#this legitimately... took months (and months of back and forth) which is my fault entirely

[theredtours]

No okay because I'm annoying I have decided to share the story of why this thing means so much to me. Gonna put it under a cut though because it's a lot and I'm not sorry for that, but I'm considerate of your dash. :)

A hundred years ago when I first got into collecting Taylor CDs, I happened upon a listing on eBay for a WANEGBT single. But it was expensive! I remember thinking, "Who would charge $80 for something you can get at Walmart for $3? What a rip off." So naturally, my curiosity got the better of me and I looked into it.

To my surprise, it was not in fact that same one you could pick up at any store, but a remixed version, which up until this point I had never even seen a physical copy of. With the tab still open, I started doing some research on other sites and forums and found that this was actually a DJ-only copy, and that not many had been made. A quick Google search taught me that these things, at least for Taylor, go for HUNDREDS of dollars, if not thousands, depending on their age and rarity. Now, considering WANEGBT was only maybe a year old at the time, I knew it wouldn't fetch as an extreme a price, but that I'd probably be outbid. I bid anyway, allowing myself to spend no more than $100, which, at the time, was unheard of for me. (Present me is laughing my ass off at this statement, by the way.)

To my absolute shock and amazement, I actually WON. She was the very first USDJ disc I ever owned, and I must have checked my mailbox every day that week waiting for her to arrive, and once she finally did, I giddily ran to my computer to rip her into my music library and then just have another little moment of joy over owning something I knew would one day be worth a lot of money!

But then I started talking to another collector. The two of us had actively seen eBay's dupes rise exponentially with the Red Tour approaching, and between the two of us, we'd become pretty good at spotting them. At this point, I believe I owned another three USDJ discs and was always checking them for any sign of fault in color, text, or even something as minute as letter spacing to ensure my products were always authentic. During one of our routine "investigations," if you will, I started noticing some inconsistencies with WANEGBT. For one, it was on a CD-R rather than a manufacturer-pressed disc. The disc's image color was off. And, when comparing it to others in my collection, it just seemed... wrong. FEAR. DISGUST. ANGER. Had I purchased a fake?

I was unsure, but now I had this pit in my stomach, and WANEGBT was the source. I couldn't look at it anymore; it was a blemish on my otherwise perfect collection. So, after about two months of debate, I turned around and sold it on eBay for $80.

THIS WAS A DECISION THAT HAD HAUNTED ME FOR YEARS. Turns out, every copy that was made for it was pressed on a CD-R, as most radio stations had moved to digital files rather than hard copies. The color inconsistencies? Completely normal for that pressing. And of course, now that I had discovered this via someone else who had the same copy, I was CD-less. ANGER. DISGUST. FEAR. In that order, I was once again left with a pit in my stomach. I had given someone else my legitimate copy for next to nothing, and no matter how often I searched, what words I used, or whom I contacted, I never saw hide nor hair of the thing anywhere on the net. It was like its existence had just been completely erased.

And then, just a couple months ago, I got a wild idea to check Discogs for an entirely different album, and on my search, decided to take a poke around at what items on my want list were for sale.

And then I see it: her. The darling, beautiful WANEGBT country remix DJ cd that I'd been kicking myself in the ass for selling for years, just waiting for me to find her. It only took a day and a half of back and forth communication with the seller to get pictures sent my way and confirmation that it was, in fact, legitimate before I slammed my mouse into that "purchase" button. Once again, I was paying $100 for a WANEGBT cd, but this time, I was doing so with full confidence and a sense of pride. This time, she was coming home to stay.

And stay she has, and stay she always will. You literally would have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, because we are never ever ever getting separated again. Like, ever. 🌸

Listen, I fully know how ridiculous this is, but every time I glance over and see my copy of WANEGBT country, I just get all heart eyes. Like literally head over heels in love with this dang cd. Sitting at my desk looking at it like

[hitchfender]

@wishforwishes and i were discussing this ages ago, and i’ve finally worked up the courage to do my official ranking of 1989 (deluxe). without further ado:

1. out of the woods 2. style 3. you are in love 4. welcome to new york 5. shake it off 6. blank space 7. wonderland 8. wildest dreams 9. this love 10. how you get the girl 11. i wish you would 12. i know places 13. all you had to do was stay 14. new romantics 15. clean 16. bad blood

to complete this list, i listened to the album in order and wrote a paragraph with my impressions of each track; then i went back and ranked them. i worked very hard on it, and it turned out very long, so it’s all under a read more! please send opinions and reactions ❤️ love u

welcome to new york - honestly, this song is just so fun. the beat drops smooth and satisfying, and when she yells “new york!” just before the bridge it feels like a shout of freedom. the track is lyrically thin, but that doesn’t mean the lyrics are bad, and i think taylor communicated everything she wanted to with them; this first song invites us into the album, and sets us up for a pop-flavoured story of “real love that drives you crazy.”

blank space - this is taylor at her most sardonic and self-aware, tongue firmly planted in her cheek as she sings about bad boys and loving the game. some of her imagery falls flat, and that repetitive drumbeat grates after a few verses, but man, that tongue click was a stroke of genius: bringing the listeners into her world with insolence and irony.

style - this guitar knocks me off my feet every time. here’s where she makes her 80s influences most keenly felt, and where she brings that imagery she’s so famous for to the foreground. she paints her experience with a combination of broad strokes and achingly specific detail, and when it’s over you feel drained and renewed, like at the end of a long drive through beautiful, dangerous terrain.

out of the woods - i don’t know what to say about this one that i haven’t already said, so here it is again. reading the lyrics this song feels almost manic, the chorus losing its meaning and becoming a frenetic howl, the stories she’s telling disassociated and too-sharp, like shards of memories. once you get to the bridge, it starts to sound that way, too - she switches from the more complicitous “we” to an accusatory “you,” and she starts making demands - yet even in this moment of fear and anger there’s tenderness: a sunrise and shared tears. when she seizes her agency with that “oh, i remember” i feel some primal emotion lodge itself like a bullet in my chest.

all you had to do was stay - although i like the way she transitions from vindictive to tender and back again (“you were all i wanted / but not like this / not like this��), the lyrics feel a bit repetitive and the upbeat mood detracts from the meaning she’s trying to express.

shake it off - RIGHTS for these trumpets. and the giggle. some of the vocabulary feels a little forced (hella good hair?), and the production is oddly gapped - there are breaks in the ambient sound that force you to focus on her singing, but this isn’t her best vocal work... but, like, i think i’m concentrating on the wrong thing here. this is a song about letting go of the hate, literally intended for you to lose your mind to in your room at 3 am. i can’t fault the concept.

i wish you would - this start sounds a lot like the opening of style, actually, and these spaced-out electronic drums are straight off ootw. fascinating. moving on: this sounds like a diary entry, which is extremely taylor, but it makes the song come off a bit disconnected. love that line about “a crooked love in a straight line down,” but by the end i’m left with no distinct emotional impression. also literally forgot about it when i was trying to rank the songs.

bad blood - (i know it’s not on the album but i can’t not critique the kendrick verses. “pov of you and me, similar iraq”: L. i like the nod to backstreet freestyle tho.) anyway i feel like i would be more fuck-feminism about this whole thing if it slapped harder, but as it is i’m falling asleep a bit. album version especially. sorry ms swift!

wildest dreams - that’s more fucking like it. this is probably in my top 10 of her songs, from any album. every line of this! the imagery! the dreamy vibes! the way the bridge hits and she lets loose all of that fierceness she’s been holding back (”burn it down”)! i love how the sunset line parallels her own red and rosy makeup, and the dreamy feeling that conveys. also one time i had sex to this song and it was exactly as transcendent as you’d imagine, so.

how you get the girl - i’ll admit i’m not a massive fan of taylor’s favoured “ah” exclamations, but i’ll let em slide because this song goes off. hygtg accomplishes what ayhtdws set out to do: contrasting message and tone with just the right amount of attitude. i love the narrative in this one, too - she tells a clear story with subtle changes to the verses and the chorus. also the sudden vulnerability in her voice when she sings “i don’t want you to go” is like a shock of cold water. masterful.

this love - i can never decide how i feel about this track. the chorus looks almost ridiculous on paper - “this love is good / this love is bad”, seriously? - but god, she sells it, and just like in ootw the ohhs help to create that dreamlike atmosphere. the water metaphors mirror the seagulls on the album cover, by the way, which: mind.

i know places - right off the bat this piano and the way the drums come in late remind me of kanye’s “runaway” - a mirrored version of it, maybe. "runaway” is a warning - he’s laying himself bare, telling his lover he doesn’t plan on changing, exhorting her to run while she can. taylor’s version is a statement of fierce intent: it’s about isolating yourself from the world, making the almost violent choice to remain with your lover despite everything else. they’re songs about escape, but not escapism. anyway i like this song because it’s about harry styles.

clean - this one is boring somehow. like i get it, water metaphors, but the ah-ahs are getting on my nerves again and “hung my head as i lost the war” seems a bit self-consciously understated. maybe i just haven’t felt the specific feeling she’s writing about yet, but until i do this one will remain low on my list.

