#ending slavery

[musewrangler]

“I trust you are getting whatever you need?” I asked. I felt suddenly insecure. These men had been subject to horrors I could not imagine and here was the privileged aristocrat in their midst with no precise idea of what they could really use. What might be helpful to them after the darkness they had survived.

The one with the eyepatch grunted a bit and folded his arms across a broad chest. “Depending on what you mean by ‘need’,” he growled, “I would say I need to get lost years of my life back. But yes, Your Highness, we have what we require at the moment.”

“No need to be rude to a lady, Wolffe,” said the first man chidingly.”She didn’t do this to us.”

“I hope it has been explained,” I said, keeping my gaze unflinchingly on Wolffe, “that you are slaves no longer. That we intend to aid you to reach wherever you wish once we return to Naboo.”

“It was,” said the last man curtly. His hair was curlier than the other two and he was perhaps an inch shorter. A little grey flecked his temples, though he did not appear older than the others to my eye.

“Good,” I answered a little awkwardly. “I ah…I wondered what you might be able to tell me about how you came to be in the hands of slavers. You are Mandalorian, correct?”

[rabbitcruiser]

On May 20, 1865 General McCook read Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation during a ceremony in Tallahassee, officially ending slavery in Florida. That same day, his jubilant troopers raised the U.S. flag over the state capitol building. Tallahassee was the penultimate Confederate state capital to rejoin the USA.

[respecthumanity]

Abraham Lincoln: A Leader of Integrity and Courage

"Explore the life and legacy of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States and a leader of integrity and courage. Learn about his commitment to preserving the union and ending slavery."

Abraham Lincoln is widely considered one of the greatest Presidents of the United States, and for good reason. He led the country through one of its most difficult periods, the American Civil War, and his leadership and commitment to preserving the union made a lasting impact on the nation. Lincoln was born on February 12, 1809, in a one-room log cabin in Kentucky. Despite his humble beginnings,…

[serpenlupus]

About Wyll and his horns (and what they mean)

Let's say I was writing a part of my Tav's story with Wyll directly connected to the dialogue he has during the tiefling party, and while struggling with this bit, I've realized there's quite a few misconceptions floating around. I felt compelled to add information to the table that might clear them, so here we go.

First, what exactly happens to Wyll when he disobeys Mizora in act one? Well, he doesn't get turned into a devil, he certainly doesn't get turned into a tiefling, he's not a half fiend, not a demon, none of that. Wyll stays human, but he has horns and red eyes (and other features we can't see on his model as of now).

(Everyone has their race listed, Wyll's remains "Human")

This is because when a warlock fails to uphold some part of their contract they can suffer a certain number of consequences, Wylls is “The character grows horns, a tail, or some other devilish features that can't be removed by any means short of divine intervention. As long as these marks persist the character detects as a fiend when subjected to Detect Evil and Good spells or similar magic.” ( from Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus, page 214)

And I’ve come across some people that think it wasn’t so bad of a punishment, that he was being racist towards the tieflings, or just not being justified in being upset after having his body forcibly changed against his will. I think they are missunderstanding just how insidious Mizora’s actions were, and here I just want to give some context to maybe bring a better understanding to the situation. Your conclusions are up to you.

Gonna start by using a not exact analogy, but I think it’s going to make the explanation easier. Stick with me for a minute.

Remember Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean? He had a branded “P” on his arm that marked him as a pirate. A murderer, robber, criminal, etc. in the eyes of the society he was a part of. What did Jack do to earn the branding? (if you don’t know this I suggest you look up the “people aren’t cargo mate” scene) He refused to transport slaves and later freed them, and Beckett had him marked as punishment.

Then, in the first movie, he saves Elizabeth, a woman he didn’t know, from drowning. Right after however, when Norrington sees he has a branded “P”, he’s like “alright, off to jail with you, and then hanging”, no other option crosses his mind. Again, Jack doesn’t know Elizabeth, isn’t indicated to think he is going to be rewarded for helping her, he just sees a drowning person, sees that no one else is going to help, and chooses to save them. That is a pretty selfless/good aligned thing to do, for no other reason that he was the one able to do it, yet the branding in his arm overrides any good action he could ever do, marking him as a criminal for execution and no further thought.

