#the capitalist hell we live in hurts everyone but the ones on top and fighting among each other benefits them

[thefirstknife]

First, I wanna say that I do NOT condone the extenely nasty and toxic behavior of various parts of the fandom, especially towards the devs. But I'm starting to wonder more and more if this is actually something the company brought on themselves? The game at this point relies on an increasingly expensive and predatory FOMO model and a lot of players seem to exhibit symptoms of genuine addiction to the game, or at least a very unhealthy relationship cultivated by that FOMO and "well I sunk all this money in I can't just stop now" mindsets. Which leads to players burning out and being irrational, which leads to some players being ruder or cruel and gives toxic players (who would be toxic anyway) a community that doesn't reject them out of hand because the community itself is so exhausted and frustrated and genuinely struggling to have a healthy connection to the game due to the entire model it operates under. It doesn't mean the devs or other players deserve the cruelty they've faced, but it feels like this behavior breeding among the fans is the natural consequence of the direction the game has gone. (I notice this in various mobile gacha type games that are heavily FOMO and predatory, too--the addition and sunk cost issues seem to make it truly difficult for people to be able to behave rationally)

In a way, I guess? It's not really the devs making these decisions though, it's the executives and marketing which pretty much has nothing to do with the game itself. It's still Bungie, but this stuff goes beyond just Bungie and just Destiny and just game development.

Basically, what people are mad about is capitalism. But since it's much harder to fight a whole system we live under and the system under which games are being made, people instead turn to individual companies and then also on devs, mostly because devs are the ones who are visible online. A marketing CEO from Bungie who signs off on these decisions isn't on Twitter.

I definitely wouldn't say that any company "brought individual employee harassment" on themselves. Like, no matter what state the game is in, you should never go for the random devs online and people should know that, no matter how mad they get. They're definitely not making these decisions and a lot of them are actively against them. For example, this is from a senior narrative designer at Bungie:

Note that the first thing he mentioned is "monetization and business interests overshadowing artistry." This isn't isolated, it's just one person who wanted to share, but it's a general sentiment among the actual devs. Nobody wants their work to be subjected to the aggressive monetisation schemes that ultimately piss off the consumers and ruin the product itself.

But as I said, the issue here goes above and beyond just one game or one dev studio. A lot of people keep talking about awful monetisation in Destiny, but I genuinely can't agree that Destiny, of all games, is the worst game monetisatio-wise. I'm actively involved in games that are worse and especially games that became worse, the best example of which is Overwatch. I don't think Destiny gamers could even comprehend how awful Overwatch became monetisation-wise. And that doesn't even begin to dive into other horrible practices in the gaming industry.

The point isn't to say that just because there's worse than Destiny, that Destiny is fine. It's definitely not and some things have certainly changed for the worse, though there were also horrible practices in Destiny before that were since removed. There used to be loot boxes. Like, actual gambling loot boxes. I would honestly just buy the ornaments directly rather than being tempted to buy 50 loot boxes and gamble. The only good part was that dismantling items from loot boxes could give you bright dust, but that makes sense for loot boxes that you had to buy with silver. So technically you bought that dust with silver. You could get them also for levelling so there's that, but that was really the only way to earn anything. Grind insane hours and hope for the best or take the easy way out: buying boxes for money. I cannot stress enough how much gambling is the worst predatory practice in existence in the gaming industry. Nothing else will ever be as detrimental and scummy as encouraging gambling. People don't really remember this or even know, but the switch to direct purchase is actually better.

However, of course, the increase in the amount of things that are silver-only is definitely felt. One of the worst parts is shaders for me. Shaders got no business being for silver and in bundles where you technically have to spend $10 for a shader. Event cards are also a sore spot; they're literally just Eververse bundles, but with extra steps that tie them to an event so you feel like you're earning stuff in gameplay. They come together with random currency (tickets) that stays unused unless you buy the card. It's 100% made to make people want to pay.

But sometimes the criticism on monetisation is also really superficial and from people who don't understand game development. One of the examples that people often use is dungeon key. Now, personally, I think that dungeon key should be separate for each dungeon instead of forcing you to buy 2 dungeons at once for $15. You should be able to buy just one. Like, come on. However, the idea that we have to pay for dungeons is not a predatory practice. It's content that has to be made and requires resources and dev hours (regardless of what people think of the dungeons). People will usually say "dungeons used to be available with seasons!" This is a lie.

Before WQ, we had 4 dungeons released since vanilla D2. Shattered Throne was the first and it was a part of the expansion. Pit of Heresy was second and it was a part of the expansion. Prophecy was a part of Season of Arrivals (!). And Grasp of Avarice was 30th Anniversary, a separate pack that had to be bought separately. Out of all dungeons available so far, only one was a part of the season and I genuinely don't even know how they managed that and I feel like some devs probably laboured over Prophecy essentially for free. So the idea that "dungeons were just for free in seasons" is just a lie. Only one was, an exception that possibly negatively impacted developers. If we want 2 dungeons per year, we will have to pay for them. And we do. It's either that, or maybe they can include one dungeon in the expansion and that's it. I wouldn't mind that, but the same people shitting on devs are also the people who shit on devs over "content droughts" and "not enough content" so I don't think that would satisfy them.

