the sceptre. They were HYDRA, they’ve had it right from the start.“

The room fell silent bar silent and a large clap of thunder started outside, making them jump.

“Sorry.” Thor grumbled.

“Fuck this shit.” Clint suddenly spat out, “Nat come on, we got somewhere to be.” he turned to Steve “If we find anything we’ll let you know.” Steve nodded as the arched clapped him on the shoulder and he left.

Nat turned to him, as if she was going to say something, but she didn’t. She swallowed and gave him a nod, before hurrying after her friend. Steve looked down at the floor, which was once more spinning under his feet. Hydra would be trying to get information out of Katie that she simply didn’t have. And the thought of what they would be doing… one more he felt the bile rise in his stomach and he turned, rushing from the room and made it down the corridor to the rest rooms. He pushed open the door of a cubicle, and threw the contents of his stomach up before slumping to the floor, his knees tucked to his chest, and he let out a loud cry of frustration, anger, his chest constricting around him as the tears began to fall.

*****

 Natasha and Clint’s re-con turned up something interesting.

 “Nothing at Jones’ place, it looks like it hasn’t been lived in for months, however, when we spoke to the Deputy CEO who’s running the gaff in Hall’s absence, he recognised the guy posing as Hall.” Clint looked at him “Peter Jackson their head of IT. Ran his face through the system and turns out he’s also known as Gary Jepson, ex SHIELD technician.”

 Steve ran his hand over his face, scratching the stubble on his chin as he glanced down at the photo. He hadn’t shaved since God knows when.

 “So there’s our connection.” He breathed out and Natasha nodded

“Apparently he got the job a few months ago. Timeline tallies with when HYDRA fell. Apparently he and Mr Hall had a mutual love of American Football, they hit it off, used to go for beers at lunch occasionally”

 Tony’s head hurt “I still don’t understand where Ward fits into this?”

“They both worked out of the Fridge.” Natasha said, “At the same time. They must know each other that way.”

 “From what Coulson told us, Ward has been rallying round people he knew.” Clint spoke “And, this is all supposition, but if you ask me Jepson probably tried to go legit, melted into the background post SHIELD falling but when he gets a call from his old friend, who tells him they’re not as dead as they could he reaches out. And then when he hears about the potential deal with SIP…”

 And then it clicked in Steve’s mind. .

 “I don’t think he did hear about it.” He swallowed. “You just said he was their head of IT….” “He could have easily sent those emails from Hall’s account.” Tony gave a groan. “It was all a set up from the start.”

 *****

 It was the week before Christmas. He’d been home from university for 2 weeks and his Dad was already pissing him off. Tonight, both parents were out and Tony was babysitting. He should be out himself, he knew that, Rhodey had invited him to a party, but when Katie had turned those green eyes on him and told him she didn’t want the babysitter she wanted him to stay and ‘hang’ with her (yes, he was especially proud he’d taught his 5 year old sister the word hang) just like he used to before he went away, he’d melted and told his parents to cancel the sitter.

 They’d played a board game- Snakes and Ladders. She won the tie breaker (even though he could have beaten her). They’d then watched The Snowman (well, it was nearly Christmas), Tony doing his best Choir boy impression to make her giggle, they’d had hot chocolate and marshmallows with a candy cane stuck out of the top (yes, he knew she wasn’t allowed it after 6pm but like he gave a shit) he’d then done the whole bedtime routine of supervising whilst she brushed her teeth, but she shoved him out of the room when she needed to pee. Then he’d read her a story, tucked her in well over an hour and a half after she was supposed to be in bed, and was now relaxing with a stolen glass of his dad’s scotch (cheers Dad) in front of Die Hard.  He was about halfway through the film when he heard a small sniff in the hall and she padded into the living room clutching her Winnie the Pooh teddy.

 “What are you doing out of bed?” Tony looked at his sister “I already let you stay up way later than Mom said you could!”

“Bad dream” she sobbed. With a little sigh, he opened his arms and she clambered onto his lap. “There’s a monster under my bed.”

“Nah, I killed it last week, remember?”

“It’s a new one.” She shook her head,  looking at him.

“That so…right…” He stood up.“This calls for the Monster Killer…”

AKA the Vacuum.

Grabbing it, he marched up the stairs and plugged it in. Once it was on he dived under the bed “Get here you son of a…arrrgh…” He made a big deal of thumping the floor and yelling. Eventually he stilled and emerged, turning it off.

“Got it!”

Katie smiled and her hands went up in the air in celebration “My hero, Tones!” before she wrapped her small arms around his neck and he hugged her back.

“I’ll always protect you, Kiddo, what are big brothers for?” "Tony?” His entire body jumped as he looked up and realised it was Pepper. He shifted slightly and let out a small breath. ”Yeah?”

 "It’s late.” She told him simply, but no unkindly. "Come back to bed.”

He shook his head and looked back down at the laptop on his knee. 

“You have to get some sleep.” she sighed, crossing the room before she dropped onto the dark leather sofa besides him “I know it’s hard right now, but – “ "Hard?” he interrupted with a scoff, “Hard? Great description.”

Pepper ignored his jibe and sighed “You haven’t slept in days. We can’t take a step back to where we were after New York. You need to sleep.“

 “I need to keep up with SIP.” he said, shaking his head. “She’s got so many potential authors and projects going…I mean, I can’t let her company crash…what do I tell them all anyway? What do I tell her work force?” “I had an email sent out from HR yesterday.” Pepper said

“Saying what?” Tony rounded on her.

 “That she was on extended leave for the foreseeable.” Pepper said “In the meantime, they’re all reporting into Jenny Jones.” “Who the fuck is Jenny Jones?” Tony looked at her. Pepper took a deep breath.

“She’s the General Manager.” Pepper said “Katie hired her last week.”

He looked at Pepper before the tears sprung into his eyes “the foreseeable…” “I’m sorry.” Pepper says, “I didn’t know what to say.”

 "The foreseeable, until they realise she doesn’t know anything…and they kill her too.” “You don’t know that,” Pepper said, and her voice for the first time trembled.

 Tony looked at her for a moment, before he broke.

*****

The days bled into weeks. And nothing.  They had identified every goddamned HYDRA agent on that CCTV footage now, but they had still found nothing. When Sam had arrived they’d gone back and re-raided every fucking Hydra base they could think of. Nothing. They were stabbing in the dark, and with every day that passed they knew the chances of them finding Katie were getting thinner and thinner.

Steve had a headache. A bad one. One that felt like it was going to split his head in two. He pressed the heel of his palm to the space between his eyes in a desperate attempt to quell the pain.

“Shit, steady on Cap…”

 Steve looked up and stopped before he walked straight into Tony.

“You okay?” Tony asked.

“No.” Steve bit back, before he sighed “Sorry, headache…” He looked at his fiancé’s brother, the worry evident in Tony’s face as well. In fact, it seemed the pair of them now sported that expression constantly, and had done since Katie had gone missing just over 3 weeks ago.

“I thought you were going to get some sleep” Tony said as his eyes scanned down Steve’s body, taking in the fact he was in the same jeans and T-shirt he had been at their meeting last night. Another useless meeting.

He lets out a long breath. “Couldn’t.”

“Me neither.” Tony shook his head, shrugging “Kinda hard… “

“I know.” Steve nodded, looking at Tony.

"I just…I just keep thinking,” Tony swallowed. “I keep thinking about… how I could’ve avoided this. How I should have spotted it was a trap, how I couldn’t stop them taking her…” “This isn’t your fault Tony.” Steve shook his head, thankful that he could now say this honestly. At first he had been angry, angry that the man hadn’t been quicker or able to protect his sister, but that anger had fast dissipated. Without the Iron Man suit, Tony wasn’t a trained fighter. He was physically fit, yes, but not everyone had super serum coursing through their veins. The man was as broken as he was at her being gone, his sister, daughter even, gone, without a trace.

 "I miss her,” Tony said, his soft words still cut harshly into the surrounding quiet. “I just… miss her.”

Steve dropped his gaze. He missed her, God did he miss her. They’d only been engaged, for what? Coming up three months when she was taken and were still in that excited phase of it. They hadn’t gotten down to any planning of any sorts, but that hadn’t stopped their late night, post love making discussions about it. Katie gently teasing him and stating all the things she was going to get, like doves, and fire eaters…utter bullshit of course, because she had no desire for any of that showy crap.

He missed her so much it hurt. Her laugh, her smile, the way she looked at him, her bantering with everyone in the common room, the way he would walk into a room where she was speaking with Natasha and the pair of them looked at him and broke into giggles making him paranoid, the way she kissed him, the way she felt, her hands running through his hair.

Tony cleared his throat harshly and Steve looked at him. “Me too Tony, me too.”

**** Chapter 20

**Original Posting**

[thorraborinn]

Probably a dumb question, but why do you think people are so focused on "proving" runic divination? From what I know about Norse magic (which is very likely a lot less than you do, so I might be missing something) divination in sagas and poems relied on other methods (like seidr rituals, singing chants, asking the dead directly, etc.) while runes were used to curse, heal, protect, etc. Yet it seems to me many ignore all that and just focus on divination. Does that just... sound cooler, or smth?

Ah fuck, I started answering this and then I forgot about it.

I think this is a great question, to be honest. I think there’s a lot that goes into this, and I don’t think it’s possible to answer it cohesively, but I think it’s important to try. I think that there are a lot of advantages that modern runecasting has over other forms of divination that contribute to its status, and it’s beneficial to us to acknowledge that even though I also think some of these things are problems.

For one thing, its popularity is self-sustaining. In my experience more people know about runecasting than know about heathenry. Before Norse society’s current moment in pop culture, it was very likely to be the very first thing a given person learned about Norse society. If you Google “runes” the first thing that comes up is Wikipedia but the second is a site that advocates it (and even worse, does so while pretending to be an academic site). So most people are probably coming into it already wrong, and then are force-fed a bunch of information that meets their expectations instead of correcting them.

We also have to consider the impact of a person’s past experiences. By the time most people learn that runecasting is not something that Vikings did, they have already done it themselves, and very likely did it with the assumption that they were taking part in a genuinely ancient ritual. That has an impact on someone. I know that I have had emotional experiences during runecasts.

And for full disclosure, a lot of this applies to me. When I make a pissed-off blog post about runes a lot of that frustration comes from memories of my own experiences of learning about how badly I’d been lied to and had my time wasted, and how much misinformation I spread myself. That last part especially can be a hard pill to swallow.

Anyway, to the extent that this describes the problem it does so only from the perspective of individuals. I think there are more systematic/societal reasons for it.

Modern runic mysticism originates in Hermeticism in the 16th century (to be more specific, a self-described Rosicrucian, Johan Bure), and is therefore not part of a Norse/Germanic tradition at all but really a branch of the Western Esoteric Tradition. In particular, runes were used by Bure as a way for non-Jews (in his case specifically Swedes, though this would be adapted to “Aryans” over time) to make the claim that Kabbalah actually belonged to them, and that the Jews had gotten it from them.

A lot of modern people have a certain idea of what “mysticism” or, like, “spirituality” I guess, is supposed to look like, and that expectation is heavily indebted to Hermeticism (and more sinister, to Theosophy). Hermeticism is an extremely broad and diverse phenomenon, and it’s one I’m only surface-level familiar with, and the last thing I want to do is disparage the entire tradition, BUT modern rune magic has in its core a universalist essentialism that goes back to the Neoplatonic roots of the Hermetic ideas that informed it.

In one sense, there seems to have always been a deep sense of inferiority among modern heathens. Modern heathenry has been marked by attempts to prove that we’re a “real” tradition deserving of respect by other modern institutions, by simulating the affectations of “real” religions like codified lists of virtues, insistence on fictive unbroken lineages, etc. This really just says that these heathens have completely internalized the western expectations of legitimacy for a religion that have been used as justification for conquest and conversion, and deny legitimacy to indigenous cultures unless they perform the expectations of their colonizers; as well as fail to actually understand the traditions that they’re trying to copy. I genuinely wonder whether we can trace this sense of inadequacy back to the first heathens to model themselves on the Roman empire such as the Franks, who copied and pasted the Roman mythological origin for themselves in order to claim that they too were the descendants of Trojans (this story spread throughout Europe, and is found in Snorri’s Prologus).