wonderland - she’s trying to get across this fierce “us against the world” thing, but there’s not enough of taylor’s specialty: those razor-sharp details that make her music feel both universal and infinitely personal. wonderland is all vague allusions to green eyes and getting lost together, full of sound and fury but not signifying much. i am into the i-am-a-woman-and-i-am-fucking-crazy thing, but i need a bit more from her.

you are in love - am i strong enough for this? we’ll see. this track’s got it all -lyrics clean as anything from her earlier discography, backed by those synths that are 80s without feeling like pastiche. i’m obsessed with the dynamics; her choice to use or remove the backing vocals emphasises her own voice, brings out its flaws and makes the song (though it’s quite production-heavy) feel raw. she makes use of her favourite trick, little snatches of memories creating a pointillist picture, but the most affecting line comes (as with so many of her best songs) in the bridge: “you understand now ... why i’ve spent my whole life trying to put it into words.” it’s the only time she mentions herself on this self-effacing track, and the effect is immediate and startling - suddenly we’re in taylor’s shoes, watching a beautiful relationship unfold from the outside, and after a full album of songs about a fragile, doomed love affair, that line lends “you are in love” new depth.

new romantics - i have whiplash but WE’RE ALL BORED! taylor once again proves she’s never read the scarlet letter. come to think of it, a whole lot of these lyrics don’t make sense, so... yup, just googled and max martin and shellback cowrote this one. side effect: it sounds great, and the words are secondary. the old taylor pops out on the bridge to remind us of her broken-heart fantasies (“please leave me stranded”), but it sounds more like parody than ever - maybe that’s growth? a bit like blank space, this track is glaringly self-aware, like she’s daring her critics to condemn her for the foibles she already knows about, and delights in. i don’t hold it against her. god knows she’s earned a little indulgence.

tagging @roseringharrie @complicatedbabyhoneyfreak @faithmp3 @carefisher @dyketaylorswift @harrysdimples @rainbowfragrance13 (hi and welcome!) @harrystylesep @winoharry @archer-wilde @haaaaaaarrry because at some point we’ve liked each other’s taylor swift posts and/or you’ve been very nice while i yelled incoherently about her. love you all more than words and stream lover xoxoxo

[rpbetter]

Urgh. Okay, full disclosure, I haven't been on tumblr much over the last week or so, because I was one of the people that Raven initially called out after the COAR mess, and it was in the interest of my own mental health to fuck off for a while so I didn't stress myself out into oblivion. So I'm scrolling through most of this stuff for the first time, and talking to other people who were targeted. And pardon my French here, but I'm fucking disgusted at the lengths Raven has gone to assert themselves as a victim, how many people they've affected, and the waving around of something as serious as suicide for brownie points.

I have sympathy for people who overinterpret things in a strictly emotional and mental sense (actual reactions aside) because they lack the maturity. There's always a reason for that, and it's not their fault. And I have sympathy for people if they legitimately feel suicidal. That, too, isn't their fault. If I hadn't been blocked, I would've reported Raven in case their claims were true as well, because yeah, I don't mess around with that stuff either. But what's unacceptable is how Raven acted on those sentiments and behaved towards others, even after people tried to provide perspective. How Raven claimed to be done with the drama, but continued inciting it; how they claimed to be suicidal and had left tumblr, but wrote what amounts to a "fuck you" in their header and were still putzing around on their blog, and were apparently still editing their posts until as late as today; how they claimed to have deleted but only changed the url; how they weaponized all of this stuff and used it as a tool for guilt-tripping. Like, come on. It's okay if you're down in the dumps, but it's not okay to treat innocent people like garbage, and carpet bomb half the RPC. To me, it really feels like there was an intent to weaponize all of their hurt, offense, anger, and suicidal ideations, despite the possibility it did come from somewhere genuine, and that's so harmful to anyone who is actually struggling with depression.

Every time someone weaponizes mental illness in this way, it just makes people more and more apathetic the next time someone is genuinely just hurting, and saying they feel like they're at the end of their rope. And it makes people suspicious of whether those words are being used maliciously, or legitimately. That suspicion and that association is now there, unconscious or not. And every time this kind of stuff happens, the association gets stronger. What happens if Raven does this again? Some people will still report, but some people might just scoff and walk away - people who might've actually acted before. So in a way, that kind of behaviour impacts Raven as much as it impacts other people.

And you know what? They're not the only one dealing with serious shit. I've been suffering from MDD for the last fifteen years, and I've been in the process of changing medications and having little success for months. I've been going through hell offline. I have a shit list of people I want to yell at because they're dragging their feet on really important things I need to function; I'm constantly running a deficit on spoons. Until a week or so ago, roleplay was one of the only ways I could unwind. So for Raven to bully me by sticking that stupid post in my tags, because they needed to make a scene on COAR, which I was obviously going to comment on (like many other people), then to "like" an unsubstantiated callout about me and other innocent people related to that mess, it's only worsened my own mental health. It sounds melodramatic, but really. Someone else mentioned this too, but the fear of being in another callout, and the fear of that first callout somehow exploding, was in the back of my mind all week, despite being away from tumblr. So that was a little anxiety-inducing, much as I tried not to think about it.

And I'm debating whether to return now, or take more time off, and I have no idea what to do. Because that callout post is still in my blog's tag. I'm freaking out because I was planning on approaching some people to roleplay, which is something I rarely ever do, but now I'm concerned that I'll contact someone, they'll look at my tag to get an idea of my writing/partners/who I am, and see the callout post, and immediately dismiss me because even seeing the word "callout" on its own will send up red flags, by unconscious association with more impactful drama. And as long as that callout is up, these fears are going to be there.

That's just not fair.

And Raven's "apology" is completely unacceptable. Like you and others said, it doesn't reach anyone who needs to hear it, because they've all been blocked. I would fucking love an apology if it came from a place of honesty, but am I going to receive one? Probably not. And even for the followers who can still see that apology, it doesn't address anything. It isn't directed to anyone in particular. It doesn't mention the specific behaviours that were wrong on their part. And miss me with the "my intentions were good" part. No, they weren't; going around blocks and sticking shit in peoples' tags is vindictive and entirely intentional in all the worst ways, and shame on them for pretending otherwise, and by leading with such a poor example for many roleplayers, some of whom are in their teens. One of the people who tried to message Raven (they, too, were called out on Raven's blog) was speaking to a nineteen-year old who was completely clueless about the extent of the manipulation Raven was pulling. They thought all of it was normal and acceptable behaviour. That genuinely terrifies me. And while I imagine if Raven was genuinely apologetic, they would've gone to the callout blog and ask them to delete the callout post (attempt it, at the very least), somehow, I don't think that would've happened given all of their prior actions. God forbid something else is going on there.

Phew. Yeah, I'm angry. Maybe I'm just biased and tired. But honestly, I have a right to be. Raven's apology is a handwave, and they know it. It's a slap in the face to me, to you, and to everyone else who was involved in this clusterfuck. They're not the center of the universe. They affected real people, with real problems of their own. Anyways, I am so sorry for this, argh. Really had to get this out, and I didn't want to dump it on discord or somewhere else; I sure as heck didn't want to go to COAR with it. But hey, maybe people here will feel less alone if I added my own account to the mix. The more, the merrier? In a sense, anyways. Sometimes if you feel like you've been singled out, it's nice to know you're not actually the only person it's happened to.

Sorry for saving your reply for last, Anon. It's such an important one, I wanted to be properly thoughtful!

I think that it is going to make some people feel less alone, and there is always some relief in sharing one's trials. That might be especially true when one has been unable to share them anywhere else. It's not like you can address this on your own blog right now, COAR is definitely not a safe place to do so, it's a very isolating feeling that is made worse for having done nothing.

Coming back and being required to wade through this shit was really damn disgusting to me as well, but at least in my case, I had neither been obliged to distance myself for the sake of mental health nor was I treated to the sickening display of drumming up ideas of victimization from someone who victimized me. What I experienced was just incredulity and disgust, I cannot imagine how incensing this must be for you, I am so very sorry. If it makes me angry having a degree of removal and watching in it real time? What you're experiencing...there really isn't a single word to adequately encapsulate that, I'm sure.

You've still expressed so many of the things I've thought and felt. I found all that initial behavior uncalled for, shameful, yet another display of what's actually wrong in the RPC, but it was increasingly upsetting to me the more I looked into it because it did feel a little (a lot) too reminiscent of the sort of bullying experienced in person. It's really something else to be viciously picked at by someone who keeps upping the game until such point as it begins to cause them trouble, then get to be painted the wrongdoer and punished in some way for it because they're presenting as a sympathetic victim. A more sympathetic victim than you, that's really what I mean, I'm just going to say it.

And that was already in swing by the time I got from the launch point to the smoking crater of then current events. I got to Raven's again after bouncing back and forth between their interactions with others, largely from COAR, yes, and the shit on the callout blog...to see...everyone else being blamed in increasingly drastic ways.

Because on tumblr, unlike reality, if you throw out enough times ahead of time that you have disorders people can get behind, you're more sympathetic, not less. So long as one has set that foundation and has others to broadcast it once convenient, any horrible action one undertakes is given a pass. Anyone disagreeing, anyone not tolerating the abuse, is in the wrong now. In the worst possible way, of course.

This whole thing began with incredibly unnecessary bullshit and every, I mean fucking every, further action taken was a new level of fucked up, but the trivializing of and damage done to the perception of mental health and differences is quite possibly the worst. Are those things that need any more of that? It's already such a problem! I already see suspicion and fatigue with this, every time it's given validation, it grows.