The point is that while some of the criticism is absolutely warranted, a lot of complete misunderstandings and lies often get mixed up with it and this all results in the situation we're in now where the only thing that the community is doing online is being negative and spiralling into dev harassment. And they end up feeling justified because the company is engaging in predatory practices. It's very easy to get into that mindset and to feel like you're not just allowed to harass, but encouraged.

The biggest issue with monetisation is always people who spend a lot of money aka whales. And by a lot, I mean a lot. Like there are people who buy every single thing in the store (and this is applied to all games). An average player buying a shader once in 3 months is not a problem. The whales are what shows up on marketing reports and what makes soulless capitalist ghouls add more of this shit to games. Which makes it even worse that the people who are perpetuating this hate train against monetisation riddled with incomplete misleading information and lies ARE WHALES. Aztecross who made the big video is a whale. Last time people checked his stream, he literally had 8000 silver in his account and people who watch his streams have said that he frequently has segments with his chat where they look at the store and he buys stuff, ON STREAM, while also asking his chat which items he should get. He's a hypocrite who is doing this to earn more money and is, to me, not any different from the soulless capitalist ghouls that work in gaming industry marketing departments.

The best thing he can do, if he cared about this topic, is to stop playing and stop making content about Destiny. Like, that's genuinely it. If he and other content creators like him are so serious about this topic and believe that the monetisation is such a serious problem in Destiny, they should stop spending money, stop playing, stop marketing the game and stop making content for it. There is no other way for Bungie to get the message, certainly not by going at random devs. And then after that, the next best step would be to involve yourself in political action to bring stricter laws to the whole gaming industry when it comes to predatory and anti-consumer practices.

In the meantime, serious talk: if any video game ever made you feel like you have to spend money, especially money you don't have, and you spent that money against your better judgement, please reach out to someone. It's not shameful and you're not alone. Games are a hobby and entertainment and should never put you in financial risk or ruin. If any video game is too much for you and you can no longer pay for it, but you feel like you have to keep playing and it's risking you financially, again, please reach out to someone. There are people who can help you deal with these feelings, especially if you know you can become addictive. The gaming industry as a whole preys on people's need for entertainment and dopamine rush and if you can't resist it on your own (which is, again, not a shameful thing), there's options to get help. This is mostly about the extra stuff like microtransactions, but it also works for just base game stuff. A year of Destiny content is cheaper than a year of some other games, but it doesn't mean that it's something everyone can afford. You can absolutely skip seasons or even expansions. You can also wait for them to be on sale and I always recommend looking out for sales anyway. There's genuinely very little value in being constantly pushed by FOMO and there IS a way to get out of the FOMO mentality. You can work on that, especially with people who can offer professional help if you need it.

Never let the capitalist scum control you.

[madswritingvoid]

Say You’re Sorry

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Words: 3k (oops haha)

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ only. Oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, fingering, swearing, slight choking, first time writing smut should probably be a warning itself, sexism, Max Phillips is a warning probably.

You knew it was a bad idea. Well, actually, no you didn’t. Not fully. The voice in your head was just screaming at you to stop - there were other ways to get his attention. Other ways to make Max feel bad for what he did during the Synersavers presentation that didn’t require you stooping this low. Fuck it, you figured, if he can go around and do whatever he wants to get his way then so can I.

Fixing your hair and outfit in the mirror one last time, you went back into the office looking for the desk you usually avoid like the plague. Max Phillips, fuck you.

Earlier That Day

“So you see, Mr. Jacobson, our third quarter projections have us coming in on top by two million dollars and the fourth quarter is looking even better. I mean really champ, if these numbers were anymore amazing they’d be as hot as your associate there in that fetching skirt,” Max winks at the woman taking meeting minutes for your potential new client, causing her skin to blotch, “fucking unreal. Pardon my French,” he finishes, earning a big laugh from the CEO of Synersavers, the new bullshit placebo pill that was supposed to alter the brain’s natural neural pathways to promote synergy. You weren’t sure what dreams synergy was helping pathetic humans to achieve, but it meant a bonus if they signed on so you made sure that PowerPoint presentation was the best slides of your career.

You scoff, worried that if you roll your eyes they’ll get stuck. You know Max Phillips was quite the charmer, you knew better than anyone in the office. This past year saw him go from being just your hot vampire boss you had a crush on, to your hot vampire boss that was now your boyfriend. 

While you never made an official statement to your coworkers, you quietly signed the papers Amanda in HR needed signed and let the sound of you screaming Max’s name in his office while he was balls deep inside you let the rest of your coworkers know of your relationship. Overall, Max was a great boyfriend. Better than expected even - attentive, caring, protective to a fault, all while still being that loveable (?) piece of shit frat boy extraordinaire he had been at the beginning. 