Explanations for modern rune magic oscillate back and forth between the “this is objectively true” of a linear, ordered universal time that bases its truth claim on it being genuinely ancient; and a liberal individualism (”if it works for you then it works”) that is itself encased in the universalism of everyone being a unique bounded cohesive individual rational subject. This is the dominant paradigm of modern western human society, and it should not be surprising that inhabitants of that modern western human society would gravitate toward ideas that are products of it.

But the real bait-and-switch here is that it hasn’t actually changed from being a way to seize the products of thousands of years of Jewish tradition without needing to pay respect to the Jewish people who developed and articulated it. Nowadays most people don’t even know they’re doing it, because they don’t know about the modern development of rune magic, they take statements like “the runes are the elemental energies that make up creation” or whatever the fuck at face-value because we’ve been acculturated to just understand and expect that from like New Age ideas or whatever, completely ignorant of the deep exegesis of the creation story in Genesis that it takes to explain the position of the Hebrew letters in Kabbalah.

So basically the claim of ancientness serves an important function as a narrative device that exempts people from knowing its actual inception in an act of antisemitic cultural theft, and allows them to continue to perpetrate that theft. Further, most modern people who are interested in Norse and Germanic culture actually aren’t. They have an idealized image constructed for consumption by modern Western people (especially influenced by nationalist romanticism of the 17-1800′s) and they are motivated to preserve that construction against threats like historical research.

There is one other, much less important thing I want to mention quickly: the claim of ancientness gets people out of learning any more about runes than the perfect, pristine, fully-formed elder futhark. This is probably related to 19th century Norse scholars who saw all evidence of heathenry as the degraded remnants of a once-cohesive, pure, uncorrupted original that could be pieced back together through philology. But also it’s an excuse to not learn about a tradition that actually is complicated and has depth but takes hard work to grasp.

There is more to talk about on this subject but I think this is the most important stuff.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

Possibly a big ask to get just out of the blue but: what are your Supernatural season opinions? Which one is your favorite? Least favorite? Did you watch long enough to have showrunner opinions? If yes, which showrunner is your favorite and which is your least favorite? If no, which season that you haven't seen most tempts you to get back in the Supernatural trenches? Answer exactly as many of these questions as you want to. Carry on.

You know, I am not sure how long this Ask has been sitting here, because my Tumblr notifications are borked -- I hope not long? If long, I apologize, I wasn't ignoring it on purpose!

Okay, so I have more than the average number of Supernatural opinions, probably, but I'll try to keep this to a dull roar! Inside Me There Are Two Wolves: one of them believes that only the original five seasons of Supernatural are worth defending in any way, the other really, really loves seasons 11 and 12. The Kripke Era had a lot of problems, particularly in its treatment of women as bodies without agency and its treatment of Black men as literal predators, but also for all its flaws, it had a kind of coherence and narrative drive that comes from being the product of a dude who obviously cared about it and had something to say. Taken on its own, seasons 1-5 are a brutal and compelling story about the traumas of being men in a universe that's been absolutely destroyed by its Fathers: on almost every level, it's about these abandoned and brutalized boys discovering that their entire reality is the product of an abandoning and brutalizing God, populated by authority figures who are universally demanding and arrogant, but also completely fucking useless. It's quite literally about Sam and Dean trying to hang onto their souls and their own agency when everyone around them wants them forced into shapes formed by conflicts that fell into place at the beginning of time. It's hard to remember, but back then even the Lucifer plotline was about that! It was about the damage fathers inflict on sons! Things were about things, in the Kripke era!

Then we get to the Gamble era, and. Woof. I actually -- don't hate 6 and 7? Like everything Sera Gamble touches, those two seasons are kinetic and memorable and funny and weird and hit some really, really great emotional beats. There are Some Problems, but Gamble was saddled with a pretty dire job, trying to find a way forward after everything about the series really had effectively wrapped up in Swan Song, and I think she did an okay job. People got mad at her for killing Castiel, but you know, damn, I give her this: that was a storyline. Like, this character who was fresh out of the cult he was raised in becoming disillusioned by how messy normal life is and deciding that maybe people need better authoritarianism instead -- the way he's driven to take too many risks by the fact that he's abandoned and desperate -- Crowley as a legitimately scary villain while still being charming af -- and the tragic resolution of Castiel being torn apart by both his hubris and his heroism. It's actually really good. I understand why people didn't want what Gamble was serving up -- and I'm able to like it because it was undone later, you know? -- but she really did commit to a full season of character arc and saw it all the way through to an earned ending, and I gotta respect that.

I genuinely hate seasons 8 and 9. I think everyone is a dick, particularly but not exclusively Dean, to the point where I just find it a bummer to watch. I mean, you get Benny, and I love Benny. You get, I dunno, bits and bobs of decent episodes, but overall they are very fucked up seasons in my opinion. So Carver era is on thin fucking ice with me, but I do think you start to get a rebound in season 10 with the Mark of Cain stuff, although I wish they'd managed to keep Cain around longer. All the really good Claire stuff starts happening, which is nice because Claire, but also because for once the show is really letting itself go back and deal with the mess these protagonists leave behind them constantly. Castiel and Claire have maybe the most interesting non-Winchester relationship on the show. Oh, and Rowena shows up around here too, right? Love her. So the back half of Carver, 10 and 11, are starting to really gain traction for me. The world is building outward, secondary characters are starting to be genuine characters in their own right, the politics of Heaven and Hell get a little richer and more interesting. The show is really starting to feel like it takes place in a universe, which is great because we love the Frigging Winchesters, but they shouldn't be the only thing going, right? We have 15 seasons to get through! Season 11 is basically bracketed by what are probably my two favorite Supernatural episodes: Baby and Don't Call Me Shurley. (I think I'm the world's only living Metatron fan; I fucking love that little dude.)

Dabb takes over in 12, and I really, really, genuinely love season 12. I fucking love Mary. There are so many episodes I adore -- Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox is a special favorite of mine, and I remain pissed off that the Banes twins never made it to recurring status, bluntly that feels wildly racist to me -- probably the best three-episode streak in the show is Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets to Regarding Dean to Stuck In the Middle (With You), three just almost perfect episodes. So I was poised to really love the Dabb era. I wanted to! My body was ready!

And I do really love the first chunk of season 13, the Widow Winchester arc. Obviously I'm a romantic, love that for me, but it's just also really good? The acting, the writing, the psychological complexity of Dean wanting Jack to be Bad so he has an outlet for his anger and Sam wanting Jack to be Good so he can retroactively parent himself and raise a Lucifer-tainted child who isn't crippled by self-loathing. Billie's great, and it looks like she's going to start being one of the major powers of the universe. Unfortunately -- with the occasional exception of this or that solid episode -- that's kind of the end of Pretty Good Supernatural. Season 13 kind of unravels; season 14 always feels like it's looking for itself (which is a bummer, because I wanted very much to care about Michael); season 15 is, idk. Idk about any of it, it's all pretty pointless. I feel bad complaining on some level, because the show's been on for like fourteen years at this point! It's kinda justified in feeling a little worn out. But the reality is that the later seasons systematically undo all the expansion that had excited me earlier -- the Wayward Sisters crew pretty much vanishes when the spinoff isn't picked up, Naomi and the angels stop doing anything, Crowley's gone, Mary's gone for much of it. We're just kind of futzing around with monsters who don't seem to matter (very much including Lucifer, who hasn't mattered in ages) and a lot of Jack, who. I try not to shit all over, because I know he's a popular character, but I find him just ungodly boring. Everything in the last two and a half season just feels like it's headed nowhere in particular, and also it bored me. The Empty deal is just sadness porn; it doesn't have any resonance or meaning in terms of Castiel's character, it's just him agreeing to die for his kid, which is okay, it means he's a loving dad, which he is, but there's no conflict there, ergo no real drama. It's just mean; it happens because it'll make us sad, and no other reason. Rowena is the only strong secondary character left, and her ending also doesn't feel particularly relevant to her, it's just a generic Sacrifice to Save the World. Everything just feels like they're autogenerating plotlines, rather than letting the actual needs and drives of the characters shape the narrative. So while I have this weird split personality with Carver where I either hate what he's doing or I love it, most of the Dabb era is just. There. It doesn't make me feel anything except kind of tired and embarrassed. Which is a bummer, because I have an inexplicable fondness for Dabb, probably just because of how much I love s12. I wanted to love his seasons! I did love his first season! I feel like maybe something happened when the CW rejected Wayward Sisters? I know that was kind of his darling, and it feels like maybe losing that kind of sucked the joy out of him, and he's kind of checked-out by the end. That's genuinely just my guess, however.

That's Professor Milo's Intro to Supernatural Studies, don't forget to fill out your course survey on the way out!

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 132 Thoughts

This month, more people scream and die.

Exactly as keikaku.

Unlike certain keikakus, however, this keikaku is still missing the essential element of a keikaku in that there is no actual keikaku there’s just a lot of people running around screaming while they try not to die and then the screaming only stops when they die.

People also die when they are killed.

...Maybe.

Before we approach the obvious, the most interesting part of this chapter to me is that once again, Eren is presented with the option of stopping. While he’s in the planning stages of his assault, it is explained quite plainly that strategic strikes will completely undo any country’s attack on Paradis.

Hizuru favors a limited test run of the rumbling. Yelena provides a tactic that uses only a bit of the outer wall. She explains the reasoning. She isn’t wrong.

We’ve already had plentiful examples of what the Wall Titans can do. They can swim. They’re easy to spot from the distance, but there is no ammunition or strategy that can deal with them. Running is the best option, and even that is a risk.

Systematically destroying every single port would have bought Paradis all the time in the world. Yelena has this discussion with Eren back when she is wanting Eldians to die out, so they have different view of what counts as a win, but if Eren had wanted to, he could have easily wielded his massive power to keep every nation’s military from fucking with them.

He doesn’t do that. Instead of a small portion of the walls, he wakes up the entire part. Instead of targeted strikes, he goes for armageddon.

Eren has options. Hange can say that Eren has no solutions, hope, or future, but the lack of hope is all that comes close to the truth. There is a solution right here. Fight anyone who would oppose you, and win. Make it clear that the assaults only happen because they made the mistake of declaring war on Paradis.

Eldians might be treated like crap everywhere, but Eren’s murdered plenty of Eldians with this plan. If his only care is the island, he could have worked to protect it.

Instead, even in the most generous of reads, he's deconstructed Paradis’ government in a time of incredible strife, sowing the seeds for an ugly civil war that has already had its beginning skirmishes.

Eren’s actions are destructive in every single category. When he first activates the walls, Armin still has that flash of hope that Eren is only using the amount of force he needs to put an end to this assault.

He doesn’t. He wakes up every single titan, sends them marching, killing people on this island he’s supposed to care for so much, and now his closest friends are stuck in a world where to prevent genocide, they are probably condemning their own people to an even worse future than they already had.

The thing about this level of power is that you can do what you want. No one can stop you. If this starts with people forcing Historia into a breeding farm, Eren can just murder anyone who’s in favor of that.

(Sidebar: I still am annoyed that no one came up with the obvious solution for that problem. If they need someone with royal blood to still be around in fifty years, just turn Historia into a mindless titan and ditch her underground with specific instructions each new Founder can follow. Titans are functionally immortal when left alone. They’re much less fragile than humans. Any dedicated person could easily kill off all the royal heirs, so might as well simplify the process, keep one royal heir around and relatively invulnerable. Then each Founder has easy access to their power if they just go to the right place. Obviously there are risks, but honestly it’s more straightforward than having a bunch of free-minded little kids be your backup plan.)

Eren can destroy an entire country before even the most knowledgeable titan experts can work out a reliable plan.