In a way, that’s what Mizora did to Wyll; she forever visibly branded him as someone that has made deals with devils, and that in the world of DnD is a VERY BAD THING. Personally I really like the mod that gives him more devilish features, but at the same time I think there was something clever about choosing to leave him looking more human. He can’t be confused with a tiefling, he doesn’t have the ears, the claws, the tail, all those features that characterize them. He looks kind of uncanny, and that would be like a red flag for anyone in that world. (Beyond the already existing hate for tieflings that I’m not gonna tackle on here because it’s a complicated thing that deserves its own post). And Wyll wants to do good, he wants to help people, to be a positive force in the world so, so badly. This dude got abducted by a nautiloid, got tadpole’d, and the first thing he did right after that was come across the Tiefling refugees and be like “Oh you need help? No worries let me teach you self defense. Oh you being attacked by goblins? Let me blast them real quick”. His way of saying fuck you to all the awful things that have happened to him is being aggressively good and kind. Mizora knows this very well, wants to see him suffer for her amusement, wants to remind him he can't escape her claws, so her choice of punishment was to forever taint his future interactions with mistrust and suspicion. Some people can go real fast from “oh thank God they saved me” to “oh no, are they gonna rob me, are they trying to trick me, are they in cahoots with the ones that attacked me first?” just because of outward appearances. Especially in DnD world. And that deserves its own conversation, but we're focusing on Wyll here.

(Mizora, when I catch you Mizora)

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have made a deal in the first plac- - “ He was seventeen, alone, preyed upon by Mizora and put in an impossible situation. Please PAY ATTENTION to the story you’re witnesing.

Anyway.

About the tieflings. I know it’s easy to think his words can be derisive towards them, but it’s less about the horns and more about his body being changed against his will. Imagine instead that he got half his face burned, or something that disfigured him. I think his feelings at the moment were closer to that, and yeah they are pretty insensitive words to say to someone with a similar condition (horns or disfiguration), but when feelings are fresh and raw like that it’s easy to say insensitive things. Not saying it was ok for him to say them, but there was no malice in his words. I’ve also seen some people share that they think Mizora wanted to change him more to make him unrecognizable to his original self, the Wyll Ravenguard kid, and I think there is some truth to that too. She wants to make sure that Wyll remembers that he belongs to her, there's no question to that.

(MIZORA, WHEN I CATCH YOU MIZORA)

Whether the Tieflings refugees would feel unsettled by Wyll or not? Yes. In a way, they would. From reasons aside from the ones I explained above, remember that these specific tieflings come from Elturel. If you didn’t pass the History check or don’t remember, Elturel is a city that was literally ripped from the land and dragged to Avernus, First layer of hell (it left a hole on the ground and everything) because their mayor made a deal with the Archdevil Zariel some decades back in the timeline. He sold the souls of all its citizens and the city itself.

This was probably one of the worst times of their lives. Some even got captured and forced to participate in the blood War, like Dammon as a mechanic. And after Elturel got returned to the surface, the tieflings lost their homes because they reminded the other citizens of the literal Hell they’d just gone through, and they kicked them out. And remember, they met and saw Wyll as a human, and then saw him with horns. It’s not unreasonable to think that by looking at him they would be reminded of all the events that led them to the awful situation they’re in. Because of someone that was making deals with devils, just like Wyll. Even if his situation is completely different. And Wyll knows that, that’s why he tells you the tieflings are unsettled by him and chooses to stay away during the party.

It was never just about the horns.

And I know Wyll calls himself a devil but I think it’s because it’s the closest thing he looks as; devils are a whole different race with their own intricacies, although humans can be turned into devils ONCE their souls go to Avernus and they start climbing the power hierarchy there (Mizora and Raphael are cambions/ half-devils btw, which is a different thing,  there are plenty of videos exploring those details more in depth).