You knew he still had to lay on the charm to close sales from time to time, never actually violating your relationship in any way, but after the fight you had this morning you didn’t think flirting with the only person in the meeting who did not actually control whether or not this partnership was going to happen right in front of you was the best move.

“Mr. Phillips,” Jacobson says, once again only acknowledging Max and completely ignoring you as he had been for the entire presentation, “you got quite the silver tongue. But I like that about ya, I think you get what our product is all about and I wanna make this partnership work. I’m surprised your presentation is as good as it was, because if you’ll pardon my French, if my secretary looked as delicious as yours does I’d be too busy fucking her left, right, and centre to even think about the fourth quarter anything!” He laughs and claps Max on the shoulder and you tense up, sure that Max is going to say something. Not even because he’s your boyfriend, but because he landed the sale and doesn’t have to be as sleazy as this dickhead is. 

“See that’s where you’re wrong Jacobson, it’s almost like I’m working double to avoid her. Just doesn’t get the mojo flowing, y’know? Maybe we should switch, what do you think sweetheart?” He looks over at the still flustered secretary, “Come on and work for me and we’ll work on some new ways of making synergy happen,” he wags his eyebrows and you’re surprised this poor woman hasn’t slid right off her seat. You’re stunned. Even as Mr. Jacobson laughs and brings a laughing Max into some sort of capitalist bro hug, you can’t bring yourself to move. It isn’t until you hear the squeak of the wheels from the chair Mr. Jacobson’s secretary was sitting against the shitty meeting room carpet that you snap back to the present and shut everything down. By the time you finish everyone is long gone, leaving you to stew in your rage.

A hesitant knock on the meeting room door makes you jump as you’re met with a sheepish looking Evan in the doorway. You were never a big fan of Evan when you started, kind of thought he was a wimp but he was nice enough. After getting with Max and learning their shared history, you couldn’t stand Evan, but were able to be far more professional when needed until Max.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still in here after Max and the Synersavers people left,” he shrugged. “What the fuck do you mean Max left with them?” You asked through clenched teeth. Scratching the back of his neck nervously, Evan took a deep breath before telling you, “yeah, um. They left for a late liquid lunch from what it sounded like, Max said you would be too busy learning how to make a paper clip bracelet to join them… Sorry, he’s such an asshole. You don’t deserve that, especially not from that bastard,” He couldn’t meet your eyes. Even though he still tried to tell you to leave Max every single day, you appreciate him being there this time.

There were many things you could be mean to Evan for, but deep down you knew he didn’t deserve the wrath of your anger this time. 

Later That Afternoon

After taking the elevator up to the office to mentally cleanse his mind from that mindless lunch with that absolute creep Jacobson, Max was trying to come up with the best apology for you. He knew he didn’t have to be so forward flirting with that secretary, what the fuck was her name anyways, in order to win the sexist CEO over. But he was feeling petty after your fight while you were getting ready for work he figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind you that many other women find him quite the catch.

“You’re lying! You have to be lying!! There’s no way that happened oh my god,” Max stops dead in his tracks as he hears your giggles from inside the office. “It is! I totally saw Tim practising the dance moves the day after that Kelly Clarkson concert in the men’s washroom. I didn’t even know she had dancers, but from what I saw it really must have been a hell of a show,” Evan says as you throw your head back and let out another over-the-top cackle. You’re sitting on top of Evan’s desk, resting your hand on his shoulder as he sits in between your open legs, clearly enjoying the attention. 

You’re hamming it up, he knows that, he knows that’s not what your real laugh sounds like - the laugh he gets to hear when he really does something that you like. He knows you don’t mean it but he’s immediately flooded with anger and guilt. He obviously didn’t realize how much the day had taken a toll on you and now you must be really mad if you’re going to Evan to get back at him.

“Oh my god Evan that’s too funny,” you giggle and place a hand on his shoulder, “you just made my day! I won’t tell Tim anything, it’ll be our little secret,” you wink. Evan’s blush deepens at the touch, maybe you weren’t so bad after all and if Max (and Amanda at this point) didn’t look out he would maybe ask you out for a drink sometime soon. Bring you back to the land of the living.

Deciding he’s absolutely had enough, Max quietly comes up behind Evan and slaps both hands on his shoulders after seeing you move yours back to your lap, causing him to freeze and let out a little squeak. “Slugger, I’m sure whatever’s going on here is just too funny, but didn’t I ask you to finish up that presentation for tomorrow’s meeting with NuevaWeight?” he pouts, “I really thought you were taking this job seriously buddy, but maybe I should just get Andrew to take over…”

“N-no Max, sorry. Yeah the presentation is almost done, it’ll be ready before the end of the day,” Evan stammers. Max finally meets your eyes and smirks, “and you can meet me in my office. Apparently you think you can stop doing your job and distracting my employees.”

You can’t even speak, your jaw set and eyes burning from the absolute rage you feel right now. Yeah you’ll meet him in his office, but it won’t be so he can lecture you about whatever bullshit he’s already thought of. “Of course Mr. Phillips, meet you there,” you manage to snap back, calmly making your way to his office. Anyone walking by you immediately gets out of your way, your anger coming off in waves making your undead coworkers shiver.