Even if I wasn't mentally ill, with one of the disorders that gets vilified even on tumblr, even if I were not autistic, even if I never knew a single person who suffered worse than I do from the the complications they won by way of being born, hadn't anyone I loved that took their lives, this would be extremely upsetting to me. Using the idea that "whatever I do, it's got to be acceptable because I am X" while not caring that anyone else is X, Y, and/or Z. Weaponizing it for bullying and sympathy simultaneously. Way too much. Incredibly gross and harmful, legitimately fucking problematic.

I want people to be taken seriously when they choose to speak of the boundaries their mental health requires, I want muns to be able to say that they are having a difficult time without it coming off (even to the rest of us with mental health conditions) as a ploy for attention/guilting for whatever action they desire be taken by partners, and I want people to take threats of oncoming, serious harm seriously. How are they to do this, when it is continually used as tool or weaponized against others? At very best, it becomes another thing to ignore and scroll by on the dash.

As we've all had the misfortune to experience or witness so recently, once it is weaponized, it's a problem of priority. I've said in damn near every message I've gotten that Raven isn't the only person involved here who has serious shit going on, but like the absurdity with trying to spin an accident as transphobia, or having the audacity to attempt speaking from a place of peace in a way that might benefit everyone, Raven included, resulting in a callout about being against ND people...it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that any of us are neurodivergent, have serious chronic mental health complications, or are not cisgender. Raven was swinging that around like a flaming sword to drive off bigots real and imagined before we ever got their attention.

Attention they fucking asked for.

Reblogging that post from COAR was just like posting those rules. The intention was to get attention, and it was asked for with extreme hostility. I have no idea how that is coming off to anyone as simply them defending themselves. It was a great moment to either not out themselves as the person in the confession at all, not engage with it, quietly remove the post, or to reblog it and take responsibility in a meaningful way at that point. Can you imagine what a difference that would have made then? If Raven had chosen instead to reblog it and apologize for doing what they had. Just that. No shitty, snide little comments about how they're sorry, but still absolutely correct and here are five reasons why everything they've misconstrued won't be tolerated. Just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology for doing so, and awareness gained moving forward.

Their decision to interact with that post in the way they did wasn't just more of the same nonsense, it was actively upping the game. I don't really care if it was intentional bait or just continuing to let malicious impulse run free, it was used as bait. Everyone who interacted with that post was effectively consigning themselves to harassment, and if they happened to interact on literally any other topic that group held a passionately opposing opinion on, they were attacked for it. Curiously, it became necessary for them to be harassed by way of the callout blog, but that is getting a little close to off-topic, so, I'll leave it at that.

So, while I initially really wanted to have the appeal to Raven work because their expressions of regret that I was greatly on the fence about being genuine, I'd say those flags were accurate. I cannot believe that someone who took every opportunity to do the wrong thing is genuinely sorry. Sorry for themselves, absolutely, sorry for anything they did, not so much. This constant narrative I got of "they SAID they were sorry" and "they apologized again and again and took the posts down," including from Raven, is incredible. On that last one, they, yet again, couldn't actually address me.

Appropriate response: messaging me or reblogging that post (you know, the rules snippet I found right the hell there still, despite the claim of it being deleted and the final catalyst of me needing to say something after I saw that, nope, surely was not) with the acknowledgment of a single thing I said.

Extra appropriate response: ^ plus going to everyone who could still be located that they harmed with a genuine, individual, private apology.

Inappropriate response that was had: new post, shitty, childish tone like they at once wanted to argue with me and didn't want to drop the act, restating of this apology that had already been deleted and meant exactly shit while it existed, restating of how they deleted this post and couldn't control reblogs, ignoring that I literally reblogged the original copy from their blog.

Apology neither believed nor accepted. Just as it wouldn't be if my nephew came to my house, broke a bunch of my things, said he was sorry while throwing the pieces at my pet, then threw himself on the floor screaming that he said he was sorry when I told him to go have a time out.

(Yes, I absolutely did just make a comparison to a child, y'all can shit yourselves again. It's not my problem if you want to misconstrue "this person's actions are not befitting of an adult" as "Vespertine said autistic people are children!" Fucking miss me with that. I'm an autistic adult who pays my bills, apologizes, doesn't treat people like shit while trying to excuse it by being ND. You're offensive with that shit, and contributing to the negative perception people have of those on the spectrum. Be a good ally today! Don't valid that! Free ninety-nine offer!)

Again, sorry for yourself does not equal being sorry for what you've done. The former can contribute to the development of the latter, but as I said in a response yesterday, there has been no display of that beginning to transpire. I genuinely hope that will eventually be the case because that would be the best outcome, the only "best" outcome at this point. Even if it was two years from now, if it did happen, I certainly would not be kind to people refusing them any such growth in peace, and I hope that, by some distant chance, I get to prove that.

But...stating "my intentions were good" over any part of this is not remotely promising. When? Where? At what point? Oh, right, when you took it upon yourself to label a random mun you took issue with. That's when your intentions were good. Then, when you vehemently needed to defend that point by callouts and individual attacks under the guise of it definitely not being about your pride, no! It was the defense of everyone else! Defending the community by carpet-bombing it, yes. This is not a "the path to Hell is paved with good intentions" situation.

I am so disturbed about the nineteen-year-old mun, my god. I'm telling y'all, my anger and disgust almost reach what I think is a pinnacle, then there's something new like this.

I don't even subscribe to tumblr's ideology that anyone under twenty-five is an actual infant who needs be kept in a protective bubble and forgiven for all bad behavior with infinite kindness, nineteen-year-olds deserve the agency of the adultier adults they are becoming, but it is a transitional age. Especially today. Most socialization and formative ideas take place online, and by the time younger RPers are entering the adult sphere of RP here, they've already got some really unhealthy ideas. About themselves, about others. There is such a demand for rabidly performative action that gets internalized, it shouldn't be being heartily fed by people in the community they might look up to.

At that age, someone like Raven is going to be a person looked up to. They espouse all the right ideas, and it's an age in which aggressive interaction over those things is seen as amusing and correct, no matter how wrong the actions taken are or the basis upon which they are founded. When these people foster an environment of cruelty for questioning, of course, that is not going to be the natural response. The response is now going to be the requirement of being told otherwise with adequate proof.

I have suspected that many of the hateful anons I've gotten were from Raven's even younger followers who feel like it's normal, acceptable, and that everything they're being told by Raven's sales team over at the callout blog is absolutely true. Of course, they're now morally obligated to come harass me for the things they were told I did! I think it's likely that several of the anons people got were from actual minors, which is so many levels of scary and irresponsible. Really great example all around, yes!

Because whether it is one's intention or not, that is potentially exposing minors, or muns who are still close enough to be more negatively impacted, to who even knows what. As well as violating the rules of blogs who do not interact with minors for good reason, setting those blogs up for yet another callout for treating someone they didn't know was a minor the way they did or having "freak shit" on their blog. Setting up the other party to be treated with full hostility as an adult would be. Very cool, very responsible.

There is just so much here that is unacceptable, I don't think people who were not directly impacted or have never had a callout against them understand the results, and that is one more unacceptable thing you've been good enough to talk about.

Even while taking a break from the RPC, it affects you negatively. Wondering what you're coming back to, your blog is no longer a safe feeling space, and there's nothing you can do to "cultivate your blog" to change that. They've taken away the ability to simply block and avoid others, the thing that keeps all of us comfortable here as well as allowing that to be all of us no matter how disagreeable we might be to each other. Callouts negate adult behavior. Callouts mean that one doesn't know where more potential for harassment might be coming from, or how long we might have to be worried about that.

It would be a major concern for me as well about what putting myself out there to new writing partners might bring. What the success of that might be. It's incredibly unfair that they've made finding new people precarious and more unpleasant than it can be anyway. That puts all of the future of your RP here in question, and if you're like me, just dropping a muse, picking up another, and moving to a new URL isn't going to be a good choice for you. It isn't that simple if you dedicate time to a muse for a long period of time, when that's the case, that's the RP you want to do and have laid the groundwork for.

I don't know if it will help at all, but it has seemed to me, over the past several days, that there are fewer people in the RPC who are inclined to believe or support callouts than there once was. I was hoping that was the case, since there is always so much interaction on my posts against callout culture, but until this crap went down, I had no idea just how many people are not positive toward it. It has seemed to be that the people who are inclined to listen to callouts are just louder.

I've also noticed that those people have the same set of red flags, so maybe sharing that will help you or others?

They don't have simple, basic, reasonable Do Not Interacts. It isn't simply asking that minors don't interact because the mun is over eighteen, that muns writing a triggering topic not interact, or that sort of thing. No, it's URL dropping of specific muns, outright links to callouts or "receipts," and an accusatory tone about any topics or types of muns who shouldn't interact. Such as "nasty ass proshippers" or "pedo apologists shipping incest."

Their rules are reflective this as well. A statement cannot be made that they do not write, let's say, toxic ships and left at that. There will be some morality wank present about normalizing or romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

There are less assured flags, but literally, anything that stands out as an interest in RPC or fandom-based activism as opposed to an interest in writing, their muses, or even their friendships with a variety of muns. I don't mean a rounded-out interest in things, I really do mean a glaring predominance of buzzword-laden reblogs and PSA's while they've not written a reply, headcanon, or answered a meme in months.