Paradis was never in danger. They had this. The rest of the world had a hundred years to forget, but a handful of public demonstrations illustrates the point very, very clearly. Yelena’s strategy was meant to serve Zeke’s plan, but if what Eren wants is Paradis to thrive, it works. He doesn’t have much time left, but he doesn’t need it to destroy other countries’ options of attacking Paradis.

Hizuru is interested in allying with Paradis because of this power. They’re the first. They would not be the last.

At the very least, this would give Paradis more time, which they’ve all seen the need for.

Instead, Eren chooses to destroy everything that might even consider being a threat to Paradis. There is no diplomacy. There is no measured use of force. There is no plan. There is the monsters he’s always hated, and falling so far into the darkness that the freedom he claims to want is destroyed by his own hands.

There were countless threads Eren could have followed, being a demigod. He very honestly could have done whatever he wanted.

So he did.

I feel like we’re still missing why. By the time his head has gotten blasted off, he’s encouraging his dad to murder the Reiss family, and he’s hallucinating himself as a child, I think it’s more than fair to say this war has won against Eren. He’s broken, and this is the path he’s on.

Maybe it’s as simple as thinking in such stark black and white terms that he needs a future with a guarantee, and death is the strongest guarantee he can come up with.

Except going back to just last chapter, this is not what Eren wants. It is not something he is approaching with the passionate conviction of being in the right. He’s in tears over it. He’s horrified by the future he causes, but chained to it because he knows he causes it.

It’s a difficult problem to explain. From a plot perspective, I’m frustrated because there are so many ways this didn’t have to happen. I’ve said before that tragedy should feel inevitable, and with each reveal of what Eren got up to in the shadows, this tragedy feels entirely avoidable.

However, from a character perspective, it does make sense that once Eren’s course of action has been decided, he doesn’t see the other options. The inevitability is a trick of his mind, but it’s a trick that he’s bought into completely, so the tragedy is found in how truly unnecessary this all is. The tragedy is that the most powerful person on the planet is a slave to his own mind.

Here’s where that stops working for me:

We see that character arc play out better elsewhere.

That’s Floch’s role.

Floch is an unlikable, divisive zealot who will happily kill civilians and throw children out of airships. He joins the Survey Corps when it’s the hip and happening thing to do, and has none of the conviction to back up their ideals.

He is the sole survivor of a suicide charge. Everyone around him dies in the space of a few minutes, and he’s left alone to make sense of it.

The only sense he finds is that this has to be necessary.

This is how they win.

The world is chaotic and vicious, and the only way to answer that evil is with evil. This world that hates them is not allowed to wipe them out, and anyone who tries will feel their wrath.

Floch doesn’t bother with mercy or kindness. He doesn’t mind that the rest of the world has to die for them to live.

This is how his world operates. Kill or be killed. Those are clearly the rules. Those have been the rules for a hundred years, more clear than ever when they step outside and are eaten on contact.

If the rest of the world lives, Paradis dies.

Paradis is home.

For as long as it’s existed, it’s been hated. Never mind that the current people living there are also victims of the Eldian Empire. They’ve lived in a bubble, and forces keep showing up to pop that bubble, leaving nothing but bodies in their wake.

It is cruel and appalling.

But Paradis is still alive.

Because Erwin murders all these new recruits, Paradis lives.

Floch is the only one left alive to know that so intimately.

It is not a kind assessment.

It is one he redefines his life by.

Answer devils with devils. Their enemy is the entire world. There can be no rest. There can be no sympathy. As long as the outside world exists, Paradis will be a target for its hatred, and that hatred will eventually succeed in killing them.

Floch believes this. Genocide is not something he has a problem with. He’s been living in a world where it’s Us or Them, and has repeatedly made it clear that he will choose Us.

Floch is a teenage boy who survives brutality he’s not prepared for, and reconstructs his entire worldview around the tactic that tries to kill him. He’s a dick, and he does terrible things.

He believes in what he is doing.

He believes that if he doesn’t stop the plane, Paradis will die. He believes that our little ragtag group of heroes are the final, greatest threat to his home. He believes that Eren’s evil is the only thing that will keep them all safe.

At the end of the day, his only hope is that the Devil is on their side.

Floch dies believing in that hope, and he dies to the people hellbent on destroying it.

It’s tragic and sad, because he could never see anything better.

Our first real introduction to him is him on a rooftop, arguing that a boy whose eyes sparkle at thoughts of the ocean is not a good contribution to the war effort.

On that same rooftop, his devil argues that that is exactly why that boy needs to stay alive.

I understand that Eren’s somewhere that we can’t really reach right now, but I don’t feel like the story has shared the thread of how things got this bad. I can point to a dozen different factors that finally broke the camel’s back, but I wouldn’t say any of those are the reasons canon is operating under. We know that Eren came completely undone when the memories of the future were unlocked, but as late in the game as Marley, he’s still devastated by what he’s about to do.

So why does he do it? Why this choice? Why this way?

I think I spent most of last month’s post arguing that, so I won’t belabor it much more, but... I really feel like something’s being overlooked, and I don’t understand it. It’s hard to say if the story simply has a much different vibe than I expected, so my mind is rejecting all this, or if it’s intentionally weird. I’d like to think it’s intentionally weird, because in my opinion that’s a much better story, but either way, right now everything Eren’s doing feels like an incredibly pointless detour.

...Sure, that will end the world, but who cares about that, give me my character work.

How did hope become an impossibility for Eren?

To less painful things, I suppose.

No one suffers like Mikasa suffers.

I like Annie. She has always, very emphatically, wanted nothing to do with this. She has pride in her skills, but she spends years of her life undercover for a government that hates her, planning the deaths of people she respects. I like her opting out. This has never been her war, really, and she’s finally among people who will respect that she’s done with it.

It adds to the sweetness that Reiner is one of those people, now. As her self-appointed leader, he drives Annie into things she can’t stand, clearly favors Bertolt, and is generally just a pain who’s trying too hard in all the wrong areas.

Reiner gets that, and instead of bullying her into participating when she doesn’t want to, he lets her go.

Annie finally gets to pick her battles without anyone negging her.

It’s not a resolution I expected, but it’s one I’m glad for. It follows the trend of our leftover cast being completely past done with violence.

Who knows if that will turn out well for them, but I like the story taking the gentler approach. The world’s ending, so they might as well take the time to be kind to each other. It’s the opposite path of what ultimately destroys Floch, and I love to see it.

The Survey Corps is represented by their yearning for knowledge. Understanding. For a hundred years, that yearning has been paired with war, and the dead bodies have piled up.

Now, the remaining bodies left who call themselves Scouts are kind of. done with that. They’ve seen too many friends die. They’ve built trains. They’ve seen the ocean. They’ve tried foods from other countries they didn’t even know existed.

Surveying the outside world required weapons because otherwise you’d die, but there’s a reason why Levi keeps on missing the promotion to Commander. Levi is a defender of humanity. When he dedicates his heart, he does it to protect people. Learning more about the world is a side effect.

To match the Survey Corps’ ideals, violence is the side effect. It’s not what they’re meant to be about. Yet somehow they’re all soldiers with huge body counts, guilty even of killing their countrymen.

Levi lets Erwin go on that roof because he rejects Floch’s desire to condemn one of them to being a devil for the rest.

That results in letting a boy who dreams of the ocean live.

Hange becomes the Commander and gets to see their world expand. New friends are made, new technologies discovered. New civilization. New, new, new.

Aaaaaaand it’s still all trying to kill them.

Hange begins as a recruit who hates titans. What saves Hange from that hate is curiosity. At the end, that curiosity and awe is still alive. Even heading into death, we return to that beginning spark of salvation.

“Titans really are... incredible.”

No one else in the world looks at these monsters and sees something amazing. Hange is enamored with them. The world is burning, these things are responsible, yet still. There is wonder to be had in looking at them. They are an incredible, impossible creation, and Hange gets to see them up close.

A world like that has to be called incredible.

That’s why Armin gets to be Commander. Jean’s there to help. Mikasa’s there to help. Connie’s there to help.

But the Survey Corps exists to go out into the world and understand it. If something is hidden under a rock, you lift the rock. If you don’t know why someone’s doing something, you talk to them.

The world is fucking beautiful.

If the person in charge doesn’t remember that, they’re all doomed.

(This is why Levi is not allowed to be in charge.)

It’s a good sendoff for Hange. Time spent with Levi, getting to be a chaotically cool genius who saves everyone... yeah. It’s a good finish.

But this better not be fucking going where I think it’s going.

Let me politely frame my issues with dream sequences and time travel in fiction. I feel that I have done it before, but let us revisit, briefly.

There’s this show called Supernatural.

A thing that happens enough time to warrant its use as an example is that characters see or go into the future, and find that everything is fucked beyond belief. It is all bad, everything is wrong, see how you must avoid this so it never gets this bad.

The frustrating part is that hey, these characters in the future should have the same degree of agency as this guest from the past. Except they don’t. Because the past character is the main character. Future crew is just an extended what-if, and soon the entire plot will be devoted to making sure this what-if never happens. They are not real main characters, so they don’t get to do cool stuff. They’re forever doomed to failure.

The ghosts of the Survey Corps watching the progress of their living comrades isn’t a new concept. Every veteran has been haunted by them. Seeing them at the end of the story, doing exactly what we’ve been told they’re doing... fine, okay.

I just am starting to feel like the story’s quaking for a reset button.

Everything is bad. The world is fucked up beyond repair. There is no plan to deal with it, except to try to keep the global genocide from living its dream. In a world where they succeed in that, Eldians will be more hated and feared than ever before, Paradis being wiped off the map will probably be an international priority, there will be no Founding Titan to protect them, and there’s no path to recovery.

Then we’ve got a shot of ghosts all looking over the current happenings.

We know from Paths magic that all of Ymir’s people are connected. This doesn’t use that imagery; it’s based much more simply in the oath all these soldiers swore. But the point is, we see dead people. At a point in the story where many, many dead people are being produced.

I don’t mind a character being welcomed to an afterlife. A lot of stories go there.

But I am a suspicious, terrible person, and getting a glimpse at sentient dead people at this time makes me wonder if we’re allowed the privilege because they’re going to be newly present in the story.

And I am fine if we go the way of a Madoka ending. It’s better than a Lelouch option, and I like Madoka.

The only thing is, if we are going to hit a reset button, I become very, very cross at some of the choices made. Because sure, the characters might have still made those decisions, but the author knows that things are free to go as badly as whimsy will take them, because it won’t last. And with how my primary objection to the current plot is that it feels unnecessary, and like the choice to go here was made without enough reason to back it up...

It hasn’t happened yet, there’s nothing more than a suspicion that it might happen, but there are some specific kernels of “this needs more canon explanation” that I think the story should have, and if we’re stepping into the afterlife, magic solutions don’t seem far off, and if we get a magical solution without first establishing the non-magical ways we first ended up here, I will have a problem.

But hopefully none of that will even be an issue, and I’ll look back and feel silly for bringing it up.

...It’s just that our main character is not only threatening, but committing global genocide, and as of right now, the win condition is a moral win where everyone lives to oppress Eldians another day.

-tosses charred confetti-

And I feel like that is an incredibly pointless and boring story, so maybe it is not the story we’re being told, so.

So.

To next month.

[gustafsnightangel]

A Softer Side Part 3

“Why not?” Karl snapped.

“The transactions happen same day as the snatch, but it closes at 11:59pm the night of his wife’s death.” He pointed to the screen. “I think the delivery of the girl would happen after the money is in the bank.”

“Good point.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for both.” Wainwright said.

“Under any circumstances do not engage. We need it on record to nail him later when we take him down in court.” Strand added.

“Providing he lives to see court.” Steve mumbled.

“Death is too quick for this asshole.” Karl growled. “He deserves so much more.”

“Not you I’m concerned about boss. Once you nab him, the syndicate he supplies is going to declare open season in his ass.”

“Here’s hoping they do something stupid like that so we can weed them out too.” The itch between his blades told him he was so fucking close to finding her and he had a gut feeling she was in that house. “While he’s out snatching the baby, Jerry and I will be searching his house.”

“You think his girl is in there?” Steve asked.

“Counting on it. I’m certain she knows everything about the operation and can help bring it down.”