Clapping Evan on the shoulder one more time, Max saunters over to his office, ready to make you beg for his forgiveness after that little stunt. As soon as he opens his office door he realizes that won’t be happening.

You’re sitting in his chair, legs propped up on his desk in a way that makes your skirt ride up and expose more thigh than what HR might deem office appropriate. “Ah, Mr. Phillips, so nice of you to make it,” you smirk. “Sweets, I think there must be some sort of misunderstandi-'' you cut him off with a dark look and stand up. Walking up to him you close his office door and push him against it, “No champ,” you sneer, “I think you’re confused here. I’m not the one who decided to be a very, very bad boy by flirting with someone else and insulting me in front of new clients.” Chest to chest, your hand slithers up to grab Max’s throat. Even though he is a vampire who could toss you around like a ragdoll, you know he’s letting you be in control. He likes it.

“While you were out entertaining I’ve been thinking about what I could do to make you really sorry, baby. You were already on thin ice from this morning, but now you’re drowning,” you squeeze a little harder on his throat making his eyes roll back. “What are you gonna do? I’m so sorry,” he whispers. You take a moment, just looking into those eyes you love so much, before answering.

“Maybe I’ll sit on your cock. Let you fill my pussy up but not let you cum, because only good boys get to come, you know that Maxie. Maybe I’ll just use you like my own walking, talking dildo. If I’m so replaceable you won’t mind not getting to fill me up? Right?” You smirk again as he whines, his hands clenching because all he wants to do is make you feel good now. 

“You wanna run that mouth, Phillips? You wanna make everything think you’re so fucking special when I know you’re really just a scared little vamp, huh?” You say with a pout. Grabbing his hair, you force his head up so you can look right into his eyes that are now almost completely black from lust. “Come on big shot, if you wanna be a big boy then you gotta show me that mouth can do something other than just spew bullshit, slugger.” 

That’s all the permission he needs. He hoists you up in his arms and thanks to vampire speed you’re now sat on his leather couch, skirt up around your waist, underwear ripped clean off, fully exposed to his hungry eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he pouts, “let me make you feel good. I just want you-” You’ve heard enough, pushing him down so his mouth finally reaches your core. Moaning at finally tasting you, Max wastes no time taking your clit and sucking hard, already teasing your entrance with one of his long fingers. 

“Y-Yes Max, fuck! Be a good boy and make me cum just like this,” you moan and clench around the finger inside of you, knowing you’re absolutely dripping onto the couch underneath you. He adds a second, then a third, making you arch your back until you’re almost sitting up from how good he’s fucking you with his hands. His mouth doesn’t stop, sucking and licking, spelling out his apologies against your body. Knowing you’re close, he starts focusing on that spot inside of you that drives you wild. 

“Oh! Oh, Maxie yes. Such a g-good boy,” you pant, meeting his hand thrust for thrust trying to reach your high, “make me feel so good please please please baby I’m right there, I-” you can’t finish that sentence as your vision goes white and all you can do is let out a strangled moan that sounds like his name.

Once your legs start shaking you pull both of you up, undoing his belt and pushing him onto the couch so you can straddle his waist. You wrap a hand around his neck and start nipping at the area, rocking your soaked pussy along his aching cock that was now free from the confines of his dress pants a few times before sinking down on him. A wicked grin stretches across your face as his moans get louder. He chokes when he feels you gush around him, not expecting you to come again so soon but you were still sensitive from his mouth, the hair above his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, but you wanted more still. 

Picking up the pace, you squeeze around his throat again and start taunting him, “You gonna replace me baby? Yeah? You gonna find a pussy that takes you this good? Be my guest. Go right now and find something better, or show me how goddamn sorry you are.”

Granting him permission to take over, Max flips you on your back, making sure your head is supported by one of the couch cushions. He immediately wraps your legs around his waist, angling one leg to let him sink even deep inside of you, your moans mixing together as you both revel in the feeling of him finally being inside of you. Wanting to prove himself he wastes no time pulling out just to start slamming back into you. 

You moan and clench around him, making him hiss and he doesn’t let up. Watching him disappear inside of you over and over again, he starts babbling his apologies. “N-Never baby. Could never replace you. Never gonna find a pu-pussy this fucking good. Look at you, so perfect, so so perfect taking my cock like that. I’m sorry. You’re so good. I don’t deserve it, it’s- fuck it’s so fucking good. Best pussy of all time,” he moans as you clamp down on him, your third orgasm ripping through you. 

“Yes - yes Max, that’s fucking r-right. I’m the best pussy you’ll ever have,” you moan again from being so full. You know he’s sorry so you decide to let him finish after all. Taking your hands off his shoulders, you start tangling your fingers in his hair and bring his face close to your so your lips are almost touching, “you did so good Maxie,” you coo, “you cock made me feel so fucking good I know you’re sorry now.” He shudders at your words but keeps his steady pace, trying to make you cum again, still holding back his own impending orgasm. “Thank you baby, ‘m so so sorry, I love you and I just wanna be good for you-” “shhh shhh Maxie, I know I know. You did good baby, now show me how good you are and cum inside of me.” 