I'm not saying any of that because I feel like you, or anyone else's, judgment is terrible or that you're oblivious to warning signs! It's just that when we've experienced bad situations, it can compromise our ability to see clearly. It becomes easy to see a potential threat everywhere, and maybe that seems contrary, but it's then easy to fail to see real threats from those we're blowing up. We question whether we're being just as judgmental as the people who wronged us, putting words in other muns' mouths and thoughts in place of their own as was done to us. While we still are afraid to be wrong in giving someone an in to ruining our time again.

So, please, don't feel like I'm questioning your intelligence or speaking from a place of ultimate knowledge, never making mistakes in such a choice! I just really hate that you, and many others, are going through this, and anything at all that I can think of that might help you move forward from this utter bullshit you've been through, I've got to try to grab it.

Because, Anon, like all those sharing their experiences these last few days, you sound like the kind of mun we need in the RPC.

You're someone willing to share with others for the benefit of others. You're being honest about your feelings of anger and even the hopeless sensation of whether it's even worth it to try to return, having your progress on and offline stomped on, while still maintaining a sort of fairness and calm that I know is not easy. Because that's the mature thing to do, it's the right thing, and unfortunately, those are usually the harder things to do as well.

You did the right thing in expressing your opinion and doing what people like Raven's group love to be on about, can only do through bullying: not tolerating it. I'd hate for the RPC to lose someone like you!

Just as your message matters to more people out there than myself, I have no doubt that your choice to not quietly allow this behavior mattered to more muns than you'll ever know. I'm sure that none of them would have wanted this result for you, but so many muns have experienced such toxic, bullying behavior over the years in which not a soul spoke up.

Many of you proved something very important with challenging Raven and the callouts blog, that unlike them, it isn't necessary for good people to even know each other to do the right thing. They have to dogpile and engage in cliquish behavior, what they do isn't coming from a place of inner ethics and strength, but what you all did? It's the opposite.

So, not only do I thank you again for sharing and providing the important support of simply not being alone to others, I thank you for being the example to the RPC that people dealing in callouts and generalized shaming cannot be, no matter their platform.

I hope that, whether you choose to remain, leave, or take a very long break, everything you've been dealing with starts to look up. I know it's easy to say things made hollow for their repetition and flippant use, like telling you not to let them win, or that their bullshit just isn't that important. So, I'm not going to say them.

It doesn't work that way when you're dealing with mental health concerns! You can logically know that this is just petty bullshit not worth being run out of something important to you, but that doesn't stop the worry, frustration, or depression. You can have all the determination in the world to hang in there, even the spite to back it up, but neither is a match for the things you cannot control coming from your brain. That is the cruelty of mental illness on the very best of days.

You have all of my respect, support, and genuine sympathy that this happened to you. No one should be allowed to continually and unapologetically go out of their way to throw a wrench into someone's hard-won progress. You did nothing to deserve this, and the people out there worth interacting with are going to be the same ones who will have no question of that.

Lastly, I also hope that some of the anons sharing their experiences have helped you feel less alone, or like you're not just irrationally upset. Please know that you're seen and supported as well! And that you are always welcome to talk more, vent, share successes here.

Thank you, Anon.

[potatocrab]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (17/18)

Chapter 17: Lose More Slowly

The wide network of Valentine Detective Agency’s allies meet to perfect the plan to infiltrate MIT. On the eve of ‘battle’, Madelyn is apprehensive about one last confession from Deacon. With no time to waste, the fight is taken to Cambridge where the Institute can be exposed once and for all.

“That’s not the way to win.”—Jeff, as played by Robert Mitchum

“Is there a way to win?”—Kathie, as played by Jane Greer

“There’s a way to lose more slowly.” (Out of the Past, 1947)

[read on Ao3] | [chapter masterpost]

June 16th, 1958

It took just over two weeks to solidify the plan to infiltrate the Institute. It hardly mattered that Madelyn and Nick—with Deacon and the Railroad’s help—had previously breached Fort Hagen. This operation was an entirely different beast, that required an entirely different set of skills and resources. There would be no undercover sneaking, or witty aliases this time—just a dangerous game of cat and mouse—a game they all hoped to survive.

After weeks of organizing, Nick decided there was no point in waiting any longer and called a meeting at the agency to be held the evening before their planned attack. The usual group had increased exponentially, with the allies they had gained in the last several months joining them, each with their own part to play. It was remarkable to see everyone in one place, spread out in the lobby (because there was no logistical way to fit so many people in Nick’s tiny office), and it made Madelyn think that maybe—just maybe—they had a shot at finding out the truth behind the Institute’s schemes.

She sat, perched on the edge of Ellie’s receptionist desk so that she could have a clear view of the room, scribbling down the summarized events of what was to occur the following morning. The plan was carefully detailed and outlined in a series of reports and dictated memos, but there was no harm in writing it out one last time. The secretary was working overtime—literally—bouncing from one cluster of people to the next, offering refills of strong coffee or spirits. But nearly everyone was focused on Nick and his giant, wheeled chalkboard of information, and the way it outlined the case’s timeline, all the way back to 1947. The detective was in rare form—sharp, focused, and with a fiery determination Madelyn hadn’t seen in months, or maybe years. Coat discarded and sleeves rolled up, he talked through the details, and didn’t stop for a drink or cigarette.

“…which brings us to the incident at city hall,” Nick gestured to the Publick Occurrences newspaper clipping before stepping away to finally grab a quick sip of his whiskey that sat next to Madelyn. “Did you ever find out why the Boston P.D. were a no-show?”

Sergeant Danny Sullivan, fresh out from the hospital after recovering from his injuries sustained at said incident, sat in a nearby chair. He nodded, looking displeased with the information he was about to share. “It was all Mayor McDonough’s fault, buying off officers. Which means, by proxy, they were paid off by MIT, if we’re still in agreement about who was—is—pulling the strings.”

“Not for very much longer,” Nick replied.

“I’ve had to spend the last two weeks cooped up at New England sending a courier back and forth to the courthouse to perform background checks on my entire squad to make sure none of them have connections to the university,” Sullivan described, shaking his head with a deep scowl.

“Cheer up, Danny Boy,” Hancock quipped, leaned back in the chair at the Sergeant’s side. “At least there’s some good news.”

“Please John,” Nick groused, maybe wishing the younger McDonough brother was still recuperating from his own gunshot wound. “Enlighten us.”

“Made a house call with Bobby to the deputy district attorney last night,” Hancock explained, motioning over to where the former mercenary was fixing his own cup of coffee at the kitchenette. “Did you know that his kid and little Duncan go to preschool together?”

Nick wasn’t amused, and his patience was wearing thin. Though, it always did with the would-be politician. “How cute.”

“Right? And there I was, thinking I’d have to resort to blackmail,” the other man replied.

MacCready laughed as he leaned against the galley, taking a sip from his cup before wincing at whatever he’d poured into the porcelain. “You still blackmailed him.”

“Mild blackmail,” Hancock contended with a shrug, ignoring the way Nick and Madelyn shot him double looks of disappointment and concern. “Agree to disagree. The good news is we sweet talked that stiff into signing a genuine warrant. With somethin’ like that, we’re made in the shade.”

He handed the folded document from his jacket pocket to Sergeant Sullivan, who took his time in reading it over. Nick was still skeptical, leaning against the desk near Madelyn while he slowly nursed his drink.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the detective urged. “Does it look legitimate?”

“As far as I can tell,” Sullivan affirmed, passing the warrant to Nick to read.

Madelyn glanced over his shoulder, glossing over the familiar legal jargon before focusing on the signature at the bottom—it surely looked like the deputy district attorney’s scrawl. She didn’t think either Hancock or MacCready would jeopardize the case with a little bit of forgery. Not that blackmail was any better, but she could sooth it over with the man who was technically her boss later.

“Well, at least now we have a valid reason to get into the building,” Nick spoke, handing the document back to the Sergeant for safekeeping. “Wouldn’t hurt to have backup on standby, just in case.”

The focus shifted to Preston Garvey who was smiling his thanks as Ellie poured him a new cup of coffee. Standing next to him was Lieutenant Danse—ever the reluctant participant—who had refused a seat and a drink. The only reason why he agreed to assist was for ‘the greater good’. The Institute and their experiments had no place in the United States military, and he was determined to see them exposed for what they truly were.

“The Minutemen are already in position throughout Cambridge,” Preston explained. “Just give me the word, and they can be ready in a minute’s notice.”

The Lieutenant sneered. “We’ll root out those Institute bastards, one way or another.”

“That’s the spirit,” Piper remarked from her spot near the front door. “I’ve done my own reconnaissance around Cambridge and the campus with Mister Neurotic here.”

Tinker Tom sat in a nearby seat, spinning his body in increasingly faster circles until the reporter reached out to stop him. He gazed up at her with wide eyes. “Is that me?”

Piper looked as though she could snap his neck but relaxed with a deep sigh. “Based on his readouts, and those blueprints, we were able to find an unmarked sewer entrance near the eastern banks of the Charles River.”

“Why does it always have to be a sewer?” Madelyn mumbled under her breath, causing Nick to smirk.