“Two words boss, Stockholm Syndrome.” Jerry said gently.

“I know, but I have to hold onto something.” Karl breathed. “Get him up to speed, I’ll be in my office making some calls. Meet in here for lunch and we can go over the op before the team gets here tonight.” He left them to it and walked to his office.

******

With his team assembled, the op in place, duties assigned, they all sat in the conference room and ate dinner, the tacos from the joint around the corner keeping the team in good spirits. Strand stood near the board, studying the information, tuned into listening to the team blow off the apprehension. They were all itching to get going.

“Boss, I’m heading out to tail our boy. He hasn’t moved or anything but I want to be there when he surfaces.” Steve said quietly.

“Let us know when he’s out of the house.” He looked at his watch. “We should get going too, we’ll park around the block until he’s out, just like we planned.” The team quietened at their conversation knowing orders were about to be given. “Let’s go to work.” He said gruffly.

“Good hunting boss.” Wainwright pulled his coat on and fished the keys out of his pocket.

“Same goes. Don’t lose him.”

“I’m part bloodhound.” He grinned and Karl couldn’t help the chuckle.

******

“Lights are on in the house boss.” Wainwright reported as team Hunt and team Strand parked a few blocks away. The waiting game was the worst, especially when you knew lives would be irreparably damaged in the process.

“What do you think we’ll find?” Jerry asked as he continued his searches, refining details, tugging every thread for answers that would give them the upper hand tonight.

“I would hazard a guess the main house will have a basement with his girl stashed away. The shed and storm shelter will have a staging ground maybe, or houses the girls ready to be transported after they’re sold.” He said flatly. “We could find everything or nothing.” He added.

“I think we’ll find something, the account username and portrait was too much of a coincidence.”

“But it’s still a coincidence until we prove otherwise.” Strand growled.

“We will.”

“So confident.” Karl joked.

“Gut feeling.” Jerry shot back. The smirk making Strand chuckle. The kid was growing some balls when he talked with him, good, he loathed people that were sniveling pussies.

“He’s on the move, stand by.” Steve’s voice crackled over the radio. They collectively held their breath as they waited for Donovan to leave. “All clear, in pursuit.”

“Let’s go.” Strand commanded.

“Wait up.” Jerry said carefully. “He has perimeter alarms. Look.” He turned the laptop around to show the invisible lasers. “The camera I installed on the fence filters laser light. Naked eye can’t see them but we can with this.”

“Can you disable?”

“That would require hacking.” Hunt said cautiously.

“Do it.” Strand was blurring the lines and knew he had to in this instance.

“On it.” He watched Jerry focus and his fingers fly across the keyboard. “I think we’re going to have similar issues inside. It’s like Fort Knox.”

“Just get me in there Hunt.” Strand growled, his inpatients getting the better of him as he ground his teeth.

“You’re clear in the yard, the house is taking a bit and the shed is on a separate system.” He said still working furiously to get them into the house.

“House first.” Karl knew the girl was in there, had to be with this level of security.

“You’re clear.” Jerry said abruptly and continued to work without even glancing up at the team.

“We’re going in. Clear the security on the shed, then take the team and check it out.” Karl instructed Jerry. “Let me know when you’re going in.”

“On it.” Hunt said as team Strand exited the van.

Strand stood at the perimeter of the property. “You still got eyes Wainwright?”

“Still en route.”

“Copy.” With two of his team stationed at either exit, the other two at his back Karl picked the lock and cracked the door, eerie silence greeted him.

The two at his back cleared the upstairs bedrooms, while Strand cleared the main level and took pictures on his phone of the portrait and other areas of interest. The place was neat freak clean, not a speck of dust or lint to be found, even the tin food in the pantry was lined up ruler straight from what he could see through the frosted glass panels. “Touch nothing.” He whispered. “Move nothing.”He secured the same tiny cameras they’d used on the fence outside strategically around the house, hoping it would give him a birds-eye view of the girl at some point after tonight if he didn’t find her downstairs.

“Security cleared for the shed.” Jerry said quietly.

“Copy.” Was Strands only reply. He pointed to one of the team and indicated to stay at the top of the basement stairs, the other to follow him down and stay at the base of the stairs in case any hostiles were guarding the girl.

It was a typical basement, he surmised once he clicked his flashlight on and searched the illuminated sections. Water heater, furnace, but no nick nacks, no discarded clothes or files, no boxes, no girl. “Too neat.” He breathed and scanned the walls systematically for imperfections. “I know you’re here sweet girl.” He whispered to himself. “Talk to me.” He ran his fingers over the concrete walls internally begging for it to jump out at him, an opening, a latch, anything, he couldn’t be wrong about this. His feet scuffed over some fine dusty type concrete powder and as he looked down saw a faint line beneath it. He took a photo before brushing the dust away to reveal a concrete trapdoor. “Fuck me!” He breathed and grinned like a kid at Christmas. “Davis, come into the basement.” He murmured through the coms to the guy on the base of the stairs. Strand pointed to the floor.

“How does he open it?” Davis asked and got on his knees with Karl to wipe away more of the dust revealing the entire opening. “Crowbar or tire iron.” He said answering his own question as his finger ran over scrape marks and an indent chipped from frequent use.

Strand stood and wandered over to the furnace and water heater, the only alcove in the room. Eyes searched, fingers darted into crevices until they hit iron. Bringing the tire iron back over they worked to lift the slab of concrete out, a steep opening into what looked like a large room greeted them, so did silence.

“We found a sub basement. Going in.”

“Were into the shed. Those keypads were a bitch.” Jerry replied.

“Stay here Davis.”

“Copy that boss.”

******

Strand dropped down into the sub basement room, the ladder more cumbersome for someone of his build, pitch black greeted him. There were no windows, no lights, nothing but a silence that clanged in his mind so loudly he flinched. Maybe he’d been wrong all along. Davis handed him his flashlight and he let the beam wander the ceiling and walls, there was a toilet in one corner and he figured the room was at least twenty feet square. The beam of light stopped in its tracks as the keening whimper echoed in the room. His heart lurched into his throat, could it be her?

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He said softly. “I’m here to help.” Flashlight searching.

Nothing prepared him for the image his light revealed. Huddled into the far corner was a naked form, manacles on her wrists and ankles, chained to the wall, to the floor. Her hand reached up gingerly, trying to cover her eyes, the light painfully bright for her. How long had she been down here he wondered?

“I’ve found her.” He said, his voice raspy with emotion at what he was seeing and the fact he’d finally laid eyes on her.

He set the flashlight on its end so the beam hit the ceiling dispersing the light and dimming it for her eyes. Crouching where he stood he watched her carefully, the full width of the room between them, and let her get used to the light and his presence, this would be slow going.

“This is a staging area boss.” Hunts voice crackled through the coms. “No girls here, but he was preparing for them, all freshly stocked and ready for three teen girls.”

“Document, install the cameras, take photos, everything, then get out and lock it up. Touch nothing, move nothing. This guys a neat freak and will know something off.”

“Copy boss. How you getting the girl out?”

“Working on it.” Was all Karl murmured, his eyes never leaving the malnourished woman in front of him. She wasn’t a girl, far beyond prime merch age, but she knew too much so he’d stashed her down here to keep his own empire safe. Karl seethed. He was resigned to the fact they may not have time to extract her tonight without alerting Arthur and it fucking burned him. The manacles were going to be a problem.

“Can you tell me your name sweet girl?” He asked gently, she didn’t respond, just stared at him with wide terrified eyes, waiting, waiting for the abuse to start. “He didn’t give you one did he?” Karl stripped off his heavy coat as she shivered violently, probably more out of fear than cold, even though it was freezing down here. Moving toward her slowly he draped his coat over her and moved back as she pressed herself into the wall trying to get away from his approach, his touch.

“Suspect has arrived at the snatch point. Surveilling and recording now.” Wainwright’s voice mixed with static confirmed.

“Copy.” Karl moved to sit against the wall roughly an arms length from her, her cowering form shrinking further and further into the wall. He couldn’t force this, she had to come to him, to want him to help her. “We’re following him, documenting the snatch. We have all his online transactions.” He said softly as he looked over at her. He saw she was listening to him, that was a start. “You know, I’ve been looking for you for about twenty years sweet girl.” He murmured. “I was handed your case fresh out of the academy, cold even then by fifteen years.” He fiddled with his phone and set it to record her, hating the thought of this being on file but needed to be. “I had superiors tell me it was a lost cause, that you were either already sold or dead. But I knew, I had this gut feeling and knew, you were still alive, knew I’d find you with him. You’re his first snatch, he kept you for himself.” He looked over at her as she moved, the chains clinking against the concrete, the weight forcing her limbs to remain stationary. “And he’s discarded you because you’re now older than his wife was when she died.” The thought just coming to him. “You’ve been down here for years haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question, he saw the evidence in her body, her lack of food causing severe malnutrition, the muscle atrophy, he’d barely kept her alive. “Davis can you send down a bottle of water from the van? Don’t use anything in the house.” Drugged probably, to keep her quiet, and Arthur would know they were here of anything was touched.

They sat in silence until he saw a bottle of water appear at the trapdoor opening. He collected it and gave Davis some instructions to collect the ration pack in the van, he’d leave her something in case they couldn’t get her out tonight. Sitting back down he cracked the seal and took a drink, mainly to show her it wasn’t drugged or poisoned. Holding it out for her, her eyes darted from it to him, back to the bottle. “It’s just water sweet girl, I promise. I’m not here to hurt you.” She could barely move her arms the chains were so heavy, the sharp clink as the links moved against the concrete. Strand shifted closer to her, slowly getting to a point where he could help get the water to her mouth. He didn’t force her, just held it near her lips, the choice to drink completely hers.

It was a huge success when she took a few tentative sips, her fingers wrapping around the plastic to pull it from his grip, the possessive nature of the movement enough to tell him she’d had to ration out her food and water to make it last.

“I have more water.” He said softly. “I’ll get you a few more ok?” She stared at him with fearful eyes.

“He’s making the snatch.” Wainwright reported.

“Copy.” He was running out of time, and he’d have to leave her here. Davis came back with the ration backpack from the van and a few bottles of water. He sat next to her and unwrapped a granola bar and took a bite before handing it to her, those sorrow filled eyes never leaving him. “They’re not much but it’ll keep you going until I can take you out for a nice juicy burger, or tacos, and maybe a milkshake.” He said gently with a smile as she nibbled on the bar. Trust, this was all about trust and he hoped she wouldn’t hate him for having to leave her here and come back for her.

“He has the kid, traveling to drop off site. Start packing it up you guys. You have about thirty minutes to get you asses out.” Steve said sternly.

Karl saw her flinch at the news, the ear piece not exactly quiet. Silent tears streaked her cheeks, she knew, she knew what it meant for the child, what it meant for the teen, what it meant for her. To his surprise she buried her face into his arm and wept, fingers clawing at him, the grief overwhelming her, a plea for him to stop it.

“Boss you need to get out of there.” Jerry said as his team locked up the shed and storm shelter.

“Working on it.” He ground out. This was where he’d planned to tell her he was leaving and would be back for her, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t do it. “I’ll be right back ok, give me a moment to talk with my team.” He had to pry her fingers from him, the separation almost as unbearable for him as it was for her.

“He’s made the drop. Teen is in the car with him. I repeat, the teen is in the vehicle.” Steve growled.

“Ok listen up and don’t argue.” He snapped over the coms unit. “I’m staying. Everyone out, back to the van.”

“All due respect boss, but the fuck you are.” Jerry spat.

“I can’t leave her Jerry. We have rations and water, you guys need to work the case and the moment the exchange for the teen is completed as in he hands her, over you fucking arrest his ass.”

“What if he comes down there?”

“Then he comes down here and we revert to plan B.”

“We don’t have a plan B.”

“We do now.” Karl growled. Plan B would be putting a bullet in Arthur’s brain and he’d be more than happy to do so. “Lock me in Davis, you saw where I got the tire iron from, make sure it goes back the exact same way. Sweep the dust over the trapdoor and get out. Don’t touch anything.”

