“Sometimes we don’t realize things can change while we’re not looking at them. I suppose that’s the other edge of object permanence.” No EGS comment on this one, Krixwell?

Oh right, that is what fuels change blindness too, isn’t it. :p

The armed escort would be waiting.  No court- Amy had volunteered, asked
to go to the Birdcage.


Carol couldn’t bring herself to speak.

So she stepped forward to close the distance between herself and Amy.  Hesitant at first, she reached out.


Awkward, stilted hugs that you both know neither of you really, fully mean?

As if she could convey everything she wanted to say in a single gesture, she folded her daughter into the tightest of hugs.


“I don’t know what to do.”

Yeeeah, you kinda fucked this up.

The big difference between Amy and Bonesaw is that Amy didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. Bonesaw would do this on purpose.

It’s still massively wrong, and Amy’s not blameless here – she seems to have gotten carried away with unethical changes for her own benefit, turning Victoria into a thing that reflects Amy’s appreciation for Victoria’s bodily features while not considering what she as an individual would want. Bonesaw has no sense of bodily integrity, and she set Amy on a downward spiral that compromised hers.

Betrayal.  Brandish had known this would happen the moment Sarah had talked about her taking the girl.  Not this, but something like it.  Brandish felt a weapon form in her hand.


“Please tell me what to do,” Amy pleaded.

Please do. This doesn’t need to get even worse.

It can stop here, without any auto-cauterized wounds.

Brandish turned, arm drawn back to strike, to retaliate.  She stopped.

The girl was so weak, so powerless, a victim.  A victim of herself, her own nature, but a victim nonetheless.  A person sundered.


For noticing, I mean.

And with everything laid bare, there was not a single resemblance to Marquis.  There was no faint reminder of Brandish’s time in the dark cell, nor of her captor.  If anything, Amy looked how Sarah had, as they’d stumbled from the house where they’d been kept, lost, helpless and scared.

This is beautiful.

She looked like Carol had, all those years ago.

Yes. Do see yourself in her. Thank you.

The weapon dissipated, and Brandish’s arms dropped limp to her sides.

That was a scene, alright.

I’m not entirely sure if it was because of what I was reading or just from eye strain, but I even teared up a bit there towards the end. That was so good.

“I remember you saying something like that.  But then you had Vicky.”

“I only caved to having Vicky because Mark was there, and I had to think about it for a while.”

Ah, so she was a compromise, not an accident.

“Mark will be there for Amelia too.”

Brandish could have mentioned how Mark was tired all the time, how his promise had proved empty.  She might have mentioned how he was seeing a psychiatrist now, the tentative possibility of clinical depression.  She stayed silent.

That’s more stuff Amy told us about in her Interlude, how she felt like Mark hadn’t been able to do much as a father.

I like how these things are being brought full-circle.

“It’s not just that,” she said.  “You know I have trouble trusting people.  You know why.”

Getting closer to the full truth.

And yeah, this makes a lot of sense, given her experience earlier with


by the man she thought was taking care of them.

The change on Lady Photon’s face was so subtle she almost missed it.

“I’m sorry to bring it up,” Brandish said. “But it’s relevant.  I decided I could have Vicky because I’d know her from day one.  She’d grow inside me, I’d nurture her from childhood… she’d be safe.”

And Amy… wouldn’t be.

Fuck. This is messed up in really understandable and very unfortunate ways.

Wait, did I just describe the entirety of Worm in one sentence?

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.  But we can’t ask Amy, because she ran away from home while Mark called to let me know he was okay.”

“Something else happened?”

“Oh, quite a bit happened.  But if I got into the details of the Slaughterhouse Nine visiting my home, the ensuing fight destroying the ground floor, Bonesaw forcing Amy to kill one of her Frankenstein mutants and inviting her to join the Nine, I think that would derail the conversation.”

The salt is real.

At least she knows that happened. It’s probably a good thing Mark was there.

Alan opened his mouth to ask a question, then shut it. 

While Taylor was very brutal in her reaction, I can’t really feel sorry for Barker. Calling a supervillain a gendered slur to her face in the middle of her base was an enormously bad idea. Unlike non-powered women she has the power to punish him for it and isn’t bound by the social rules of proportionate response. He is just lucky she isn’t someone like Bakuda because then he would probably have died painfully instead.

Fair enough. I suppose I just didn’t really see it as him calling her that, just saying it to activate his power for demonstrative purposes, despite it literally blowing up in her face.

Frech speaker here, lightning in french is éclair, which is pretty close to éclaire which is a baked good. Guess the family did try theme naming… they just didn’t do enough research.

I’m sure you’re gonna get 20 asks about this but I can’t resist being the obnoxious Frenchperson telling you that Éclair is not only a pastry, but also means lightning (without an e in either case, that is Wildbow’s mistake or the girl’s).

Oh, huh. Sounds like a very shocking pastry!


Sierra glanced at the kids who had shrunk back against counters, cabinets and the wall.  There were tears tracking through the dirt on their faces, but they were mostly managing to keep quiet.

“Well?” Yan asked, raising her voice.

Sierra couldn’t bring herself to speak.  Being shot in the hand- she might never use it again.  But the knee was supposedly the part of the body that had the hardest time recovering from a major injury.

Hm. I think if I was forced to choose, I’d go with the hand. Being forced to use only one hand sounds better than having trouble walking. Even if I am a sack of ‘taters.

Yan bent down and grabbed one of the oldest boys by the hair.  Ten years old, blond hair in bad need of a cut and a pugnacious nose.  He squealed and writhed in pain at the grip on his scalp, until he wrenched himself out of Yan’s grip, falling flat on his back.

Clock is ticking, Sierra.

The girl jammed the gun in his mouth before he could recover, and he froze.


“Leaving us to clean up the mess?”

“Sierra,” Charlotte spoke, her voice quiet, “Not worth it.”

Charlotte’s right, even with her own concerns about running low on food.

Yan gestured with the gun, and Sierra listened this time, stepping out of the way.

Sugita and Jay headed past the counter and into the kitchen, while Yan stood where she could block the front door.  Sierra could see Charlotte shrinking away.  Like a shark that smelled blood, Sugita turned his attention to her.

Sugita… *pulls up Google Translate on a suspicion*

…does not mean “shark”. It means “passed away”.

Yan means “eye”.

He stepped close, invading her personal space.

Fuck off.

Don’t show fear, Sierra prayed.

But Charlotte did.  In an instant, it was as though she was a different person than she’d been five minutes ago.  Weak-kneed, cringing, not even resisting as Sugita grabbed at her wrist.