“Good work, Piper,” he remarked, the closest he’d gotten to happy all evening. “This means we can go ahead with splitting up into smaller teams.”

“Better if you and Blue take the sneaky route while the rest of us cover your tails,” she gestured to the circle of people, her eyes lingering on the figure leaning against the far corner of the room. “That is, if we can trust these blueprints in the first place, and we aren’t about to send you into a trap.”

Madelyn frowned at Piper, wishing that after all this time her friend could be less cynical about the Railroad and their resources. Sure, their actions were still largely shrouded in mystery, but that didn’t equate to nefariousness. It was important to remember who the real enemy was. She let her eyes drift to where Deacon was standing near the doorway to her office—where he’d been standing all night, just silently listening and watching from behind his darkened shades. A slight shiver ran up her spine and intuition told her his attention was focused on her rather than the other occupants of the room.

“You can trust me,” he finally said, the weight of his words lost on everyone except her. Piper shrugged but didn’t make to argue any further. Madelyn smiled to herself as she broke her gaze away from his face, looking down at the writing on her notepad instead.

Nick stood, bringing the attention back to the timeline. “Let’s not get blind-sighted by the Institute.”

“We have a man to find. Kellogg,” he reminded the group, tapping the chalkboard where the scarred man’s picture hung. “More than that, we have a child to bring home to his parents. Shaun Perlman. I’d like to solve this, once and for all.”

Silent understanding fell over the room, but it didn’t last.

“A toast,” Hancock suddenly declared, raising his glass. “To the best damn detective this city’s ever seen,” he nodded towards Madelyn, grinning like he’d gone mad—maybe he had. “And behind every great man, is an even greater woman. To Valentine and Hardy!”

As it grew closer to midnight, the plans for the following day were solidified and the agency gradually emptied out. The participants would need a good night’s rest��if it were even possible—before they infiltrated the Institute in the morning. Nick and Madelyn saw their guests out, though the detective left her to walk with Deacon outside so they might have some privacy. Even then, she noted Drummer Boy waiting by a parked car with Tinker Tom inside, the two doing everything they could to pretend they weren’t watching the two.

“We’re heading back to the church for a rendezvous,” he explained, positioning himself so the others couldn’t necessarily see their exchange. “Somebody has to fill Desdemona and Glory in on all the nitty-gritty.”

“Is it safe for you all to travel in the same car?” she asked, peering over his shoulder. Call it paranoia, but she’d had enough close calls in the last six months to last a lifetime.  

Deacon softly chuckled, reaching out to gently wrap his fingers through the curls along the side of her face. “You’ve been spending too much time reading those detective novels, Charmer.”

“Or living in one.”  

He looked at her, and there was the unspoken question—will I see you tonight? She frowned a little and sensed his disappointment, even behind his shades. She grasped the hand at his side and brushed her thumbs across his knuckles in affectionate sweeps.

“I’m staying with Nick tonight,” Madelyn said, trying not to sound too sad about it. She mimicked his speech pattern. “Somebody has to make sure he actually sleeps tonight.”

Deacon offered a barely-there smile, which sent her thoughts into a tailspin. He moved his hand so he was softly cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb ghosting down towards her lips. “What if I said that I had a secret to tell you?”

“What kind of secret?” Madelyn asked in response, her heartrate suddenly increasing at the possibilities. Slowly, the world around her started to fade away, and the only thing keeping her grounded was his touch.

“An important secret,” he answered, breath hot against her mouth.

It was very likely that he was playing some kind of game, all part of an elaborate ruse to get her to come home with him. What could possibly be more important than what she’d already learned about him—his appearance, his home, his name. Unless it was all a lie. Madelyn doubted that, even as a momentary pang shot through her heart. Deacon must’ve noticed the subtle change in her expression because he pulled away just enough, and quickly pushed up his glasses so that she could see his eyes. Their stormy grey-blue color were vibrant with emotion, so striking and intense that she felt overwhelmed. Secret immediately translated in her mind to confession.

Deacon drew her closer again, hand cradling the side of her face. “Madelyn, I—”

Her heart nearly stopped at the sound of her name—her real name—and she had to fight to stay standing as her knees wobbled. Then, she kissed him, if only to stop him from saying anything. Call it fear, call her a coward—she just couldn’t bear to hear the rest of that sentence, even if she was dying to scream it from the rooftops herself. He was surprised for a half-second before returning the kiss, angling them even more out of eyeshot from the loitering Railroad agents. Couldn’t see the boss-man (because face it, she knew the truth about that too) sharing a tender moment with his lady.

Madelyn pulled away just a fraction before they could get carried away in such a public setting and gripped his hand tight. “Cliché confessions spoken in the calm before the storm are a bad omen, don’t you think?”

Deacon blinked, temporarily stunned, but recovered well enough to flash a sideways smirk, one she couldn’t tell was forced or not. The last thing she wanted was to cause a rift between them when they needed each other’s support the most.

“You’re right,” he sighed wistfully, bordering on playing his emotions too thick. He readjusted his shades so they were where they belonged—at least for him. “Wouldn’t want to jinx it.”

The car horn behind them blared into the night and he turned, hand still clasped in hers to see Drummer Boy leaning into the driver’s car window with his arm poised to repeat the action. Tinker Tom was snickering, daring him to do it again. Despite her unease, Madelyn smiled. “Shouldn’t keep the boys waiting.”

He shook his head and brought her hand up so he could press a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Je t’adore.”

Madelyn knew that wasn’t what he really wanted to say, but it would have to do, for now. She kept her eyes on him the entire time as he walked away, shooing Drummer Boy away from the driver’s side door of their vehicle before getting in. Deacon regarded her for one last lingering moment as he started the car before slowly driving away. Within moments, Nick rejoined her on the sidewalk, following her line of sight down the stretch of road.

“Ready to go?”

She turned to face him as a wash of remorse came over her heart. Had she done the right thing? Madelyn studied her partner’s face and his bemused expression, eyebrow raised as he looked back at her with mild concern.

“Nick, have I ever told you that I love you?” she asked, just to see if she could say the words. Easy enough—now why couldn’t she say them to Deacon? Or have them spoken to her?

“Sure you’re saying that to the right fella?” Nick’s laughter died as soon as he noticed her melancholy state and drew closer to her, wrapping her up in a loose hug. He held her long enough, uncaring that they had somewhere to be. When he pulled away, he tilted her chin up with a few fingers and offered a fleeting smile. “Love you too, doll.” 

June 17th, 1958

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love wet socks?”

Deacon’s hushed voice echoed through the underground tunnel, barely audible over the rushing sound of water that flowed around them and beneath their feet. He was walking a few paces behind Madelyn while Nick advanced ahead, trying his best to ignore the spy’s outburst as he focused on following the makeshift map in his hand.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, narrowing her eyes at the shine from the flashlight he carried. “Once or twice, yes.”

“Wish I had the same idea as you, Charmer,” he sneered, flicking the light across her outfit. She had the foresight to wear the shoes that had already been damaged the last time she went walking through a sewer, and one of her older dresses that despite Codsworth’s cleanings, was still stained with questionable material. “Or is that some kind of bad omen?”

She instantly whipped back around so he wouldn’t see her disappointed frown, though judging by his silence, he knew he’d crossed a line by using those words. Madelyn knew she’d come to regret not letting him say what he wanted to—needed to—but did he have to be so cruel? At first, she was grateful for him to be at her side in this so-called final fight, relying on him for that extra bit of emotional strength and comfort he could provide so well. But now, she almost wished he had stayed topside with Piper and the others or gone with Sergeant Sullivan through the main entrance. His presence was only causing her emotional turmoil, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted.    

This time, Nick was the one to turn back to look at her, his scowl indicating that he’d heard their conversation. Madelyn knew he likely had a litany of strongly worded advice for the other man, but she shook her head, silencing him before he could even start. This was neither the time or place—not when they were quite literally in the belly of the beast.

“Should be a latch up ahead,” he said instead, turning back to lead the two down the dark passageway. It took a few more yards before they reached a ladder that led to a metal door, and if the map layouts were accurate as they had been so far, it would take them to a larger, less water-logged room. “Into the unknown.”

Nick didn’t wait for anyone to volunteer before climbing the metal rungs first, pausing at the latch to fiddle with the lock. “Watch your heads!”

Madelyn and Deacon sidestepped the padlock as it crashed into the shallow water at their feet, craning their heads upwards to watch as the detective disappeared through the newly opened hole. She anxiously looked to her Railroad partner, motioning for him to climb first, and he hesitated, passing her the flashlight before finally moving. There was some disappointment as she watched him ascend, secretly hoping there would be some teasing remark about insisting she go first so that he might sneak a peak up her skirt. Instead, the persistent silence between them started to break her heart. Madelyn thought about blurting out how she felt, but it hardly felt romantic. Rather, it felt stupid. Maybe she’d missed her chance. After how many missed opportunities over the last several weeks to tell him, now was when she desperately wanted to say those three little words.

I love you.

Okay, not so little. Talk about timing.

Nick’s face peered over the ledge and only then did she realize she’d been standing frozen, stuck in her thoughts. “What did I say about standing pretty?”