“You sure boss?”

“I’m sure, she’s more important.”

Davis handed him his weapon and a few clips for good measure. “If they come for her you’re gonna need it.” Strand nodded and watched as the trapdoor was lowered into position and all the freedom sucked out of room.

******

“Get out of there.” Steve said a little concerned. “We’re about five miles from the house.” Strand grabbed the flashlight and secured his weapons beside him as he sat against the wall next to his Jane Doe.

“House is clear. Engage security.” Davis said, Karl could tell he wasn’t happy about leaving him under the house. Not his fucking call. He wasn’t losing her again.

“Security engaged and we have visuals on all cameras positioned. Heading around the block now.” Jerry’s voice was equally irritated, not his call either.

Wainwright drove past the house just as Donovan pulled into the drive, the vehicle rolling past his usual parking spot to pull up at the rear of the house.

“Yeah, we still see you, you fucker.” Jerry muttered as Arthur got out of the car and hauled a stunning teen out of the back seat, she’d been forced to lay down so not to be seen, drugged no doubt.

Jerry gave Strand the blow by blow account of Arthur settling the girl in, only stopping when Donovan explained in explicit detail what was going to happen to her and the way she would be used.

“Tell me you got that recorded?” Strand asked quietly as he could hear Donovan over the open channel.

“I did.”

“Good.” The team could be angry at him for staying, but they’d do the job regardless.

“12:01 and the auction has just opened up. Grabbing all her details and photo, also collecting every sick fucker that bids.” Jerry was riding on hatred now and Strand had to reel him in.

“Hunt!” He snapped. “Park the fury. We’re all fucking angry with this one, but shelve it. Methodical, collect the evidence against Arthur, then we nail the others.” He verbally whipped the boy.

“Understood sir.” Jerry contained his retort. “She’s a fucking virgin Karl.” He added.

“I know.” He breathed, settling himself down. “I know. We’ll get him, and once we have him, we get the rest of them.” He sighed out.

“He’s leaving the shed and coming into the house.” Jerry reported. “Nothing to indicate he knows we were in there.”

“Good, that’s what we want. Wainwright, take a partner and go sit on the drop off for the child that was snatched, start digging. Also, have dispatch divert the call from the parents of that child to us so we can bring them in and keep it locked down.”

“Wait, he’s going out again.” Jerry interrupted.

“Tail him Steven, then hit the drop off house. I’d say he’s going to a favorite hooker or to sample the non premium merchandise. No way he’s paying for it.”

“You want us to come get you guys out?” Davis asked.

“No, too risky for now. Work the case. I have my own work to do.” He looked at the frail woman beside him, those eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope, hope that he’d get them both out of here, fear that he wouldn’t.

******

While Donovan had settled into an early morning of sexual frivolity, Karl breathed out a heavy sigh and rested his head against the concrete, glaring at the ceiling as if it would tell him some unknown secret. He was brought out of his thoughts by Jane pressing the open water bottle against his arm gently. Sweet girl, he thought, so much kindness in you after all you’ve been through. “We have plenty.” He smiled down at her. “You drink that one ok? I’ll take the next one.” He watched her take a sip and then hand it back to him. This time he accepted it with a smile and saw a wary smile in return, progress he thought.

“Can I see them?” He asked pointing at the bindings around her wrists. She curled into herself and shrank away from him. “I’m not here to hurt you sweet girl, I just want to help, maybe I can figure out a way to remove them.” She thought over his offer, could see her squash the fear and bury it as deep down as she could, her inner strength nothing short of miraculous. She had no reason to trust him, none, with the exception of he’d smiled at her, and given her water and a granola bar. He was a male and he could only guess at what that was doing to her psyche. This tall man, sitting beside her, locked in a concrete cage together, her chained to a wall, naked.

Still huddled against the concrete she moved until her fingers were almost touching him, the weight of the chains and manacles making her movements difficult. He saw the wince of pain as the steel scrapped against already chaffed skin beneath the metal. How long had she had them on, he wondered? Slowly shuffling closer he took the weight of the steel in his hand and tried not to touch her, that seemed to make her uncomfortable, even the thought of it had made her flinch. “Can you rest it on my knee?” He asked and he tenderly placed the steel where he wanted it so he could use both hands, electronic locks. Using his phone he snapped a few photos and sent them to Jerry with a brief outline of what he was dealing with. “I have a friend, Jerry.” He explained to her and tapped his ear piece. “Good kid, a wiz with electronics. Maybe he can figure out how we get you out of them.” Soft sea green eyes looked up at him, mesmerizing, soulful. “I’m not leaving here without you ok.” He told her bluntly, even if he had to kill every one of them on his way out.

She nodded and pulled her hand back, huddling away from him again, the closeness, both verbally and physically, becoming too intimate for her to handle.

To save the batteries in the flashlight he flicked it off, the soft whimpered cry had him flicking it back on and studying her, fear rippled across her body. “I’m right here sweet girl ok? I need to save the batteries.” He flicked the light off again. “I’m right here ok, I’m not going anywhere without you.” His heart ached at the keening sound of a wounded child coming from her, it sliced him deeply. The sound lessened as she probably drifted to sleep, the absolute darkness calling for him to sleep too. “Guys I’m going to keep the coms on, but get some shut eye. Wake me when he’s on his way home, I want to be awake when he’s in the house.”

“Copy.” Came Jerry’s voice, much calmer now they’d had some time to shove the rage away.

He drifted, his brain not fully succumbing to sleep as it knew he was still on duty. During his semi slumber he heard her shift, curling up against his arm, clutching him as if he’d evaporate. She shivered from the cold, the fear that still coursed through her. Slowly and carefully he moved his arm to wrap around her, drawing her to his side and getting her naked form away from the cold concrete as much as he could. Feeling her flinch and then tense he half expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Once she realized he wasn’t going to rape her, hurt her, she held onto him tightly. “Get some sleep sweet girl, I’ll keep you safe from him, he’ll never touch you again.”

******

They both crashed out, exhaustion claiming them hard until Jerry’s voice snapped Karl awake in an instant. “He’s heading your way boss.”

“Copy. Let me know if and when he’s headed to the basement.”

“Will do.”

Strand could feel she’d shifted more in the night, climbed into his lap and curled up against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. He flicked the flashlight on low to give off enough glow to study her. Pulling the coat up and over her shoulders he tucked her in a bit more before ensuring his weapon was close at hand and flicking the light off again. “Sit rep.” He growled softly.

“It’s about one in the afternoon and we’ve got a shit load of data flowing in. I have financials, top layer only so I don’t spook him, which I’m tracing back to our boy and a few other people I’d like to chat with later. The auction is up to 3.6 million and change for the teen in the shed, and Meekland is on the warpath, specifically for your ass. Just a heads up.” He finished in that cheery sarcastic tone that would land the kid in hot water with a woman one day.

“Good to know. Wainwright?”

“He’s staking out the drop off for the infant last night, seeing if he can get some cameras in there.”

“Plan is still the same for the transaction for the teen, soon as he hands her over and the money’s in the bank we nail these assholes.”

“Copy that boss. I’m still working on the restraints.”

“Copy that.”

She shifted in his lap, his arms instinctively wrapping around her to keep her safe and he felt her tense. “Easy now, you’re ok sweet girl.” He murmured, his voice gravelly, and felt her relax slightly, more progress. This was why he couldn’t leave her, this connection was critical to getting them both out of here alive.

The dark was oppressing, he thought as he held her. When was the last time she’d seen daylight, a sunset, another human being other than the monster that put her here? How was she still sane? Or a more valid question, was she as much of a monster as he was, conditioned to be what he’d moulded her into?

“He’s just pulled up and heading for the shed.”

“Copy.” Karl went on high alert as a thought crossed his mind. What if he came here after checking in the teen, what was his routine after a snatch? “Shit!” He swore and she flinched in his arms.

“You ok boss?”

“I didn’t think about his after snatch routine. Snatched the baby, went to blow off some steam with the hooker, comes back to check on the teen and the auction. When does he check on his girl in the basement? The woman in the basement that is his substitute wife? The woman that’s going to be blamed for dying, for killing their child, for leaving him?” Karl was so angry with himself for not making that connection sooner.

“Fuck!” Jerry swore. “He’s going to...”

“Yeah he is and I’m going to have to let him.” He ground out. “Sweet girl I need you to hop off real quick.” He said gently, willing the woman to move her ass so he could move their supplies out of sight, himself included. She looked up at him and gripped his shirt, pleading with him not to leave her. “I’ll be right here, but I need to get into a position where I can fight.” He said hastily, his tone gruff, and it made her scamper away like a wounded animal. Now, he felt like an asshole. Moving quickly he flicked the flashlight on low and relocated the supplies to the behind the pillar near the toilet, it would be perfect coverage for him to blend into the shadows if Arthur ventured down this way. He had a sick feeling she would cop the brunt of his grief and anger at his wife’s death, for not living, not allowing the child to live. Digging out his phone he set it to record.

“He’s on his way into the house.”

“Copy.” Crouching down beside her he pried her fingers from his coat. “I’m so sorry.” He choked, she’d never forgive him for this. The ground he’d made yesterday to get her to trust him would be irreparably shattered. He left her curled into the corner of the room, much like he’d found her only hours ago, and took up his position near the toilet. Flicking the flashlight off he plunged their world into a depressing darkness, her soft whimpers the only sound.

“Strand?” Meekland a voice came through the coms loud and clear.

“What?” He snapped.

“If you have the shot, take it, don’t put her through that.”

“Do you honestly think I would stand here, mere feet from her, and allow that asshole to rape her. Fuck you Sarah.” He spat and the line went oppressively silent. Strand seethed at her comment. As if he’d stand by and let that just happen as he watched, even he had lines he wouldn’t cross.

“He’s coming down to the basement boss.” Jerry’s voice was only a whisper.

“Copy.” He racked the chamber of the weapon, a bullet seemed far to easy for this guy, but it would be his end if he went to rape her.

The scrape of concrete against concrete as the trapdoor was slid open heightened his awareness. Setting his phone to record he readied himself to defend them both.

“Time for you to eat Lenore.” Arthur said cheerily as he climbed into the room. “You’ll want to clean yourself up ready for our celebration tonight. The little cherub was delivered this morning, the little teen queen beauty already fetching up to 4.1 million, a nice payday to retire on.”

The guy was delusional, Strand thought. Donovan crouched down in front of her. Don’t do it asshole, don’t make me give you the easy way out. He heard her whimper as Arthur groped her, fingers invading harshly. His smile turned nasty before standing again and collecting the bucket of water from the top of the stairs, unceremoniously dumping it on her. From the way she shivered violently, it was freezing cold.

“Scrub.” Arthur barked, tossing the soap at her.

On any other day, he would have killed Donovan six time over for that alone, but let it play out. There was much more at stake here. He watched her scrub furiously as bucket after bucket of cold water was thrown at her, over her. Placing a meager meal at her feet in the puddle of water he looked over her.

“Eat.” He growled and she sank to her knees and ate as best she could, limbs shaking from the cold, the weight of the manacles impeding her movement. “Tonight you will be punished twice over for that bitches crimes.” He sneered. “I’ll take what’s mine, what’s owed to me from the grave out of every inch of you body.” He snarled, his hands yanking her to her feet painfully by her hair and groping her some more.

Karl shuddered at what that meant. Not this time asshole, we’ll be long gone. He watched Arthur let her crumple to the floor, turn on his heel and climb out of the hatch. Strand held his breath as the trapdoor closed and the silent darkness enveloped them again.

“He’s in the kitchen boss.” Jerry’s shaken voice confirmed and he let out that breath slowly before replying.

“Copy.” He took a steadying breath and willed the adrenaline away, because now he had to mend the rift with this girl, if he could. Arthur’s visit might have shot that plan to shit, seeing as though he’d promised her he wouldn’t let that prick touch her again. He could hear her crying, the soft sobbing of a woman so destroyed, so brutalized, and he’d allowed it happen this time. “Let me know if he’s on his way down again.” His gut roiled, he felt like asshole he was.