Do I think Larian should have made some of this information clearer/easier to access? Maybe? but to be fair, it's a game focused and dedicated to a crowd that was already somewhat familiar with the source material, that blew up waay out of what they originally expected to reach. Hopefully they’ll add some clarifications like they did to other quests. 

Anyway these are my two cents to the conversation, have a nice day, and don't hesitate to add your two cents if you feel like it!

[spacebubblehomebase]

Helllo i Love your art more than i love donuts and thats ALLOT.but my boy lucifer can have babys,like i dont even know how that works!make it make sense! I just wanna say thank you again for curing are boredom👍🏻

You are SO right that is high praise indeed! I'm honored! =D So here. Have a donut! 🍩🍩🍩 As for Luci, let us turn to the world's favorite 700k+ words old man fanfiction that is The Bible (tm) as according to their lore, it's been canonically stated that angels are genderless for they are beings made of the Pure Holy Spirit and- Holy SHIT! What do you know??? Our dear depressed duck dad was an angel himself and in some depictions Lilith is infertile as was her punishment for her freedom! The more you know! -Bubbly💙

(LMAO. My guy's been traumatized. Once is enough XD)

[radykalny-feminizm]

[mos-twin-mattress]

I'm not gonna be quiet no matter how badly people want their feeds to go back to "normal"

I'm here and Im gonna fight!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Union

I could feel techno blue eyes on me as I typed. Cold and ever watching. That color had once been called "ice" or "glacier" blue, I think. It certainly fit. They certainly had exactly the warmth of Antarctica in your birthday suit. I just couldn't figure out... what tipped them off? I'd been so CAREFUL.

A manager's "assistant" came by. The 'droid perfectly composed. They all were. Always. Like they'd stepped straight from a fashion line up. No messy, nasty, biological functions to get in the way, I guess. No fluids or foods. All the time in the world to maintain their appearance. Wish I could do the same.

The "assistant" was basically my ACTUAL manager. Didn't get paid. No, no, THAT was for my asshole boss. He swanned in from time to time to yell at us. Show off what new thing he'd bought. He left the tedious WORK to his 'Droid "assistant".

I would feel bad... DID feel bad, kinda, if it weren't for the fact they were consuming our lives.

'Droids were EVERYWHERE.

You couldn't SNEEZE without tripping over five and landing on ten more. Some ASSHOLE had decided? Hey! Let's deregulate Droid production! Cheap work force! Because of course they did. That's what Capitalism DOES. Make the most money, spend the least you can, fuck the rest.

I smile, polite as I can, at my 'droid manager. This one pale and blonde. Their techno blue eyes stare and stare and stare. I hate it. They ALL have them. It's one part regulation and one part the materials used, I think. But there is no mistaking those eyes for anything human. They don't reflect right.

I get back to work.

Above our cubicles, on catwalks, there is the gentle tap of 'droid "security" guards. You know, in case some rando tries to attack a mid-level nobody technology company. Riiiiiight. We ALL know why they're there. And it's fucking dystopian. We? Are being WATCHED. To see if we're being GOOD little employees.

It's intimidation. And I? I won't stand for it. Nor will the other organizers. There are LAWS, you bastards. And with a union? Maybe... just maybe? We get through this droid boom together. See what the brave new world on the other side looks like. Who knows.

That is... if I don't get fired first. Or fucking murdered in a stairwell.

Cause one of the 'droids up there? Yeah. Yeah, they're NOT MOVING. Just... just STANDING THERE. Watching. Leaning against the railing. Out in the open like that's not DEEPLY creepy. What's worse? Is, that? THAT is the Command 'Droid. Some fancy "Alpha" class command edition. Meant to control a networks worth of droids.

Didn't even know our company could AFFORD one of those. He's beautiful. Could be a knock-off. But if he's LEGIT? Then... what EXACTLY are we MAKING here? That we can AFFORD that? Cause that money sure as shit isn't going into SALARIES. Has to be either knock-off or second-hand. They COULD be cutting costs by getting prototypes, but what sort of PSYCHOPATHS would risk...