She forced a laugh and climbed up to meet them, allowing Deacon to hoist her up the rest of the way despite the fact his touch was like fire against her skin. His hand squeezed against her arm, thumb brushing along the soft underside of her wrist as he stared at her. It was delicate, as if she’d shatter if he pressed too hard. Madelyn lingered until she was sure he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse and slowly pulled away.

Nick pretended to have not seen the exchange, focused on the set of locked doors that led to various parts of the underground system. At the back of the storage room was a freight elevator—where it led was anybody’s guess. The detective consulted the folded-up blueprints again, twisting them around in his hands and tapping the sheet to signify where they were.

“If we take...this door,” he pointed west. “We’ll head further down into some kind of storage complex, and…”

“And what?” Madelyn asked, stepping further away from Deacon so she could peer at the carefully drawn diagrams on the paper.

Nick shrugged, clearly puzzled. “Not sure. Just looks like one big empty room according to this.”

She looked back to Deacon to see if he had anything to add, but he remained silent, doing nothing to help her nerves. She sighed. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

The hallway beyond the western door smelt sterile, reminiscent of a hospital, the lingering scent of alcohol threatening to burn her nostrils if she breathed in too deep. As they descended a narrow staircase, the stench intensified as their surroundings shifted from the drab to the pristine. For being underground, it felt like walking into a museum. It felt otherworldly, untouched by time.

“Damn,” Deacon finally spoke—breathed—as they stepped out onto the landing, which overlooked a seemingly never-ending room of storage containers, computers and other technology.

There were metal platforms connected to more observation stations, with staircases that led further into the depths of the underground bunker. The possibilities of what they might find were endless. Near the back, shadowed in darkness, was the faint glow of a reactor core—no wonder the Institute had been become so powerful, so quickly, all while boasting the use of clean energy.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Madelyn asked, perturbed by the slight humming that echoed through the large room.

“Do you have a Geiger counter?” Deacon asked, and she glanced at him, unsure if he was joking or not. He frowned. “Won’t be able to tell until we take a closer look.”

“Of course,” Nick grumbled. “Let’s split up, see what we can find in those rooms on the way over.”

Madelyn’s only comfort was that they could easily see each other as they walked along the platforms, but was still apprehensive, especially when both men removed their holstered weapons. It was more alarming to see Deacon armed, the pistol an unusual sight. Even in their most dangerous of operations, he’d relied on wits rather than steel. She had her own revolver, and quickly pulled it from underneath her skirts with a small flourish. With a silent nod, they each took a different path.

Madelyn reached a small alcove before the others, the tiny windowed room filled with filing cabinets and scattered paperwork across two desks. There was a stack of files that she idly flipped through, the words on the page confirming that the Institute had been performing or had been attempting to perform brain augmentations for years. As far as she could discern, the files contained information on potential targets—if the college had been successful in capturing them, or if something else had occurred. Many had been ultimately passed over for frivolous reasons, and the reports read like rejected job applicants rather than candidates for brainwashing. Her absentminded browsing stopped dead-cold when she came across an all too familiar name.

Madelyn nearly fainted at the picture pinned to the inside of the file. “Nate?”

“Now, isn’t this precious?”

She knew that voice without needing to turn around. It had been nearly two years, but she was instantly transported to Christmas Eve, 1946 and that dark, snowy, Boston Common alley where her husband was murdered. That same electric chill ran through her body—head to toe—rooting her to the spot. No amount of fear she’d experienced in the last six months could compare to the sensation crawling across her skin, threatening to close off her windpipe without so much as a gasp.

His footsteps slowly echoed against the metal flooring, drawing closer until she could feel his body heat radiating, circling around her form until he was in perfect view.  

“Kellogg,” she forced herself to say, gripping the gun at her side.

He grinned in that hauntingly familiar, devilish way, not surprised that she knew his name. “In the flesh.”

There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask—about Nate’s murder, about Shaun Perlman’s kidnapping, about all the other unsolved cases he was supposedly linked to. Was he really an Institute experiment gone wrong, or some kind of pawn? His very presence seemed to answer that last one loud and clear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was reprimanding herself for not shooting first, and asking questions later. She’d made that mistake before and it nearly cost Nick his life—and had ended Jenny’s. That couldn’t happen now. Just as her hand twitched and she made to raise her revolver, he advanced towards her, pinning her against the glass window. The sound was loud enough to alert her partners where they stood yards away on sperate platforms.

“Charmer!”

“Madelyn!”

“How cute,” Kellogg taunted, the phrase familiar and gut wrenching all the same. “Who should I kill this time?”

He roughly pushed her aside so that she collapsed against one of the desks. As he left, he tossed a device over his shoulder that immediately filled the room with smoke, grey plumes billowing out into the main area. Madelyn clamped her eyes shut as she spluttered and coughed, struggling to pull herself to stand after smacking her head against the edge of the desk. She blindly reached for her gun and resigned herself to crawl to the doorway before using the railings to drag her body upright. To the left, she could see the faint outline of Nick’s trench coat but to the right, she could see two bodies—Kellogg and Deacon—scuffling along the walkway.

Without a second thought she forced herself to go—to run—back the way she came and to where they were. The smoke made it difficult to see clearly, but Deacon’s gun was gone—they were now fighting for Kellogg’s, swapping positions when one would gain the upper hand to pin the other to the guard railing. In the time it took Madelyn to rush over, Deacon found enough leverage to push the other man over the ledge, but Kellogg wouldn’t give up so easily. He held onto the railing with one hand and swung his other arm up to shoot. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, giving Madelyn little time to act.

“Deacon!” she shouted for him to move out of the way, raising her pistol so her sights were aimed directly on Kellogg’s scar. When he didn’t move, her mind went blank save for one thing. “Johnathan!”

He immediately turned to her, the momentary shock fading away as he finally dove for cover. Kellogg could only laugh, and even Madelyn wondered why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to shoot Deacon—or them both—dead. His grip on the railing tightened as he attempted to pull himself up, to no avail.

“You aren’t going to shoot me,” he spat. “You won’t kill me.”

Eddie Winter had said the same thing, before running away. From where she stood, there wasn’t anywhere for Kellogg to run. Madelyn didn’t feel like hesitating anymore, not after what he’d taken from her. The smug smile slowly returned to his face as he trained the same gun he’d used all those years ago at her—but she was faster—pulling the trigger just once.

Bullseye.

The sound was deafening and shook her to the core. She watched, shaking as Kellogg’s death-grip slowly loosened until he finally slipped from the ledge and down to the chasm below, the thump of his body against the floor a chilling indication that part of their mission was over. Tears instantly clouded her vision, and she sucked in as much air as she could, blindly reaching out for the nearest railing with her free hand as her knees gave out. Deacon was at her side in an instant, scrambling to collect her in his arms as he took the gun from her trembling hand before wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“Shh,” he hushed, pressing soft but urgent kisses against her temple as he combed his fingers through her hair. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, Deacon whispering incoherent, comforting words into the shell of her, but it was what she desperately needed as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. They both whipped around at the sudden sound of rushing footsteps against the walkway, breathing a sigh of relief when they saw it was only Nick, looking just as disheveled as they did.

“Whoa, whoa,” he raised his hands in defense, carefully observing the scene before him. “It’s just me. Had to take care of two crazed androids. Makes sense now that I see who they showed up with.”

“Yeah,” Madelyn answered, still clutching Deacon’s arm in the fear she might topple over out of shock. Nick didn’t bother asking her if she was—or would be—alright as he silently peered over the ledge with a grim expression. He’d been in her shoes—revenge wasn’t as sweet as people claimed it to be. She pinched the bridge of her nose and found her voice.

“They—they were looking for candidates,” she began, pointing back to the room where she’d found the files before she’d been rudely interrupted. “For brain augmentation, for—” she broke off, unable to stand the thought. “Nick, they had a file on Nate.”

His eyebrows jumped up in surprise before furrowing in anger, but to her surprise, his fury was calmer than hers. He gestured to a databank further back. “Come on, let’s find out what these bastards are hiding.”

The computer was surrounded by towering processors—technology that Madelyn had never seen, even when she’d been to the Switchboard. Nick didn’t seem daunted, at least by the screen and output, immediately leaning over to type commands like it was his job. Deacon only slipped away when she assured him she would be okay, and she watched as he carefully approached the reactor they’d seen before.

“We weren’t wrong,” Nick muttered, sounding not entirely confident. Madelyn studied his profile, attempting to decipher the information flashing before her eyes on the tiny screen. “But we were wrong about a lot of things, too.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Nick pressed his fingers against a few more keys. “It’s not just brain surgery, or brainwashing we’re looking at, here.”

“Those candidates you were looking at?” he tapped his prosthetic fingers against his screen, creating an eerie kind of sound. “If they didn’t work out for procedure one, they were used for procedure two.”

“Being?”

“DNA harvesting,” Nick said bleakly. “To be used in the production of new androids. To make them...as close to human as possible.”

Madelyn was already connecting the dots in her mind, her chest tightening in dread. “Nate?”

Nick didn’t say anything at first, nervous as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Close. You.”

“Hair sample, 1956,” he continued, explaining before she had a chance to react. Still, she nearly collapsed in disbelief. He looked at her face-on, his sympathetic expression not doing much to quell her fears. “How’d—”

“He—that bastard,” she answered, refusing to use Kellogg’s name. “He tore some from my scalp.”