“Will do, he’s heading out to the shed.”

“He’ll want to check the auction and torment the teen some more.” Strand spat.

“You ok boss?” Jerry said softly.

“No, Jerry I’m not. I let him touch her when I promised her I would protect her.” He sighed and switched off the camera, sending him the video to add to the file.

The soft glow of the flashlight reflected off the water on the floor, the slight slope to the far corner draining most of it away from her. How many times have you gone through that sweet girl to know where the high ground in the room is, he wondered?

“Hunt tell me you have a way to get her out of these fucking chains?” He snapped as he watched her try and move into a comfortable position out of the water, her teeth chattering violently.

“Nearly there.” Came the reply. “I’m finding his source code for them, trickier because I can’t hack into them, they’re airgapped.” Karl heard the frustration and backed off, scrubbing a hand over his scalp, the kid was busting ass on multiple tasks, none of them easy.

“Copy.” He sighed and grabbed his coat, the rations, and a bottle of water. Sitting on a dry patch of concrete he watched her watching him as he set the flashlight close, his weapon closer. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered. “I promised you and...” He stopped talking as she shuffled over timidly, her body shaking with cold, hair still dripping. “No.” He said shaking his head as she started to rest against the concrete. “Curl up in my lap like before, get warm sweet girl.” She looked at him, those sea green eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life. Gingerly she reached for him, uncertainty, terrified. It took nearly three hours before she climbed into his lap, her head resting on his chest under his chin. She shivered violently as he pulled the coat around her and tucked her in. “Sleep now, rest. You’re safe.” So trusting, he thought, so forgiving, which made him feel undeniably worse for leaving her to Arthur. Feeling the water from her hair start to seep into his shirt he gently pulled it out from between them and over the collar of the coat. “I’m going to save the batteries ok? I’m not leaving sweet girl.” He murmured and plunged them into darkness once more.

He felt her drift, her body go lax as he talked with his team, the sound of his voice probably soothing her enough to pull her under. Cradling her to him he felt something tug inside him, a soft yearning for a woman that saw through the snarling ass kicking facade that was Karl Strand, to a softer side of him. He had one, the girl in his arms was the first to pull it from deep within him.

“Hey boss?” Jerry yawned.

“What?” He growled, more through frustration of where his own thoughts had gone too than of being hailed over coms.

“Put your phone next to her cuffs, I need a way to hack in.” Karl did and could tell the rookie was tired and pushing hard.

“Through my phone?”

“You got any service in that concrete box?”

“Barely a half bar.”

“That’s enough.” Karl could hear the grin in the kids voice. “Our buddy has an alarm on these cuffs that will alert him if they’re ever unlocked. Don’t sweat it.” He said quickly. “I’m not unlocking, just... snooping.”

Strand fished out his phone and held it against the keypad of the manacle currently resting on his chest. Her tiny hand fisting in his shirt made him smile, to be wanted so completely by someone hit him squarely in the gut. And this isn’t healthy, he thought, you can’t go falling for this girl.

“Do you see any numbers ticking over on your phone like a slot machine?” Jerry asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s searching for his source code. Each of the four locks has a different lock code but if I get the source code we can bypass and unlock all of them at the same time. Not right now of course.” Jerry said reassuringly. “Just snooping.”

“Snoop all you want Jerry.” He chuckled and lost his breath as those sea green eyes looked up at him. Shit, he thought, fucking shit I can’t get involved with you sweet girl. “Where is he?”

“Still in the shed with the teen.” He said disgustedly.

“What’s happening?”

“You don’t want to know.” Jerry muttered.

“I do or I wouldn’t have asked.” He growled.

“He’s showing her video of what’s going to happen to her, the really hard core shit.” Jerry went quiet for a moment. “Wainwright said to tell you that they have eyes on the kids in the drop house. Looks like an orphanage really, kids are well housed and looked after. There’s a wing for babies, young kids, and teens. No one older than 16, no boys.”

“Oh they’ll have them on a completely different syndicate.” Strand growled.

“Yeah, thought of that too so my computer is running some sniffing software. I can dive in later.”

“Websites?”

“A few, similar setup so I’m thinking same syndicate, different supplier. Donovan just does girls, I haven’t found anything to suggest boys on his merch list.” Jerry said wearily.

“That’s something I guess.”

“I guess.”

“Has he touched the teen?”

“Nope and I think that’s what got him frustrated earlier. These three are, or will be, the prime merchandise, virgins, innocent, clean, untouched. Higher profit margin. Speaking of profit margins, I’m almost into his financials. He’s got some hidden accounts I’m weeding out under the radar.”

“Good work Jerry.”

“We’re getting there boss. Davis is going to take over watch while I get some rack time. I need to be sharp tonight.”

“I’m going to do the same, because yes, we all need to be sharp tonight.” He looked at his phone to see the numbers has stopped scrolling. “You still need my phone near her cuffs?”

“Nope I got what I need. I’ll set the sniffer to do it’s thing while I’m napping.”

“Thank Jerry.” He said, sitting his phone by his weapon.

“Anytime boss.”

******

The glow of the phone screen lit the room enough for him to see her silhouette curled into him, her hand reach up to stroke his jaw, eyes always searching, calculating. He wasn’t prepared for her lips meeting his, the sudden jolt of excitement and fear to shoot through him. The way his body responded without his consent, his brain shorting out allowing him the luxury of kissing her back, deepening it before he came to his senses. Cupping her face in his hands gently he pulled her away from him.

“No.” He said softly. “That’s not what I want from you sweet girl.” He breathed, the raggedness of his voice shocking him. Watching her closely she shifted and dropped her hands to his belt buckle. “No.” He said again and took her hands in his pulling them back to rest at his chest, his cock more eager with her touch than his brain. “Sweet girl I don’t want that from you.” He said gently. Not unless it’s of your own free will, he added silently. “I just want to get you out of here, get you somewhere safe so you can be free.” He tucked the stray half dried wave of hair behind her ear and watched as she bowed her head, the tears falling silently. “Sweet girl don’t cry.” He said tenderly, his fingers brushing her cheeks softly. “If the circumstances were different I’d have no problem with letting you do whatever you wanted with me, but we can’t. Not here, not now.” Not ever he thought, because she’d never want to see him again after this. Pulling her close, he snuggled her into him, her soft sobs breaking his heart.

She was only doing what had been ingrained in her from birth, conditioned to pleasure, to give a man that had abused her all her life whatever she thought he needed, what he’d taught her.

“I won’t do what they did to you sweet girl. Force you against your will, take advantage of this situation, take advantage of you.” He held her tightly as she tried to press herself against him more. “You’re safe with me.” He whispered and felt his heart shatter at knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep that promise once they were out of this room. She would go her way, he would go his, even if a relationship was a possibility, he wasn’t good for her and deep down he knew that, he wasn’t relationship material. Her sobs eventually subsided into sniffles and then fell silent as she slept, safe for the moment and warm.

******

“Boss?” Hunts voice crackled in his ear.

“What is it Jerry?” Strand had dozed off too, the exhaustion pulling him under hard.

“It’s 11:45pm and the auction closes at 11:59pm. We’re all set ready for the transfer of funds and the hand over of the girl.”

“Good.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and stretched as much as he could, she was a waif, but heavy enough to put his ass to sleep. “Wait until the teen is in the buyers car and Donovan is clear.” He instructed. “I want to take him down in here when he comes for Jane Doe.” His growl was feral.

“We have the buyer takedown ready to rumble on your call.”

“I want both parties thinking they got away with a clean exchange before we pounce. None of this can be leaked to other buyers, we don’t want them changing habits on the website until we can bring them all down.” He thought about it a little. “Meekland?”

“What Strand?” She still sounded pissed from his outburst earlier.

“No deals for these assholes. They go away for life or I will hunt them down personally on my own time and put them away permanently, with a bullet. Are we clear?” He murmured coldly.

“Crystal.” She snapped. He’d backed her into a corner when he’d pulled in his own team, his off the record team. She should have known better than to give him free reign.

“Keep me in the loop.” He said sternly and let the coms fall silent again. Smiling into the darkness he laid a hand over hers to still the nervous fingers toying with his shirt buttons. “When I get word he’s left I need you to do as I ask you, when I ask you, ok sweet girl?” He wasn’t expecting a verbal answer but felt her head nod. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“The auction just closed and he’s on the phone with the buyer.”

“Copy.”

“Oh hello Mr. Nasty Piece of Shit!” Jerry growled. “Chinese mob. Oh this’ll be fun.” His sarcasm grating on Strand’s every nerve.

“Knock it off Jerry.” If Karl was there in person he would have cuffed the kid up the side of the head.

“7.6 mill just hit his account, handover at 1am. They’re negotiating the location.” The coms link went silent for a few minutes. “Sequoia National Forest, just outside of Lake Isabella.”

“Go.” Strand barked, and felt Jane Doe flinch at his tone.

“Going.” Hunt said as the team readied. “Davis is taking team B by air, they’ll get there first and secure the area.”

“Cast the net wide, tighten when Donovan is out.”

“Copy. He’s moving the girl. Son of a bitch dosed her.” Jerry said as the camera showed her bobbing and weaving as she walked.

“That’ll make things tricky, be careful.”

“Yeah. Ok he’s pulling out the drive, and he’s clear. I’ll call you when we’re close.”

“Copy.” Karl breathed.

******

The coms were silent for nearly forty minutes, Karl enjoying the last moments he’d have with her before all hell would break loose.

“Were in position, waiting for Donovan and the buyer.” Jerry said quietly.

“Copy.” He ran his fingers through her semi dried hair and held her close. “When the handover happens leave your com open, I want to hear it.”

“Copy that boss.”

“Team B in position.” Davis’s voice chimed in.

“Copy.” It was all falling together nicely, Strand thought, maybe a little too nicely.

“Donovan’s car just pulled up.” Jerry said. “It’s only 12:47.”

“The girl still out cold?”

“Looks like, no silhouette in the back seat, but heat signatures for two.”

“He’s done this before, she’ll come around just enough for the handover to walk but still groggy. No screams and no fight.” Strand chewed on his bottom lip, he hated sitting out a takedown.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, epilogue

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, epilogue: goodbye

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 3.7k

Rating: M for mature themes, mostly T though.

Warnings: just sad feels, my guy.

Notes: One last and final thank you to everyone who has read, kept up, commented, popped in to say hello to me on Tumblr. You really made this an incredible experience. ♡ I can’t wait to get started on the sequel, and I hope you enjoy this little interlude!

Everything hurt.

Or, rather, everything that he could feel hurt—which wasn’t much, or was hard to categorize, considering that opening his eyes felt impossible and thus his brain couldn’t register whether or not all of his limbs were attached or not.

“.... ohn. John, wake up.”

No thanks, he thought, tiredly, as pain splintered up his spine and radiated through his skull. No, I’m really quite good right here where I am.

“John,” and it was Joseph’s voice, muddled with the sound of steady rain. “Wake up.”

John felt the groan, rattling somewhere deep in his chest, as he pushed his eyes open. Then, and only then, did the agony really fucking hit—real, pure body-pain, the kind that sank straight into the marrow of his bones and stayed for a good many days. Struggling, he forced himself into a sitting position, hands flat against cold, wet pavement.

Hands flat. Free. Not cuffed.

“Good,” Joseph said, sounding relieved, “you’re awake.”

When his older brother extended his hand out, John took it; with a surprising amount of strength, Joseph hauled him to his feet, and he finally got a good look around him.

Carnage.

The highway was littered with bodies and blood and the mangled metal of crashed vehicles. He saw dark figures; it was night, late, and his eyes burned, and his body ached, and when the low snarl of one of Jacob’s judges echoed in his ears, he thought, ah, that’s it, then.

Jacob was there too, with Faith glued to his side. Her palms skinned and her dress torn, and the blood from Jacob’s gunshot wound seeping through dark-crimson. A steady sheet of silver rain had begun to fall, drenching them all; the chill seeped straight into his bones.

And, of course, there was Joseph. Relatively unscathed. Not an open wound in sight.