That’s all he needs. 

Something between a groan and growl comes deep from within Max as he finally lets go, pushing himself as far as he can inside of you as he starts painting your walls. Coming down from his high, he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck as you start peppering him with kisses wherever you can reach, carding your fingers through his hair.

“I’m really sorry baby,” you hear him mumble into your neck, “I love you.” He kisses along your throat and you hum, moving your head to give him more access. “I know Max, I love you too. I forgive you. But try that again and I’ll cut your dick off in front of the whole office,” you laugh.

He chuckles too, continuing to shower you with love. “As much as I want to stay right here forever baby, let’s go home and I can keep showing you how sorry I am,” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows to earn a giggle from you, “sounds good Maxie, you’re lucky I’m just sooooo forgiving.”

Untangling from each other and making yourselves as presentable as you care to be, you leave the office hand-in-hand, ready to see what the rest of the night has in store.

[eganantiquus]

Capitalism: Its Effects on Heaven, Hell, and a Few Others // A Good Omens Meta

I think the discussion about capitalism in Good Omens is a very interesting one to have- specifically in how it relates to Heaven and Hell. I saw a post about it recently, about the Quartermaster saying Heaven would “take the sword out of [Aziraphale’s] celestial wages,” which begs the question: does Heaven have money? A system of checks and balances on the Angels’ miracles, perhaps? Heaven is, after all, the original monopoly. But how does that affect them? Or affect Hell, for that matter? (Keep in mind, I will primarily be discussing events and dialogue from the TV show, as that’s the canon I’m most familiar and comfortable with extrapolating on.) So let’s move out a bit to take stock of the bigger picture. First of all in this discussion, let’s remember that the entire structure of Heaven and Hell blatantly showcases the shittiest parts of capitalism. As a reminder, the cons of capitalism can include: a monopoly on trade, goods, or services; social/emotional necessities ignored in the pursuit of profit; lack of concern for the environment; driving need for exponentially increased profit, allowing no space for slip-ups or less-profitable cycles; Inherited wealth, and big gaps in economic equality, which creates social divisions, which cause people to resent their fellow citizens. Let’s first take a look at something we’re all familiar with. Heaven’s and Hell’s relationship with Crowley and Aziraphale. Both Heaven and Hell have an inherent monopoly on basically everything, which is something we see both Crowley and Aziraphale struggling with in different ways throughout history. They want to exist outside of the hierarchy, but there literally isn’t any outside. In terms of social/emotional needs… do I need to go into the trauma and anxiety that Heaven and Hell instill in Crowley and Aziraphale? A post for another time. And it’s apparent, however much they try to hide it, that both of them fear authority, and would do practically anything to get away from it. So, they wiggle out from under it in whatever ways they can. (See: the “arrangement,” Crowley’s “there’s more to evil than killing people, eh?” and Aziraphale’s “Well, if you put it that way, Heaven couldn’t actually object… ”) Lack of concern for the environment can be extrapolated to Heaven and Hell’s lack of care for humanity. (See also, uh, nuclear Armageddon.) Inherited wealth/prestige is definitely a thing: see the Archangels lording their power over the lower Principalities. There’s a bit more room for mobility in Hell, where doing more evil deeds = more prestige & (...dis)honor? Anyway, this is where Hell begins to deviate. Exponential need for profit in Heaven and Hell translates to their increasing intolerance of Aziraphale’s *ahem* lies. Hell is more lenient in this area too- perhaps because of their disorganization. So Heaven and Hell are capitalistic. But in what capacity, and what is the effect on their respective denizens? In practice, who’s the winner in this capitalistic structure? Hell isn’t, no matter how inherently hellish capitalism might be. They’re clearly the losers in this situation- they’ve got terrible service, (see: Hastur having to “[wait] for maintenance to come and fix another bloody pipe,”* and the Demon Eric’s “we don’t get this view down in the basement.”) lack the organization to rise up against Heaven, (see: the frankly concerning lack of organized preparation for The Great War) and are constantly put down. They all have to fight for their positions, and are intimately familiar with what the failure to succeed in this “business” means. Not to mention that their entire hierarchy is performance driven, showing the capitalistic values they, for lack of a better term, grew up in, are still ingrained in all their practices. Heaven is at the top of an office building, has views of the entire world, is clean and obviously well organized. It’s clear what the hierarchy is there- everyone walks in lines, Gabriel always stands slightly in front of Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon, all of the higher Angels we see interact with Aziraphale treat him like he’s less than them. Heaven clearly benefits from the organization and driving force that capitalism provides, while Hell is just getting by.

To dive further into what the effects of capitalism are on Heaven and Hell, let’s go into depth more about Heaven and Hell’s respective war preparation to analyze their motivations.