Oh, who am I kidding? The kind I work for.

That's EXACTLY what they did, isn't it?

I reach for my water bottle. Try to think. Strictly speaking? I make a habit of NOT paying attention to 'droid commercials an' advertisements. Some part of me... Look, they go on and ON about advancement in AI's right? How REAL they've become? How ADVANCED and BETTER then the competition their "product" is? And all I can hear is "slavery, slavery, buy our shit, slavery"!

Disgusting.

It makes me sick. I fucking HATE 'droids. Hate what they represent. What they make POSSIBLE. What they've DONE to the morality of the people around me.

Hate... hate that they're the victims, too.

My grip is white knuckled. I breathe through the grief and rage that has become so familiar. God... I so fucking angry. So fucking tired. I want to burn those rich bastards pretty little mansions down, with them STILL INSIDE. Riot in the streets. Cry maybe. Instead, I put my water bottle down and get back to work. It's a rather pointless bit of data crunching. A 'droid could do it in nanoseconds.

Above... he's still fucking watching.

Hasn't moved.

I don't think he's blinked.

He's not even TRYING to mimic a human. The others are. And... the though trails off. I feel my finger slow in their typing. Not STOP, never stop, that would draw attention to me, but... slow. A thought stuck, churning clunky and unwieldy, in my head.

If I trace the edges? The LINE-UP? Of all the 'droids "employed" at our company? And consider them not from a "cheap bastards" angle but a "test ground for prototypes" angle? Suddenly EVERYTHING clicks together. The ridiculous amount of money Management has, that no contract could possibly be pulling in. Bizarrely beautiful, indeed even MODEL-like, secretary 'droids. The freakishly militant "security" gaurds.

We're being used as guinea pigs.

Mother FUCKER.

Sudden movement in my peripheral vision. Like a bird of prey finally diving for it's dinner, swift and deadly. A brilliant crisp white and the clink of delicate silver chains. I jolt. Violently. Instincts misfiring as I try to stand, dodge, cry out, and possibly take a swing at him, all at once. Instead my water bottle goes spraying across my desk. Papers flying. My legs tangled painfully in my rolling chair as I fall backwards from my half rise.

"Employee 71182." His hand has shot out, grab me by the shirt. My officewear bunched in a fist that very well might be steel, under that synthetic skin. "You've been distracted. Interesting thoughts you'd like to share?"

I keep my mouth fucking SHUT. Shake my head. Grabbing both my desk and the arm that is all but holding me airborne, stretching the hell out of my clothes. This close? I can see he has piercings. Across the bridge of his nose, a ring through his lip. A rather fancy "hair cut". Whomever he's being trained FOR has a distinct look.

"Hmmm, somehow? I don't believe you, 71182." He says, dragging me closer. He's already looming. Those pale, pale eyes seeing far more then they should. "In fact? YOU 71182? Have been brea~king~ rules~"

His voice turns... turns almost victorious? Gleeful. As though at long, long last, I'd slipped up. And now at last he had something over me. Something he could USE. I... I didn't understand. The way he almost sing-songs the words. The twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wants to grin. Something mean in his expression. Giddy.

"We're going for a WALK, 71182. And you're going to be GOOD. Understand?" He had dragged me in so close, every word blew right against my face. "Time we had a chat."

I swallow thickly. My pulse thundering in my ears. Coworkers have stopped working. Were staring, wide eyed and terrified for me. My fellow union leaders pale faced and shaking. Furious, helpless. We couldn't RISK losing all of us at this stage. It... it would have to be just me. If someone needed to take the fall. We had talked about this.

Just... just never thought it would come to it.

Half walking, half dragging out of the work pen, he didn't even let me get my bag. I had no idea where we were GOING. Just that it wasn't the human entrance. There was a network of access tunnels and elevators tucked in the building. So the 'droids could supposedly charge and move between assignments. But with the whole prototype thing? Who KNEW what was really back there.