“How did—” John started, his brain still foggy from pain and, presumably, being unconscious. Joseph gripped his shoulders. There was a kind of look in his eye; fervent, urgent, and John realized that it had been there all along—that his brother had always looked like this, and maybe he had just gotten used to looking into different eyes as of late.

“Our followers have stayed true,” Joseph told him, his voice low. “The Collapse remains on the horizon. Perhaps—”

His brother stopped, as though to gauge himself.

“Perhaps,” he began again, “not as close as I thought. I prayed, John. I prayed for us—for you, and for your child, and even for...” Joseph’s mouth twisted viciously for a moment. “Even for that Delilah of yours.”

Elliot, he thought, a wave of sickening, burning fury washing over him even when the venom in Joseph’s voice doused him like gasoline. Liar. Lied to me, lied to my family, lied—

Wretchedly clever and cruel. More devil than woman. He had always known it, had loved her for it, and he couldn’t be surprised when his hand had come back from the fire burned. You can’t have both, she’d said, and she’d meant it; of course she had. He wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t the kind of woman who meant what she’d said.

“We have much to do,” Joseph plunged on, as headlights turned around the corner of the road. “God is going to speak to me, I know it. I can feel that we have so little time left, John.”

“Okay,” John said, feeling a little dazed, trailing after Joseph when he began to move to one of the nearby trucks idling. “Okay, yes, we’ll—what do we do about—”

He stopped, opening the door to the car automatically for Faith to climb in. Of them all, he thought maybe he was the least fucked up—outwardly, anyway. Inside, his body felt like it had been jumbled around, tossed like a fucking salad at Olive Garden. The ache in his head didn’t dull as the seconds ticked by.

Jacob paused. The redhead’s mouth twisted, like he was biting back the things he wanted to say; John knew it had to be something like I fucking told you, I told you the situation wasn’t under control, I knew you couldn’t control her, but the words didn’t come out.

And in his own mouth, words sat, too: I’m sorry, I know I fucked up, but I know I can get her back.

Not can. Would. Would get her back, no matter what. By any means necessary.

“John,” Jacob barked out, and he realized that moments had passed—maybe minutes—of him standing in the rain, the door of the truck open. He moved on autopilot, hauling himself into the back seat of the truck and slamming the door shut.

The air inside the truck was humid, fizzing and popping with a strange energy. He could taste it on his tongue, electric; ozone; vibrating in his mouth and in his skeleton. Some of it the storm outside, and some of it the fury in his mouth, so potent it had become tangible.

Mine, he thought, shifting as pain splintered up his spine and shoulder. My wife. My baby. She thinks she’s done with us, huh? Not even fucking close.

“We have much to do,” Joseph murmured as the truck pulled a u-turn and began its route back to the compound. “Now, more than ever.” Through the rearview mirror, his gaze met John’s; lingered for a moment, and only a moment. “We will find her, John. Her, and your child.”

John felt his eyes flutter. Exhaustion was already beginning to try and take its toll on him. “She traded us in.”

“Yes,” Joseph replied, and his voice was terse, sharper than normal. “But God is ever merciful. And are we not to liken ourselves in his image, so that we may be as holy?”

He didn’t know if he wanted Elliot back to be holy. He thought maybe he wanted her back because she belonged to him—because they belonged to each other, two wretched creatures, and she owed him, and he would have what was rightfully his. What he was owed.

“Yes,” John agreed hoarsely. “Just as holy.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nothing like dry-heaving over a toilet with your mother standing by.

“You know,” Scarlet said, “us Honeysett women have always taken well to childbearing. You were the most perfect baby, Elliot.”

Her mother was perched on the edge of the sink, a glass of rosé (chilled glass, of course) in her hand, golden curls perfectly pinned and coiffed and the floor-length maxi dress pressed to perfection—in stark contrast to Elliot, gripping the edge of the toilet in her sweats, stomach somersaulting and trying its best to achieve Olympic level gymnastics.

You’re not a Honeysett woman, she thought exhaustedly. You’re a fucking Graves woman. She managed to spit, taking in a long-suffering breath. “You said I was colicky.”

“Well, yes. But I never got morning sickness.”

Elliot gritted her teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the hot wave of nausea rolling over her, prickling sickly heat along her spine in warning. “That’s awesome, mama. Good for—” She swallowed. “Good for you. So glad. Really cool.” She exhaled. “Thank goodness it’s five in the afternoon. What’s that, then? Afternoon sickness?”

“Mm.” Her mother sipped at her wine, setting it on the counter with a little clink that somehow managed to sound three thousand times louder in her wretched state. “Yes, we’ve always been excellent vessels for our children.”

“That’s lo-uuh—” She closed her eyes tight. “Lovely.”

Scarlet’s fingers brushed her hair back from her face, cinching it in a ponytail. “Must be the father.”

You don’t fucking say? Elliot wanted to spit, but there was no room. Scarlet Honeysett tolerated a great many things—poor weather on the day of her events, a lukewarm glass to transport her alcohol, the repeated and systematic abandonment of her by her husband—but a mouthy child she did not.

“Educated inference,” is what she said instead. “I think I’m done.”

“Well.” Scarlet looked at her, arching a manicured brow. “Stay here for a while longer, then, just so you don’t go puking on my carpet.”

“Thanks, mama.”

“Mmhm.”

When her mother swept out of the bathroom and took with her the scent of her perfume—normally familiar and comforting, now only nausea-inducing—Elliot closed the door with her foot and leaned back against the wall in the bathroom. Her chest was burning; the strain of dry-heaving while the skin on her chest was still tight and healing was enough to have probably broken it open if she hadn’t been meticulously taking care of it.

And thank God her mother hadn’t seen that yet.

After a few more minutes of questioning whether or not she was going to actually puke, Elliot pushed herself to her feet and rinsed her mouth out with Listerine. It had not been easy, the last two weeks. Not only was she acclimating to living with her mother again—a thing which she had not done since she was in high school—but she was doing it pregnant. Pregnant, and with the child’s father nowhere to be.

Her arrival at the ancestral Graves home—a meticulously kept two-story historic building that had not only been in their family for so many years, but was planted on twenty acres of premium real estate in what was otherwise a small town named Weyfield—had been a tumultuous one, to be sure. Though her mother seemed inquisitive about what had occurred, she wasn’t even aware that anything had been happening at all.

Because she hadn’t been there.

“What do you mean?” Elliot had asked, incredulous.

“Well, I always come down here when the weather is starting to turn,” Scarlet had replied idly, squeezing her lime wedge dry into her glass. “I left In July.”

“The weather is not turning in July.”

“Some of us, Elli,” her mother had snipped, “are sensitive to changes in the weather. It’s not my fault you couldn’t feel it. Nor my fault that you didn’t answer my phone calls.”

It provided, at the very least, a bit of leeway when it came to explaining what was going on. Her mother had, of course, been aware of the Seeds in some capacity; but only in the kind of capacity that she thought them a zealous nuisance, and a little slimy—“Except for the oldest one, he seems like a good man,” she’d said, much to Elliot’s disgust—but nothing more than that.

This meant that Elliot didn’t need to tell her anything she didn’t want to. For now. Until the news broke, if it ever did; it seemed like headlines these days were more preoccupied with what was going on overseas than what was going on within the States’ own borders.

“Here,” Scarlet said, planting a pill bottle in her hand. “Take one of these thirty minutes before you go to bed.”

“What are these?”

“Sleeping pills,” her mother explained.

Elliot’s mouth twisted. “I sleep fine.”

“If you slept at all, I might believe you. I know you, Elli, I birthed you from my own womb, and you’ve never been a good sleeper.” The blonde paused. “And I hear you at night, you know, moving around. You and that hound.”

Boomer was fairly good at being stealthy, but perhaps not so much so in a house that was almost exclusively hardwood flooring. She’d have to remember that the next time she decided to go on a walk at three in the morning.

Elliot looked at the label. Eszopiclone, it said. S. Honeysett. “I probably shouldn’t take your prescription, mama.” And why are you giving me sleeping pills you should be taking, anyway?

“You need to sleep,” Scarlet said firmly. “For you and baby.”

It took a concerted effort to swallow back bile that tried to surge up her throat—for some reason, the knowledge that there was now a she and a baby, that she was both herself and vessel, made her nausea want to kick in. She hadn’t been sleeping, it was true. Not for lack of trying, either. She’d drink some kind of stupid sleepy-time tea, settle herself into the bed, and lay there. And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But every time she’d close her eyes, she would be assaulted by images; Joey, jaw snapped and hanging loose from her face. Kian, face a bloody pulp. The blood seeping down her chest from the WRATH scar John had left. And John, of course.

He was always there, too. His eyes on her, his hands on her, his mouth on her.

So good, hellcat, it’s gonna look so good on you.

I’m all yours, just take what you need, I’ll give you anything, anything.

I’m fucking it for you.

I love you, Elliot.

“... listening to me?”

Elliot blinked. Her eyes burned, stinging with the threat of tears, and she swallowed thickly again. It felt like choking. Things often felt like choking, nowadays—things like breathing, swallowing, sleeping. It all felt too much for her to take, sometimes. Like she was deranged.

“I’m sorry,” she managed out, her voice barely breaking a whisper, and the second she felt the slip of a tear down her cheek she quickly wiped it away and sniffed. “I’m sorry, mama, I wasn’t.”

Something in her mother’s expression shifted for just a moment. Her eyes swept over Elliot, like maybe she thought she could see what it was that was really ailing her. Scarlet had tried to pry about John; she’d tried to figure out who it was that had left her daughter destitute, like this. What she didn’t know was that Elliot had left him destitute.

He deserves it, she thought through the heavy wave of exhaustion. Whatever they do to him, he deserves it.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” her mother suggested after a moment. “Dinner in an hour.”

“I’m going for a walk,” Elliot replied, tucking the bottle into her pocket for later. “Boomer gets crazy if I don’t.”

“Well, can’t have that. Back in an hour, then, bunny.”

She slipped past her mother, snagging the dog leash by the door and calling for the Heeler. He came sprinting down the stairs delightedly, and Elliot opened the door so he could go racing out. He’d certainly gotten less time running than he had prior to this, but he seemed in better spirits, anyway—new smells, friendly people. It was a dog’s dream.

“Don’t forget you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” her mother called after her. “I’m taking you in at nine A.M. sharp.”

“Yes, mama.”

The afternoon had passed by in a blitz, as it was wont to do in late Autumn, and now Elliot found herself with so little golden daylight left; but she thought maybe she liked it best like this, walking with Boomer darting around ahead of her, watching the sky wring the last little rays of light out of the sun before it dipped fully behind the mountains.

I love you, Elliot.

She stopped walking, closing her eyes for a moment. A low, dull headache had begun to bloom behind her eyes. Lack of sleep, probably. Lack of sleep, and now she had a—

A fucking baby, she thought, with no absence of despair.

Boomer had doubled back when she stopped moving, and for a moment Elliot felt a vicious sting in her chest. Cry, it said, when the dog nosed her hand with a cold nose. Cry, it said, when she struggled to sit down in the damp, chilly grass, and Boomer could push his face into hers.

She had been alone, before. Alone in all the world. But not anymore.

Boomer tucked his face against her neck and stayed there, panting his hot doggy breath down the collar of her shirt. And as dusk fell, and the first speckling of stars started to make their appearance, Elliot felt herself come undone.

Just a little bit; just for now, while she could bury her face into her dog’s fur and cry, she would come undone.

And when she was finished, she would get up and walk back home. She would sit down and have dinner with her mother, and listen to her complain that while the doctor they were going to see was quite new but supposedly very nice, and she’d take a sleeping pill so that she could hopefully get some peace of mind for one night. In the morning, she would get up and out of bed, and she would keep living. That was all she could do.

For now, though—for a little while, she would let herself grieve. And every time she thought she couldn’t do it anymore—every time she thought she’d reached the absolute bottom—she’d keep fucking digging. What would she do with grief, if not lug it?

She would never heal otherwise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Where the fuck is Weyfield?”