Hell’s war preparations are disorganized, at best. All the Demons of Hell, gathered around two ‘generals,’ getting ready to hear a pep talk best described as being far from premeditated or sophisticated. On top of this, the second something goes wrong, Beelzebub says it. Just like that, to all the Demons. It makes me cringe every time I watch it, to see the rest of the Demons turn to each other and wonder if they’re following the right leader. The thing about this, though, is that they don’t have another option for a leader. This is the place for the people who couldn’t make it in Heaven, the outcasts and Fallen, so they don’t care. There’s nowhere else for anyone to go. Hell is far more transparent about their hate, their evil, but also about their vulnerability. Perhaps not individual vulnerability, (see: Crowley needing to be Cool and Collected at every moment) but in their overall anxieties and problems, Hell is very transparent. There is no need to hide the problems Hell has, because there’s no worse place to go. In this way, Hell has accepted their fate at the bottom of the totem pole.

Now let’s talk about Heaven’s war preparations. When Aziraphale arrives prematurely in Heaven, his “whole platoon” is “waiting” for him. So, Heaven has an organized war effort. They have uniforms. They have someone checking everyone in, putting them into place. (Where do they all line up to go to war? Where does the war Occur?? Questions for another time.) However, here is the interesting part: Heaven’s whole spiel to get everyone motivated, unlike Hell, is based on fear. While Hell brings up the actual motive for fighting, saying “we lost” and “we have had thousands of years to… get smarter,” Heaven tells Aziraphale that he’s a “coward” if he doesn’t fight, while not providing any reason besides ‘he’s supposed to.’

Here lies the beginning of the difference between Heaven and Hell: their motivators. Now let’s talk about how they carry out justice, and how that is an indicator of the effects of capitalism on them both.

Hell’s trial for Crowley is a mockery of the word, let’s be perfectly clear. They don’t provide him with a defense, and have an implicitly biased jury. However, it is a trial. A trial with evidence presented against him, a prosecutor, and a judge, and everything. What’s so interesting to me, about this, is that they don’t think for a minute that there wouldn’t be a trial. If they had thought such a thing was possible, they would have taken the opportunity. But they didn’t think of it. And that is what is so important here. Hell is the one that carries out a just trial. And I think that really speaks to their experiences as the Fallen. They know what no mercy looks like, what it is to be cut off from God’s love, with no hope for recompense. And, however evil they are, they know how much that hurts. Hell is just because they were given no justice. 

Heaven, on the other hand? There’s no preamble to Aziraphale’s “trial.” There isn’t even a trial. There’s just the characteristic fake-niceties boiled down to their basest component: a complete lack of empathy for anyone who deviates from the norm. (See Gabriel’s “into the flames,” and “don’t talk to me about the ‘greater good,’ sunshine.”). And, oh yeah by the way, what kind of good and just society uses capital punishment? Isn’t that the exact sort of thing Heaven should be above? I should sure hope so! Their believed moral code, the idea that because they’re Angels, divinely Chosen by God, that whatever they do is predestined to be right, has all the flavor of a strong dictatorship. So convinced are they of their superiority that even outright capital punishment is not below them. This is an interesting contrast to their motivation of fear that we looked at in the previous section. Perhaps higher Angels use fear to keep Angels in line, but feel exempt from the process itself. Very similar to the way big CEO's in the human business world accumulate wealth and power while their workers work paycheck to paycheck.

So Heaven is fundamentally bad, and Hell is fundamentally… good?

Not quite. 

Both Heaven and Hell are operating under the millennia of repressed trauma and baggage that came with the first war. For example, let’s look at their refusal to see nuance in the issue of war Take a look at Gabriel’s “We can fight! And we can win!” to Aziraphale and Beezlebub’s “Don’t you want to rule the world?” to Adam. They can’t comprehend that someone would want to, or, for that matter, could look at the structure of The Way Things Are and go, ‘No, this is not for me, I think I’ll just do this quietly over her instead.’ Heaven and Hell have each been indoctrinated in their own ways, by God and by Heaven and by their own inability to look past their instructions.

So, Heaven and Hell operate under the guidelines of a capitalistic system because of their respective experiences with authority and punishment.  

What does this say about Crowley and Aziraphale? That they’ve managed to dodge this system (mostly) altogether, and made one of their own… based purely on joy, mutual respect, and They still have their issues, (See: Being unable to communicate effectively. When? Oh, just for all of history) but for the most part, they’re living their own lives. It takes an especially strong will to stand up to a faulty administration, even if the standing up part consists of drinking a lot of wine, sliding around killing people, and consorting with an enemy who’s actually quite nice. It takes what a lot of Angels and Demons, simply put, don’t have. Like Hastur, who doesn’t have an “imagination.” Crowley invented one for himself. Crowley and Aziraphale practically invented free will for themselves, too. Part of their ability to so wholly reject their ‘upbringing,’ if you will, must be connected to the fact that they spend so much time around humans. If we go with TV show canon, they’re practically the only ethereal/occult entities that are on Earth for any long period of time. Of course they’re going to catch on from the humans. So Crowley and Aziraphale are the only celestial beings who have been able to get free of this terrible system, and so are able to better ‘guide’ the humans, which inevitably leads them to attempting to stop armageddon. (And of course, the apocalypse, according to Aziraphale, is something no “reasonable person would permit!”)