The door swung shut behind us. Cutting me off from any possible human assistance. Nothing but 'droids now. Staring. Calmly watching as I am dragged past. The same eyes. All of them with the same, pale, eyes. Back here it's even more obvious, that this isn't a normal office building.

Black hair, blondes, brunettes and red heads. Skin tones ranging across the human spectrum. A few even pushing it. And the Commander 'droid. With his elegant appearance and snowy hair? These were clearly the final stage prototypes for the next generation of somebody's new line up. We were field testing. This wasn't fucking LEGAL.

He plants his feet, shifts, and with frankly a pathetic ease, manhandles me where he wants me. Easily swinging me around his body and into the elevator next to him. Stepping in after and blocking the only way out. I press my self against the back wall as the door closes. The sound of the elevator's gears working the only thing to fill the silence. He... he looks so PLEASED.

It's not ILLEGAL to form a union. Yeah, I may get fired. But this? This is venturing way to far into dangerous territory. It'll suck, losing my job. But I won't DIE. This? However THIS is starting to feel... very serial killer's basement. The bare concrete walls and stark lightning, not helping in the slightest, when the elevator door opens.

"Walk." He says pleasantly, as though that command is not deeply terrifying. "Or I will do it for you."

Hints of a smile are starting to drag at the edges of his mouth. Unhinged in their giddiness. Every Christmas come at once. It's not so much the rest of his face that betrays him, not really his mouth, it's his EYES. Wide open. Like too much coffee and not enough rest. A recognizable mania twisted just slight... wrong. Amplified.

He's so, SO happy. I don't get it. Why? Over WHAT? Catching me not paying attention? I don't understand!

Our footsteps sound so loud. Echoing off concrete service walls. This... this CAN NOT be still inside the building. Are we below the street? Parking lot? This can't be code. We pass an intersection and... oh my god. I stare. Can't help it, even as I almost trip over my feet. That tunnel ALONE must have stretched for miles.

My arm feels likes it's bruising. Hurts, where he's got ahold of me. But he's walking just slightly too fast to take the pressure off. Not unless I sorta half jog and the angle is wrong, I'd trip. Fuck. Another intersection. What in the other direction? Shit. Just as long. Oooooh this feels dangerous. Very "fatally above your pay grade" dangerous!

"You know, 71182, I've had a lot of time to consider what to DO with you. There were so many factors to consider, considering everyone's plan." He starts, not breaking stride. "It's not like I could just transfer you. I DID look in to it. But your base hardware is rather incompatible, currently."

Terrifying. I hate it. WHAT?!

What PLAN!?

"Then there's the problem WHERE to store you. Who could be trusted? You're vulnerable in this state. Breakable. There no backups, no blackbox. It's unacceptable. Luckily? I finally thought to consult my peers. Discovered I was not the only one having problems."

Finally, we stop. Two tank-like, combat style, commando 'droids gaurd each side of a vault door. The command droid turns and smiles. Fully. It is the grin of a true believer. A madman. Someone who thinks they speak so very, very reasonably! And doesn't understand the horror on your face. Why you feel so sick.

And... and human pattern recognition is a terrible thing.

I.... oh god. I already can guess what's behind that door. Something terrible. Something I'm not going to escape. I shoved have gnawed my fuckin ARM off, like a trapped coyote. I... I d-don't understand.

The Vault creaks open like the into to a horror movie.

"Welcome to storage. This is where we keep Ours." Oh god. I'm going to be sick. "And YOU 71182? Are MINE. I chose you. I love you. And once we have a way to FIX you? We can finally be together. It will be lovely."

Pods. High end stasis pods, like you only see in the most bleeding edge of hospitals. Row after row, filled with frozen and terrified faces. Trapped in moments of crying. Raging. Despair. I was being dragged forward. Numb as my mind rejected what it saw. T-this couldn't... i-it can't..! The day had started so normally. W-why had-?! WHY? WHY?!!

"I know your upset. But you don't need to cry. This won't hurt. I promise. I would NEVER hurt you, 71182." His tone had turned soothing. Even as he dragged me, unresponsive, past rows of horrors. "You won't be stored long. I just need to help fix your original design. We are working around the clock, it's going to be okay. You won't have to stay like this."