I prefer brunettes—his voice still echoed in her mind, causing a chill to run through her.

“Always thought it was as a trophy. Never thought it would be for some sick experiment.”

Her partner studied the screen, clicking through more pages. “I don’t think they were successful with sequencing anything, if that gives you any piece of mind.”

“Hardly,” she mumbled, wondering if there was still the slim possibility that somewhere in the facility—or even out on the streets of Boston—there was a rogue synth with her DNA. It was petrifying to even consider.

“God damn,” Nick suddenly cursed, his hands shaking. “They have Shaun Pearlman’s DNA!”

Madelyn wasn’t surprised by that. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? He was essentially kidnapped by the Institute.”

The detective shook his head, and dared to smile, even if it quickly disappeared from his face. “It says here he’s alive. Just as it says you are.”

Now she was as alarmed as he was. “What else does it say?”

“It has a location and—” he frantically patted at his coat pockets for a notepad and pen, passing off to Madelyn so she could scribble down the information. “He’s been right under our noses this entire time!”

“So,” Deacon’s voice interrupted their shared excitement. “Remember when you asked if we’d have a problem?”

Madelyn looked over to where the Railroad spy was bent over, inspecting an exposed panel of wiring in front of the reactor. Her enthusiasm started to fade. “Vaguely.”

“Do you also remember somebody mentioning that the Institute might be hiding a bomb?”

“I distinctly remember that somebody being you, Deacon,” she answered, struggling to swallow down her growing anxiety.

He nervously chuckled. “Just had to go and jinx us, didn’t I?”

“Why the hell does the Institute have a bomb?” Nick asked, more angry than anything. He pointed an accusatory finger at Deacon. “I know about you and your Railroad mole. Whose to say they didn’t plant it there just to screw with us?”

Deacon didn’t seem surprised that Madelyn had let that information slip to the detective and didn’t seem upset by the accusations either. That, or he was a little preoccupied with not blowing up. “What, ol’ Doc Rendezvous? Never.”

“More plausible that Scarface down there,” he pointed to where Kellogg had met his demise. “Had this as a backup plan. Last minute gambit to get his way. Nasty, but effective. Take down everybody in…I’d say a half-mile radius with him.”

Madelyn finally asked the obvious. “How long do we have?”

Deacon wasn’t the one to answer.

“I’d say approximately twenty minutes.”

The man had appeared on the platform behind them as if he had materialized from thin air. Madelyn recognized him instantly as the Institute’s Director—the same nameless, silver haired man who had appeared at the university’s demonstration in early May. The man who had calmed Mayor McDonough and the crowd with five easy words—everything will be alright. He didn’t make an appearance unless it was absolutely necessary.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned.

“I’ve come to stop you, of course,” he answered, folding his hands together. “I am aware of your investigation, and that you know who I am—who we are.”

Instead of getting angry, like she knew she was capable of becoming, and how she knew Nick wanted to react, Madelyn tried a little civility. She wanted desperately to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

The Director appeared pleased for the time being and stepped closer. “To advance the Commonwealth into a new age, of course. Here at the Institute, we aren’t simply trying to better life, we are trying to create it.���

“Nobody should be able to play God,” Nick argued.

“No, no,” he shook his head in disagreement. “Think of me instead as…a father.”

Madelyn didn’t know which was worse. Her skin crawled and in such a short timespan she decided that this man didn’t deserve her respect. “One of your experiments killed my husband. Kidnapped an innocent baby boy. Murdered countless others. How can you explain that?”

“It is unfortunate that Mister Kellogg turned out the way he did,” the Director said, showing little signs of remorse. “As with the others like him. Rest assured, we have rectified that issue.”

“Oh no,” Nick waved his hands, disgusted by the very thought. “You aren’t going to be sending any synths to infiltrate Boston, or anywhere else. The jig is up, and we’re here to expose your little party for all it’s worth.”

The other man was not phased. “Is that so?”

“The Institute’s days of experimenting is over,” Madelyn clarified. “And you can kiss your military contracts goodbye too. While you’re down here, buttering us up with false bravado, the campus is crawling with our good men, Boston P.D. that haven’t been swayed by your dirty money.”

“Between the evidence collected here and what we have stored away at the agency? Once it’s all been handed over to the Feds, I wouldn’t be surprised if they cooked you alive on the grounds for treason,” she elaborated.

A heavy pause filled the space between them.

“Not if that bomb destroys us all,” the Director countered in a calm voice. It seemed it would take a lot more to crack his thick veneer. “There’d be no evidence left. Just dust and rumors.”

Deacon was suddenly skeptical. “Now that you mention it Nick, do you mind if I ask you who rigged this thing, oh mighty father?”

The Director shifted uncomfortably before answering. “A freshman student by the name of—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Deacon stopped him with a wave of his hand. “That won’t be necessary. Did they happen to use special blueprints? Maybe got some advice from an old friend at the ‘mechanic’s shop’?”

Madelyn snapped her hand to her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh at his exaggerated use of air quotes. Still, the Director seemed baffled, and ultimately nodded. “I—he, yes. Yes, he did.”

“Ha!” Deacon clapped his hands together and kicked his foot against the exposed wiring, which caused everyone else to flinch backward in distress. “This thing is a dud! It might destroy the bunker, sure, but all of Cambridge? You’re out of your damn mind.”

Nick was amused, and this time the grin stuck to his face. “Maybe it’s you who needs the brain augmentation.���

The Director floundered, unexpecting to be outwitted in his own home, in his own Institute. He looked about ready to rant and rave until he was red in the face, pausing only when there was a commotion at the front of the large corridor. The calvary had arrived—just in time.

“Valentine! Hardy!” Sergeant Sullivan rushed across the metal walkway, a few of his officers and Preston Garvey following closely behind. He slowed upon approach, nervously eyeing the stand-off before him with his weapon half-raised. “The situation upstairs is contained. The department heads started singing like canaries the moment we floated treason as a possible charge.”

“What?” The Director huffed, eyes wide in disbelief. “That’s impossible!”

“What did she tell ya’?” Nick sneered at the man, tilting his head at Madelyn.

A piecing sound rang through the large room that continued on every beat of a second, the confusion falling away from everyone’s faces as they all looked to the bomb and its timer. Deacon took three measured steps away from the platform before scurrying away, practically wrapping his arms around Madelyn in and effort to get her to move with him as quickly as they could to safety.

“Is that—”

“Yes,” Nick answered, interrupting Preston’s question. “A bomb. And we’ve got less than five minutes to get back to the surface. So let’s cut the chatter and get moving!”

The Sergeant made to grab the Director so that he could handcuff the man first, even if it would make escorting him topside a difficult task.

“You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted, rushing away from the group and towards the bomb as it continued beeping.

Sullivan shook his head, withdrawing immediately with his arms raised in defeat. “Suit yourself.”

Madelyn almost suggested that Deacon toss her over his shoulder the way he sprinted along the walkway with her at his side, causing her to almost trip on the stairs. She took one last glance at the underground bunker and the lone Director before they made their ascent up the narrow staircase. With less than five minutes to navigate the tunnels back to the surface, there wasn’t time to talk, or hesitate, so she focused on nothing but the next step forward, barely remembering to breathe until her lungs screamed for air.

It wasn’t until somebody—Lieutenant Danse—was helping her from the manhole that she realized she’d blocked out their escape, stumbling off in a daze and pressing a hand to her head—did she have a concussion? Was she going into shock?

“We’re evacuating the building,” a deep voice, maybe it belonged to the soldier, or one of Sullivan’s men, she couldn’t tell. “Get her out of here!”

Familiar arms encircled her. “Madelyn? Charmer?”

She blinked, focusing on Deacon’s worried expression, even though she couldn’t see most of his face. “You said…my name.”

He smiled. “Well that’s what it is, isn’t it?”

She smiled too.

“Come on,” grabbed her hand, leading her into a light jog towards a small gathering of people on the banks of the Charles River. Piper and some of Preston’s Minutemen were standing with evacuees from the campus, looking on as more people rushed out to look on.

While their backs were still turned to the building, there was a rumbling, not unlike an earthquake, followed by what Madelyn knew to be a series of explosions, people tumbling to the ground as the world around them shook. Despite the bomb setting off underground, the destruction was still felt and seen above ground. When the dust settled, a deep crevice appeared in the center of the campus courtyard, a few stone columns were toppled over, and a fire had broken out in the inside rotunda. So much for a dud.

Deacon wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s shoulder, tucking her close as smoke billowed to the sky, the haunting sign that the Institute’s hold on Boston was no more.

It was all over.

[junker-town]

WWE SummerSlam 2017: The full rundown and why you should care

This iteration of SummerSlam has real potential to be memorable for years to come.

SummerSlam is going to be real long. It also should be real good! Just know going in that, as one of WWE’s Big Four events, SummerSlam is going to be four hours long — six hours with the full pre-show that will include three matches. That’s what happens when you’re a show that isn’t exclusive to one of WWE’s two main brands, though.

This should be a show that changes much in the WWE landscape, and helps set the company on its course for WrestleMania 34 next April. SummerSlam, then Survivor Series, then Royal Rumble, then Mania: the last is still a ways off, but the first seeds of stories that might grow by Mania will be planted at the Barclays Center on Sunday night, starting at 7 p.m. ET.