This brings us to the humans. Specifically, how Heaven is supposed to guide them. Heaven doesn’t, insofar as we are aware, care about the humans. Perhaps other Angels do, ones who have walked among them. But for the most part, especially with Gabriel, Michael, Sandalphon- the people in charge- the humans are an afterthought. They’re one knight on the chessboard, easily moved, taken, and discarded- perhaps with a bit of regret, but dispensable all the same. In this way, the exponential growth mindset that Heaven has goes to show just how far they’ve deviated from God’s design. Now, far be it from me to speculate on the nature of the Ineffable Plan, but as far as I’m aware, the Angels were created to love humanity, and to nurture them. Doesn’t sound like what they’re doing at all, does it?

So in this way, we can see that both Heaven and Hell have gotten the short end of the metaphorical capitalism stick. Hell, at the bottom of the ranks, desperate to climb back up and regain their glory, but unable to do so because of the weight of their Falling trauma; Heaven, in all its Jeff Bezos glory, unable to see the consequences of their actions close up because of their disassociation with “reality.” 

Capitalism and economics in general are incredibly nuanced things, and I do not at all pretend to fully understand them. However, I fully enjoy imagining how the complex dynamics of Good Omens universe Heaven and Hell deal with the repercussions of existence and their own actions through the lens of capitalism.

*side note from paragraph seven: I think maintenance work would be a more fitting job for Crowley and Aziraphale, and frankly, I would love to read a fic about that.

[kruegersgirl]

Reborn (Flash Fiction May 2017)

“You lost man?” Victor looked up to see who had spoken, and nearly fell back. Standing in front of him was six feet of lanky punk. He had to crane his neck to see her face. She towered over him, her hair spiked a mile high into a neon pink mohawk.

      “Dude? Are. You. Lost?” The girl repeated, clipping each word. “You realize you’re in line for the No Life concert, right?”

        “Yes.” Victor could barely get it out, choking on his nerves.

        The girl was smiling now, less intimidating than just a moment ago. Victor was still too scared to look her in the eye. He tried staring at her boots, but then he imagined what all those spikes could do, and decided to look at his own beat up Chuck’s instead.

        The girl looked him up and down, sizing him up. He was obviously out of place in a plain t-shirt and khaki shorts.

        “What on Earth are you doing here dude? You look like you’d be more at home at Comic Con, church camp, something. Anything but here really.”

        “Probably.” Victor continued looking at his shoes while he explained himself to the girl, trying not to think about all the Marvel posters he had hanging up in his room. He told the girl, whose name he learned was Laura, he had been trying to find a story for the school newspaper when he found an ad for the show and thought he would check it out.

        “So…You just decided to come out to a punk show all by yourself?”

        “I don’t really have any friends I could have asked. I had to sneak out just so my mom wouldn’t offer to come.” Laura laughed at that, remembering her first concert. She hadn’t been alone, but she had snuck out so her mom couldn’t ask questions.

        “That takes balls kid,” Laura said as she playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You’ve got me now though.”

        “What? Really?” This threw a wrench in Victor’s plans to just stand on the sidelines and watch. He had always been more of an observer than a willing participant.

        “Your first show can be a tough one, you’ll need some help.” Laura smiled at him, as intimidating as she was at first glance, her smile was strangely calming to Victor. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to survive this alone, also allowed his heart to slow down to something closer to a regular rate. “You’re lucky this place is even still open,” Victor gave the girl a quizzical look, “the punk scene is dying dude. Fewer and fewer bands play. Fewer people come out. It’s fucking capitalism man, kills everything good.”

        They waited outside the building mostly in silence. From the outside, it could have been any warehouse plopped on the outskirts of downtown. The marquee and old show flyers pasted all over the front were the only things that really made it stand out.

        Laura turned to Victor once the line started to move.  “You don’t have any knives or anything on you, do you? When we get to the front they’re gonna check us both.” She had spewed it all out so fast that Victor could barely keep up, but he understood the gist and nodded that he didn’t have anything on him. “Security didn’t used to be this tight. It used to be you could just walk straight in, enjoy the show. Then one day a metal-head decided to pick a fight with a crusty and got stabbed. Now everyone gets checked. Thoroughly.”

        Victor tried not to let his shock and confusion show. He had a vague idea of what a metal-head was. They had their own table in the cafeteria at school, and they pretty much kept to themselves. What the hell is a crusty though? He decided he could ask Laura about it later.

They made their way through security with no problems and proceeded to a sketchy looking man with a full beard, and beer belly. He scanned Laura’s ticket and then motioned for her to go through the double doors that led into the venue.

        Victor fumbled in his pockets, having somehow managed to lose his ticket in his mad dash to get everything back in his pockets. Finally, he found it in his back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to the man. He too was motioned through the double doors.