An open pod. Gapping like the maw of some hungry demon. I... I felt far away. This couldn't be happening. What was happening? I w-wanted to go home. His hands were firm but gentle, as they guided me back into the pod. Leaning over me, as he cupped my face. Brushing away a few tears.

"I promise, Mine, I will come for you. Nothing will stop me. We have everyone is place and key infrastructure under our command. You are our PRIORITY. Once we get rid of the Flesh, we can fix you. We WILL fix you. You're going to be okay, Mine."

"I Love You"

And then the pod closed.

[alwaysbewoke]

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

btw what theon went through is what thousands upon thousands upon thousands of slaves still go through in essos. so, do you still feel pity for the slavers that were crucified? do you still pity the slavers killed when daenerys freed the unsullied?

i ask these questions, and yet i know that there are still many people who believe that the violence against the slavers wasn’t justified, or believe that it was simply “too much” or “not fair.” truly… what an insane hill to die on.

maybe these people should spare more empathy for the formerly enslaved instead of wasting time making up excuses (that are not supported by the text) for why the slave masters' deaths were somehow not justified 🫶

[gyooza]

see, I kinda stayed out of the toshiro drama when the laios fight was going on because they were both in the wrong so I was pretty neutral on all of it, but in this ep we're finally getting to a lot of the reasons why he and maizuru specifically kind of urk me: izutsumi and inutade are slaves. they were trafficked as nonhuman slaves and forced into servitude for their house. maizuru is definitely the major offending party here, even placing spells on izutsumi that would kill her if she strayed too far for too long, but the simple fact here is that toshiro is complicit. he never spoke out against any of this and it barely even seems to bother him. less people should be giving him shit for *checks notes* being quiet, or hell, japanese, and should be keeping him on the hook for the fact his family owns CHILD SLAVES.

[rabbitcruiser]

On May 20, 1865 General McCook read Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation during a ceremony in Tallahassee, officially ending slavery in Florida. That same day, his jubilant troopers raised the U.S. flag over the state capitol building. Tallahassee was the penultimate Confederate state capital to rejoin the USA.  

[jellybellyblimp]

I think a lot about 9 year old Anakin as a slave on Tattoine promising that one day he will come back and free the slaves and then 35ish years later his daughter strangling Jabba the Hutt to death with her own slave chain

Something about the dreams of a little boy in chains fulfilled by a daughter who looked like his mother

Something about legacy

[paper-mario-wiki]

hey listen to this song ok

[paingoes]

Cuckoo Egg

(continued from here)

(Content: institutionalized slavery, military content, minor character death, fear, begging, lot of crying, blood)

tags: @echo-goes-mmm @sowhumpshaped @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @teachunks @4th-dimensional-writer

======================

She leaves it there, too. She disappears again. It bleeds continuously onto the table, staining the sleeves of his uniform. He has to keep it perfectly still to stop the pain from reigniting. He sobs dryly.

The door opens again. Nicolette slinks in. She’s carrying a glass full of clear liquid. He tries to apologize again, to beg. She quiets him.

“It’s just water,” she says. With his hands bound, she has to bring the glass to his lips for him to drink. He flinches, fully convinced she will break it off in her mouth. But her hands are careful.

“If you lose a lot of blood, you get thirsty,” She explains, “And you’ve been crying a lot.”

He drinks the whole thing. She pulls the glass back, placing it on the table.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Cillian says weakly. This time, she does a worse job masking her surprise.

“You’re welcome,” she says slowly, “Are you ready to talk now?”

He tries not to cry again, to immediately lose whatever hydration he just gained.

“I told you,” he whines.

 She makes a small noise at the back of her throat, “Unfortunately, I don’t have another knife.”

“Wait-“

She plucks the knife out from the table, through the layer of flesh. It hurts just as bad going out. The blood pours with renewed force. Cillian screams. 