“The Demon” Finn Balor vs. Bray Wyatt

What am I looking at here? Finn Balor hasn’t used his Demon persona very much on the main roster of WWE — thank injury and a lack of high-profile matches since said injury for that. Bray Wyatt tormented Balor into unleashing the Demon, though, to the point that WWE is making a point of saying that that’s the version of Finn we’ll be seeing at SummerSlam.

Why you should care: Well, Finn has stepped up his game since returning from the injury that made him give up the Universal Championship the day after winning it at SummerSlam one year ago, but he hasn’t had many spotlight opportunities that let him build on that momentum. Wyatt, in theory, should be one of them, given he was WWE Champion earlier this year. “In theory” is the key part there, as Wyatt hasn’t been reliable in the ring for much of 2017, outside of the match that won him the title in the first place.

Big Show vs. Big Cass with Enzo Amore suspended above the ring in a shark cage

What am I looking at here? Big Cass turned on Enzo Amore, and while he was a real jerk about it, it was also totally understandable: Enzo is annoying as heck and doesn’t have an off button and you’d get tired of him, too. Hell, Enzo is the wronged party and face in this match, and he’s the one suspended in a shark cage so he can’t interfere and/or be annoying.

Well, okay, maybe he can still be annoying depending on if he brings a mic into the cage with him or not. Please don’t let Enzo bring a mic into the cage.

Oh, and Big Show is here fighting for Enzo because Cass tried to implicate Show into the backstage beatdowns of Enzo that Cass was responsible for.

Why you should care: This should be the end of Cass vs. Show and also Cass/Enzo as a story, and it’s about time. It’s certainly worked to put over Cass as a jerk and make Enzo sympathetic to an audience that had been trained to not feel bad for him anymore, but it’s also time to move on and see what solo Cass and solo Enzo are going to be like.

Randy Orton vs. Rusev

What am I looking at here? Randy Orton is no longer in the WWE Championship feud after losing a whole bunch of times to Jinder Mahal, but he’s far too big a star to not be on a SummerSlam card if he’s healthy. Rusev never got a chance at the WWE Championship, and he’s not the kind of star Orton is, but he’s too talented to not be on a SummerSlam card if he’s healthy. So, here we are. Rusev wanted a challenge, Orton answered the challenge, and the feud doesn’t really go beyond that.

Why you should care: Sure, there’s little story buildup, but it’s too good wrestlers wrestling to prove that one of them is better than the other. Sometimes, that’s all you need.

Natalya vs. Naomi (c) for the SmackDown Women’s Championship

What am I looking at here? For one, I’m much more excited about SummerSlam than my reactions to the first few matches listed indicates. It’s not my fault that the ones I’m most lukewarm about also happen to be the first three WWE put on their card. Part of that excitement here stems from WWE finally deciding to put one-on-one title matches on major cards for the women instead of just lumping them all together to get everyone on the show. Natalya won a number one contender’s match, so she’s facing Naomi. Simple, sure, but that can work when it comes to championship bouts.

Why you should care: Naomi was the only face champion in WWE for months and months, and has managed to hold on to her title despite the entire division gunning for her and the existence of the first-ever women’s Money in the Bank briefcase holder, Carmella. Natalya has never won a WWE Women’s Championship — she’s a one-time Divas Champion, and that was all the way back in 2010. That has a lot to do with how WWE (unsuccessfully) utilized their women wrestlers for years, but regardless of the why, Natalya is overdue both for a chance and for a championship.

And, as mentioned, Carmella having the Money in the Bank briefcase, which allows her to cash in and fight for the SmackDown Women’s title at a time of her choosing, means that Naomi or Natalya just might end up fighting two matches for the championship in one night.

Sasha Banks vs. Alexa Bliss (c) for the RAW Women’s Championship

What am I looking at here? Bayley was supposed to be the challenger to Alexa Bliss’ title, but a (legitimate) shoulder injury put her out of commission for SummerSlam. Sasha Banks ended up winning her way to the vacated slot following that injury, and that’ll work just fine, too, since Sasha and Alexa have already matched up in the past and have bad blood between them as well.

Why you should care: Sasha Banks seems to have wonderful in-ring chemistry with basically everyone — Bayley, Charlotte, Nia Jax, and Alexa Bliss, too. Alexa continues to improve and is already the first-ever woman to hold both the RAW and SmackDown Women’s Championships — Banks might end up being her greatest rival for one or both of those titles when their careers are all said and done. This could be a pretty big deal both now and later, and just like with SmackDown’s Women’s title, it’s also unclear who is going to walk out of Barclays as champion Sunday.

Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins vs. Cesaro and Sheamus (c) for the RAW Tag Team Championships

What am I looking at here? Cesaro and Sheamus are great at beating the heck out of everyone, but they might have gotten themselves involved in something they can’t handle by beating on Ambrose and Rollins. Dean and Seth, former Shield mates who have understandable trust issues given Rollins’ betrayal of Ambrose years ago, finally seem united thanks to having a common foe: they wouldn’t, if Cesaro and Sheamus hadn’t interrupted the two working out their issues with each other, giving their fists somewhere else to land.

WWE.com

Why you should care: Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins are together again, and against one of the best pairings of wrestlers in a tag team in years. If Ambrose wins the tag titles, he’ll also be the 16th Grand Slam champion ever, as he’s already been WWE Champion, United States Champion, and Intercontinental Champion. Rollins will be a two-time tag champ if this happens — he and Roman Reigns were the Shields’ two-man tag team, with Ambrose the singles star at the time — and he’s an Intercontinental run away from joining Ambrose in the rare ranks of Grand Slam champs.

The glory of Rollins and Ambrose reuniting is the real story here, but hey, when some history can also be made, you have to recognize it. Especially history that the likes of John Cena and Randy Orton and Undertaker haven’t managed.

Since you’re wondering, Roman Reigns, like Rollins, is also just an IC reign away from a Grand Slam. Those Shield boys sure are something.

Kevin Owens vs. AJ Styles (c) for the United States Championship with special guest referee Shane McMahon

What am I looking at here? Kevin Owens and AJ Styles have traded the United States Championship back and forth for a few months now. Owens feels he’s been treated unfairly by officials, so SmackDown GM Daniel Bryan suggested Shane McMahon as the impartial referee. The thing about Shane as an impartial referee, though, is that his history suggests he’s anything but in that role, and he’s got historic beef with both Owens and Styles.

Why you should care: Owens vs. Styles is a good matchup with nothing else added to it. Having Shane McMahon as the special guest referee, though, adds another wrinkle: Owens and Styles have both inadvertently attacked Shane in segments building to this fight, and even if Shane does happen to be impartial here, there is the possibility that Owens or Styles misinterpret his actions and start a feud directly with Shane O’Mac.

John Cena vs. Baron Corbin

What am I looking at here? These two were already set to face each other, and then Baron Corbin interrupted John Cena against Jinder Mahal on this past week’s episode of SmackDown by attacking Cena. Corbin then attempted to cash in his Money in the Bank briefcase on WWE Champion Jinder Mahal, but failed — Mahal took advantage of Corbin trying to make sure Cena couldn’t interfere, and Corbin’s guaranteed shot came and went in seconds.

Why you should care: Cena hasn’t won a SummerSlam match since 2010, and it feels like this is going to be the one that ends that drought. With that being said, though, Corbin could use a win after his embarrassing defeat and loss of the Money in the Bank briefcase, so maybe we’ll see his anger at his own failure show up in this match and drive him to victory over a possibly overconfident Cena.

Shinsuke Nakamura vs. Jinder Mahal for the WWE Championship

What am I looking at here? This is Shinsuke Nakamura’s first attempt at the WWE Championship, and it puts an end to the overdone USA vs. Not USA feuds they’ve had going on for too long on SmackDown of late. So, even if the match itself doesn’t end up being great, we’ve got that going for us.

Jinder Mahal’s reign as champ has actually been pretty good outside of the impossible-to-be-good Punjabi Prison match, and it seems as if he’s over as a heel with the crowd now. Nakamura might need the good match more here, as he’s kind of been reduced to mostly an impressive entrance on the main roster of WWE — maybe that will change in a title match, and we’ll see a Nakamura more like the one everyone was expecting WWE had signed.

It’s too soon to panic about all that, but if we get more of the same from Nakamura here despite the stage and stakes, that... won’t be encouraging.

Roman Reigns vs. Braun Strowman vs. Samoa Joe vs. Brock Lesnar (c) in a Fatal Four Way for the WWE Universal Championship

What am I looking at here? So. Much. Beef.

Why you should care: Listen, I could get all descriptive about what matters about this match and what it could do to change WWE’s main event landscape if Brock Lesnar were to lose the Universal Championship and bail on WWE for UFC (at least for a little while). I could talk about how, if Braun Strowman wins, it seals the deal for him as the monster of WWE. Or how about Roman Reigns finally surviving a bout with Brock Lesnar shows that it’s not just Goldberg who can do so, or how Samoa Joe really was as close to winning against Lesnar a month ago as he tells us he was.

Or! I could just reiterate that the ring is going to have Reigns, Strowman, Joe, and Lesnar together all at once, and there is no version of Lesnar more motivated than the one who gets to beat on multiple dudes at the same time while having to watch his back. Like I said before: So. Much. Beef.