        As he entered the building a thudding bassline hit Victor square in the chest. He thought for a moment that maybe the band had already started playing. When he caught up with Laura, and they rounded the corner though, there was no one on the stage. There were a couple guitars, mic stands, and a drum kit surrounded by more amps and monitors than Victor could count. Laura pulled him over to a spot about 10 feet back from the left side of the stage. She kept quiet while Victor took a moment to take it all in.

        He looked all around him, failing to combat the complete sensory overload that was overtaking him. Another song came over the PA system, less intense than the first, but still just as loud. He thought he vaguely recognized the singer’s voice.

        The room itself was fairly plain. The walls black, though you could barely see them for all the flyers and graffiti. The tile floors were covered in various stains, and were chipped away in places exposing the concrete beneath.

        Victor looked up and noticed the balcony spanning the back of the venue. A few people were filling in the barstools that were set out, but in the dead center there was a solitary older man, dressed much like Laura. She noticed Victor staring, and decided to give him a bit of insight.

        “That’s Johnny Spleen,” she had to yell over the speakers. “He’s the guy that owns this place. He made some money in his band, Tiger Spleen, and came back here to jumpstart the city’s music scene.” Laura waved up at the man and he nodded back. She turned her attention back to Victor, “he’s a cool dude. He comes to every show the venue puts on. He’s the one that makes sure everything goes smoothly.” Victor just nodded, still too overwhelmed to say anything. The two stood in silence as the venue filled up. Laura talked to a few people as they passed by, but spared Victor any awkward introductions.

        Finally, the lights cut out and the crowd erupts into a jumping, shouting mass. Four shadows come out onto the stage and get their instruments ready. Spotlights erupt on the figures. They nod to each other and the drummer counts them in. They launch into the first song without a word, the stage exploding with light as they do.

        Victor’s breath catches in his chest with every beat of the kick drum. Personal space doesn’t exist as the people around him dance and jump in response to the band on stage. He isn’t sure what to do. Too awkward and unsure of himself, Victor slightly nods his head to the beat and watches. Laura is still beside him, jumping in place, screaming at the top of her lungs, fists in the air, totally uninhibited.

        Around him, Victor could see puffs of smoke rising toward the metal ceiling. The whole room was beginning to develop a strange, unpleasant odor that Victor guessed was a mixture of pot and sweat.

        To their right, a ring of people surround a mostly empty patch of dance floor. The few people still inside the circle are running into each other, pushing each other. Fists are flying in every direction, but even though they’re beating each other up they seem to be having the time of their lives. The people on the perimeter of this spectacle push back every time someone gets too close to the edge, keeping the madness at least somewhat contained.

        “It’s called a mosh pit. Lots of fun, little painful though.” Laura leaned in to yell into Victor’s ear. Mosh pit wasn’t a completely foreign term to him, but he had never seen one up close.

        Before he knew what was happening Laura grabbed him by the arm and was pulling him into the circle. “What the f--,” his words were cut off as a two-hundred-pound brute rammed into him, knocking him to the floor. Victor tasted blood. The guy stopped long enough to pick him up like a rag doll before continuing his journey of insanity around the pit.

        Victor looked around and saw Laura across the pit from him, just as care-free as ever as she slammed her body into a wall of people. Victor worked up his nerves and jumped in head first. If he felt awkward standing on the sidelines, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. His movements felt robotic and he had to fight the urge to apologize to everyone he ran into.

        The longer he was in the mosh pit, the freer he felt. All his loneliness, all his insecurities seemed to melt away with every bit of contact. He was hot, and sweating, and the whole pit smelled like a locker room. He actually began to enjoy himself. By the end of the song he was laughing as he bounced off the other people.

        The music stopped, and everyone took a breather while the band’s front man went on about the state of the government and the capitalist pigs that really ran the country. Victor bent over, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. He was already sore, and trying to think up a story to explain the bruises to his mom when Laura walked over to him. “Come on kid, let me buy you a drink.”

        “I’m only 18, I can’t drink.”

“You can when you’ve got a twenty-one-year-old buying for you. Just stay a little ways back from the bar so it doesn’t look too suspicious.” Victor followed her to a pillar supporting the balcony where she told him to wait. Victor came back to his senses as she walked back over to him, beers in hand.

        “Why did you pull me in?” By now the music had started back and he had to yell to be heard.

        “Well you sure as hell weren’t going to jump in yourself, someone had to give you some…encouragement.”

        “I could have died!” Victor knew that he was being dramatic, but he wanted to make her feel at least a little bit bad about what she had done.

        “You weren’t in any real danger. It wouldn’t have been a real punk show for you if you hadn’t gotten in a mosh pit. It’s one of the most fundamentally punk things at a concert for fuck’s sake.”

        Victor, for the first time in a long time, felt at peace. No one in the building had been out to hurt him, or ridicule him, everyone was there to enjoy the music and just let go.

        “So are you gonna come back?”

        “Only if I get to throw you in the mosh pit next time,” the smiled at each other and he knew that he had found his place. “Also, what the hell is a crusty?”