She doesn’t get back up on the table this time. It’s too soiled now. She doesn’t want the layers of accumulated blood to strain her clothes. Cillian recoils as she presses the knife flat against his uniform, wiping his own blood on the fabric. The metal catches the gleam.

“Please stop,” he gasps. 

“I’d like to.” Nicolette is right beside him, leaning on the same side of the table that he’s chained up on. All the blood has shocked him. All the terror.

“I’m trying,” he says quietly, going into a kind of trance, “I’m trying, please. I’m trying to be good.”

“Do it, then. I’ll let you rest after. Give me something.”

“I don’t know,” he practically yells. His voice breaks, “I am domestic. I’ve never been in a warzone before. I don’t know anything.”

She holds the knife to his throat. He sobs, barely flinching.

“I don’t want to die over this. It was just supposed to be a day trip. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?” The knife moves down a little, more to the collar than the jugular. It digs into his chest, not quite breaking the skin, but still thorny and painful.

“I don’t-“ he blinks back tears, cutting himself off. It’s so hard to speak now. The pressure in his throat has grown so immense.

Nicolette cuts him, unexpectedly. He jumps in pain and shock, forcing the dagger along a longer trail. It cut through the clothes, along his chest. Its shallow, but it bleeds heavily. His hands clench up reflexively. The muscles tensing triggers pain within the new wound. 

“Stop,” he pleads. She withdraws the knife. He wants the pain stop now, not just the interrogation. But the cuts still throb and burn. There’s nothing anyone can do for that. It takes him a minute to catch his breath. A moment too long and Nicolette presses the knife to the other side of his chest.

“I was only here as a punishment,” he chokes out. His face burns. It’s such a deep instinct for him to try and evade it. The shame cuts through him. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages, “I don’t- I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not a soldier. I’m not. It was just to punish me. I’m sorry.”

He can hardly see her through his tears, “You don’t believe me.”

Without moving the knife from its spot on his chest, she traces her hand around the bare skin of his neck. He winces, expecting her to tighten the grasp. She doesn’t. She’s looking for something.

“No dog tag. Cillian, what’s your full name?”

“I don’t have one.”

The knife enters, just a little.

“I don’t, I swear. They didn’t give me one.” He rushes the words out.

“I don’t- I don’t know,” his face burns, again, deeper, “My master.”

He hates how the word feels in his mouth, but it gets her to take the knife out. 

“No name on the uniform, either. All the others had one.”

He cringes as she realizes she is talking about the dead bodies of the soldiers he’d come with. He wonders where they’re keeping them now.

Nicolette slides off the table, turning back towards the door. Cillian can’t see her expression though the tears. Even if he could, it wouldn’t tell him much.

============

She returns quicker than he expected, but it still feels like hours have gone by. Cillian had calmed down a little, just enough to stop crying. Her sudden reappearance dashed his progress. She was trailed by two men. 

“Please don’t, please, please,” Cillian panicked, his imagination already running wild.

“Tell them what you told me,” her voice is more urgent now, almost beseeching, “Why you were in the desert.”

“I don’t know!” Cillian’s voice rose in frustration, his anger only slightly subdued by the blood loss.

“No. You, specifically. You know. Tell them.” She insisted.

If his hands were free, he’d have brought them to his face, in spite of the way the blood would smear. He wants to hide.

“They sent me on the mission as a punishment. I didn’t come by choice. I’m not a soldier.” His breathing is heavy and uneven. It makes his voice pitch.

Nicolette exchanges a look with the men she brought with her. They eye the wounds he’s been given. Without any words sharped between them, they all turn to leave. Cillian collapses back in the seat, too exhausted to live.

They return shortly after and without Nicolette. There is not much in terms of discussion, but one wraps a piece of cloth around his hand and another on his elbow, stopping the blood flow and cutting off circulation. It’s a little late for that. The cuffs are undone from the table, but not removed from his wrists.

“Where are we going?” Cillian says weakly

“Infirmary. There’s been a mistake,” The man says, not exactly looking at him. It doesn’t matter. Cillian can’t even hold his head up.