Jacob’s derisive tone did nothing to help John’s mood. Hunched over a map, the scattered papers of the file he hadn’t thrown away, eyes stinging, he thought he’d felt shittier only once before—long before his reuniting with Joseph. Back before he’d been cleansed.

He’d read every paper three times over. Stared at her photo for hours. Nothing felt any better than it had two weeks ago, when she’d been screaming that she would kill him.

“Some nowhere corner of Georgia,” John muttered, passing a hand over his face. “Her file says she was born in Weyfield, but that can’t be right—that shit is so small. Like, population three hundred, maybe? And her mom’s rich, which means—”

“Probably some kind of old money, then,” Jacob suggested. “Historic home. Lots of farmland surrounding it. Didn’t you say her grandfather was a racing jockey, mom never worked, or something? Gotta have room for horses and big fancy homes to go with those horses.”

Oh, John thought absently. Oh, of course. Of course her mother is a trust-fund baby. They would have an ancestral home, wouldn’t they?

They’d been back at the compound for a few weeks; Joseph had been secluded, alone, ruminating and marinating or whatever else it was he had to do to really hear God, and that meant John had been free to figure out what his plan was. So far, it was pretty bare bones.

Find Elliot and baby. Bring Elliot and baby home.

Joseph did not have a timeline, yet. He didn’t even know what it was that had delayed the Collapse—not quite. He had fervently insisted he be left alone to himself and God, to ensure that there were no interruptions—“Interruptions,” he’d said, “interfered with it last time, I won’t have it again,”—and so John, Jacob, and Faith had been left to rebuild what they could.

What members of Eden’s Gate remained after the veritable slaughter the Family had brought upon them were run ragged, but the nice thing about having an enemy meant that they were bound together by the same hatred.

“So that’s it, huh?” Jacob asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Weyfield, for the little hellcat?”

“That’s it.” John sucked his teeth and came to a stand, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “I should head out to Atlanta as soon as possible. I’ll need—”

“That’s a big city,” his eldest brother cautioned.

“That city has resources I’ll need. As much as I’d like to think that I could just track her down and we’ll kiss and make-up, I get the feeling that if I don’t do this the right way, it’ll be dragging her back kicking and screaming.” He paused, his voice tightening. “And I will be getting her back.”

Jacob watched him for a moment. He exhaled out of his mouth before he reached over, planting a hand on John’s shoulder. He half expected his brother to say something like, just forget it, Johnny, or it’s not worth running the risk of getting recognized, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Be careful, keep in touch. And get my nephew back, yeah?”

John swallowed thickly. There was a lot wrapped up in those words; a lot that he had yet to parse through. Blinding, insatiable fury, that he had been tricked and lied to and deceived, but above all else—above all of that, he missed—

No, he thought, hands shaking and jaw clenching as he pulled his coat on. No, above all else, Elliot belongs to me, and that’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Don’t know it’s a boy,” he managed out, with all of those whispers rattling incessantly in his head. Jacob smiled.

“Joseph does.”

“I suppose so.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, and for the first time in a long time, John felt closer to Jacob than he did to Joseph—and maybe that was because he hadn’t seen his brother’s face in weeks, or maybe it was because he knew that for some strange reason, Jacob was pleased to have Elliot come back, and Joseph might not be.

Not if he was being honest, anyway.

“Off I go,” John blurted out, worried that he would get stuck in an infinite loop of trying to parse out things that weren’t meant for him to understand. “I’ll call when I get there.”

“Take someone with you?”

“It’ll just slow me down. Besides, I’m trying to not draw attention.” He paused, hesitating at the doorway of the church. “You’ll tell me when he knows, right?”

When he knows how much time I have?

Jacob’s expression hardened. He nodded once, short. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

John pushed the door open, stepping out into the night. It was chilly; soon, it’d be snowing, if it didn’t do so that very night, and the compound’s courtyard was bustling with sleepy life. As he climbed into the truck and took a breath to calm the rapid, unsteady beating of his heart, he closed his eyes for just one moment.

Just for now, he thought tiredly. I’m going to take a breath just for now, and then—

And then one more breath, and then another, turning the key in the ignition and shutting the radio off and throwing the car into drive, and then one more breath, until he was breathing all the way to fucking Georgia. He was going to get his wife back.

One way or another.

[inmyarmswrappedin]

Now that Nora's season is coming to end, what are somethings that you want for amira's season

Hi 😁 I bet you thought I’d never reply to this ask! Well, after you sent this in MARCH, I am finally posting an answer. 

Btw, I did the same for Nora’s season, and as a note, I’m a white European and an atheist. If any of this is offensive or not my place to say, I preemptively apologize.

1) I would like for Amira's arc not to be about being Muslim. That is, Cris' arc isn't about being bi, it's about learning (and accepting) that she's more than the fun friend. That she has and can offer more to the people in her life. Nora's arc isn't about being a feminist, it's about not being so set in your first impression of someone that you don't notice red flags or don't notice them trying to be better people. Same with Eva and not being defined by her mistakes, or about Viri and her financial situation. And I would like the same for Amira.

2) I think one common denominator of all Sana seasons so far is that they've shown the mains doing something that people assume hijabi can't do when it's more like they're systematically excluded from participating. For Sana, it was basketball. For Imane, it was dancing. For Amira M, it was boxing. I joked on twitter that Amira N's thing should be binging TV shows and eating junk, proving that hijabi are really like anyone else, but on a serious note, I'd like for Amira's thing to be photography (and maybe modeling? since Amira's friend was taking pics of her).

3) A scene where Amira explains how she can be a feminist and a hijabi both, just so we as a society have that scene to point to when the question inevitably comes up again. Seriously, I feel like that's one of the questions I most often see people asking Hajar.

4) I want the association girls to have their own youtube channel. Or at the very least, their own instagram and/or twitter account. I would love for them to post memes punching up about their experiences.

5) I feel like, much like with trans narratives, there's this "acceptable" narrative for hijabi in mainstream society, which is: the character made the decision to cover after coming up with solid reasons to do so. I.e. she made the decision early and can defend it with inarguable rebuttals. It's like women can't be trusted unless they know 150% what they're doing, be it covering, or dating a girl, or going vegan, or any number of things. I really appreciate that Amira started covering just because it felt right, and she's finding meaning in it after the fact. I would like for this to be a thing in her season, that she's still figuring herself out, that she's not already an Islamic scholar.

6) I also think that's what makes her stand apart from the other Sanas. I feel like (maybe with Zoya's exception), none of the other Sanas would entertain a crush on a white guy. They'd have never drunk or flirted (like we know Amira used to do). It's like they're not allowed to fuck up, or can only fuck up in acceptable ways, like engaging in a flirtation with a non Muslim only because they didn't know he wasn't a Muslim, or had booze at home, but it wasn't theirs, etc. I'm hoping that they've made Dani a love interest specifically to explore this idea (and not because they wanted to whitewash a character or give less time to an actor of color).

7) On that note, SKAM Hajar brought up an idea that, because the hijab makes them super visible, hijabi are perceived as ambassadors of Islam, expected to be able to answer any question about Islam, but also that people will judge all Muslims based on whatever mistake they individually make. I would like for a potential bench scene to allow Amira to say that it puts major pressure on her to feel like she can't make any mistake, because every Muslim will be judged based on her making a mistake, having a shitty day, being in a bad mood, not wanting to be Muslim wikipedia that day, etc. That sometimes she just wants to be Amira, not Islam personified.

8) I would like for Dani's character to represent not just white society, but also childhood, the safe choice, the choice her parents would love, and for Sofian's character to represent not just Moroccan culture, but also like... SEXY risk, independence, novelty... Because I feel like when I see Muslim girl/Muslim boy/white guy love triangles in fiction, the Muslim guy is positioned as the boring choice (but still incredibly wrong because he's abusive or maybe even secretly gay and forced to beard by his parents), the safety, the guy you'd bring home to your parents, whereas the white guy represents independence and carving your own path away from your parents.

9) Just once, I would like for a Muslim character to say, "what do you think of Catholic priests abusing kids?" to someone asking them what they think of such-and-such Muslim majority country doing such-and-such to its citizens. Bonus points if it's Sofian's character.

10) I would like for Dilan to get an insta and a storyline. And for that storyline to connect to Amira's.

11) In general, I would prefer that parents be kept to a minimum (not to get rid of them entirely, of course, but to be kept at the level they've been in other Sana seasons). I just have never thought the point of Skam was the parents. And I get why they have a larger presence in a second gen kid, but I, personally, am more interested in what they represent in the main's life, rather than in giving them a lot of face time.

12) And, on that note, if they do with Amira what I've outlined above, I don't think there's a necessity for Amira to have siblings. Particularly if eskam isn't going to continue after this season. I think it'd be far more interesting if Amira's character contained the elements of figuring her identity as a Muslim living in a Western country that Elias, Idriss and Essam had. (And maybe that way Dani is both Yousef and Elias, stealing not just one role for an actor of color, but two! lmao)

13) I really hope that the obligatory evak s4 side plot be kept at a minimum tbh. I'm really not interested in a) Eloy coming back to cause drama, b) Amira's friend causing croana drama because she's Joana ex or whatever, c) a physical fight breaking out because of (perceived) homophobia.

14) I want Amira to tell Cris that amiris es lo más real que hay. 😭 I would love it if, as a parallel to Cris' season, Amira doesn't tell Cris about her interest in Sofian's character at first because she's afraid of her reaction, only for Cris to be supportive of whatever she chooses to do.

15) I would be so fucking happy if eskam adapted the "is your faith stronger than your lust?" scene in this season. I have always wanted to love that scene, because how often do you get a scene where two girls get to talk that long and that much (even in Skam most of the iconic dialogue scenes between just two people aren't between two girls in the squad), but I just haaaated the purpose of the scene in Skam.

16) I would cry buckets if we got a scene like Det Beste fra Islam where Amira and Sofian's character both talk about what Islam means for them. Particularly if Sofian is introduced as not the Perfect Muslim Man, but it turns out he has THOUGHTS about religion.

17) And, finally, I would love for the unquestionable villain of the season to be a white guy. If the villain is going to be a woman, then I would want her to be Cris' mom, not a high school aged character. Not because of white feminism yayyy! but because I think the major issue Sana seasons have run into before is that the showrunners want to touch on white girls being the problem, but they also don't want to villainize white girls. So we have stuff like Sana inviting Sara and Ingrid (of all people!!) to Eid, Imane apologizing to Ingrid (of all people!!), random one clip white women attacking Amira M (and the Kiki/Amira friendship of course), etc. I'd just rather they didn't have girls doing shitty stuff to Amira N, if they're going to go back on it. Which they inevitably would, because eskam's overall message is sisterhood.

Bonus clips

18) I would love it if Skam España was like, "you thought we were dropping storylines left and right? Nope!" and resolved long standing mysteries like who was behind Eva's hate ig, who had the pills, who outed Cris to the school, who's the owner of the keys that were left behind at GSC, and so on. Will die if it turns out to be Ramón!

19) I want Joana to get that job she wanted so bad last season!

20) I would love for Emma to show up and come out as a lesbian, just as a last hurrah lol.

21) I don't feel strongly about which couples should be endgame and not (other than not Dani/Amira hghvvh please), BUT in my most embarrassing fantasies, I want Skam España to hire Alejandro Reina's irl boyfriend to play Lucas' boyfriend for the finale. Not because I can't separate fiction from reality or anything, but because when I thought Lucas would be getting a season, I wanted his boyfriend to be a poc, and I was highkey buttmad that they hired random white bread when they could just as easily have hired a poc.

22) I think it would be really cool if Inés got a clip on her POV, but I don't think we're going to get it. I think all bonus clips will be from the squad's POV, i.e. Eva, Cris, Nora and Viri. Not even Joana.

23) I want a Mallorca special or episode so bad, and I will be so FUCKING ANNOYED if we don't get it. Seriously, I can't imagine the team didn't feel betrayed when they watched Skam for writing purposes, and didn't get their russetide. So they should know how angry we would be if we didn't get even a little bit of Mallorca time.