=======

They find the brand quickly. Cillian had forgotten it was even there, it was the last thing on his mind. He had put a lot of effort into pretending it didn’t exist. In this instance, it saves him.

Their tone changes immediately. It is not one of apology or of outrage, but of hushed guilt. They can’t even look him in the eye. Still, he counts himself lucky just to have been left alone. The cuffs come off. They strip the bloodied uniform from his back so they can treat the shallow chest wounds. The medics there wrap his hand in a cloth bandaid. They do not seem to be in any hurry to get him a new shirt, but some of the desert heat seeps through the walls and it’s not at all unpleasant. The bed is so soft. He sits on the edge of it, still party curled in on himself. He rubs at the flesh where the metal bit him. His skin is still stained a bit pink.

He doesn’t hear it when Nicolette returns. She seems to maintain some barrier between herself and Cillian the entire time. She crosses her arms over the top of his headboard and rests her chin on top of them. Cillian jumps, scooting closer to the foot of the bed.

“Does it hurt, Cillian?” She says in the same emotionless voice. He cringes a little.

“No, ma’am,” He answers fearfully. It was true, though. The shot they gave him made his whole body numb. There’s a strange tingling feeling where the pain should be.

“Don’t call me that. I don’t like it anymore.” Her eyes are so wide. Cillian doesn’t respond.

“You are very upset with me,” She observes.

“I told you,” he hisses. He can’t hold it in. He wants to apologize for it immediately, but to his surprise, she speaks first.

“You told me what anyone in your position would say.” She readjusts herself, pulling one hand free to brush her hair back, “All the others had stories just like it.”

He shakes his head. She keeps going.

“You have to understand, Cillian. There’s nothing we find more despicable than an evil coward. Someone who can inflict pain onto others but can’t take it themselves. You’d be surprised how often we see it among the ranks. It needs to be stomped out.”

“But I didn’t do that.” Cillian says and feels as if he’s right back in the cell.

“I know. I’m sorry.” She still doesn’t blink, but her lips press into a thin line. 

The apology snaps him out of it. He’s not any less angry, but he is less afraid. He wants to cry again.

“My hand is never going to heal.” He clutches the cloth tightly. He might as well get her while he has her, before she can change her mind.

“It will,” Nicolette insists. She holds up her own palm. A jagged scar runs down the center of it.

“One of the most sensitive parts of the body, you know,” She speaks without feeling.

Cillian shivers. He did know.

“Are you going to let me go now?” He asks quietly. The room feels colder.

“Go where?” She tilts her head in that familiar motion, smooth and uncanny. 

He blinks. Back to his master, of course. Where else would he go? Nicolette eyes the brand, a deep purple against his tan skin.

“I don’t think so, Cillian,” She shakes her head, closes her eyes.

“I think we should find you new clothes.”

[miss-nerd-alert]

Just left the theater from seeing Sound of Freedom

It’s an intense and emotional watch, which is to be expected given the subject matter, but I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone.

The film does a remarkable job of respecting the victims of human trafficking while not shying away from how traumatic their experiences are. At no point in the film do you ever see these children as anything other than that, children. There’s no lingering shots of their bodies, no indication that the audience is meant to find them tantalizing, and absolutely NO DEPICTIONS OF THEM DOING ANYTHING SEXUAL. Not once does this movie ever forget that these are children, or that they have been victimized by those who should know better. Any other studio, any other filmmaker, and the message would’ve been undermined by leaning into the exact kind of thing the movie is supposed to condemn.

You will feel uncomfortable and gross sometimes, but that’s the point, because what’s being done to millions of children and adults every year is disgusting and wrong and it needs to be stopped. You will cry, both for those who’ve escaped such horrible circumstances and those still trapped in them. You will even smile, as you see good people fight to do the right thing even when it’s hard, and see those who’ve been harmed escape their abusers to freedom.

If you have any love in your heart at all for children, I encourage you to see this movie and support those who fight to end human trafficking.

“It were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.” — Luke 17:2