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qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

Note

Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.

Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.

First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.

Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.

The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.

The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.

That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:

She may have changed her mind on things in the past.

Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.

OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.

Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.

Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all).

The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.

As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:

America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.

Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.

There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.

Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.

This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.

This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!

As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.

I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.

So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.

#politics for ts #long post #anonymous #ask

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mediocre-writerr · 4 years ago

Text

almost [toni shalifoe]

toni shalifoe x reader

requested: You’re an amazing writer! I had this promt for a while now where reader is Shelby’s best friend and Toni’s gf and once they get to the bunkers they find out about everything and try to escape the building but get followd by agents from all sides and the girls are scared for their lives and once they get the oppurtunity to escape the reader offers herself (maybe an agent was about to catch Shelby) and Toni and Shelby (they both don’t want to let go and are in hysterics) as well as the other girls lose it when readers screams and begs them to leave her and get to safety. Pretty heavy angst that you write so amazingly, it would be so nice to see you bring this idea to life.

*not my gif*

The walls started to be the only thing you can remember seeing. The weird wooden paneling in what felt like a fucking holding cell for prisoners’ on death row. You can’t remember what the sky looked like or the stars. All you can remember is this stupid quarantine room that you were put in after you got, quote on quote: saved, from the island.

You haven’t seen any of the girls since you’ve been saved. And you really wished you could’ve, you’ve missed their personalities. Rachel’s determination. Dot’s sarcasm. Fatin’s inappropriate jokes. Leah’s intelligence. Shelby’s kind heart. And lastly, your girlfriend Toni’s protectiveness. All of them, everything about them, you wish you had with you right now.

All of a sudden the entire power went out. The lights shut off and the camera that watches you 24/7 was down. There were footsteps echoing throughout the hallway until it stopped right in front of the door. You waited for the door to open, but it didn’t. It was like there was a moment of hesitation before something was slipped under the door and the footsteps echoed away.

A small piece of paper, written in a handwriting that was quite familiar. You’ve seen this handwriting in Nora’s notebook. From the one and only Leah Rilke, saying: We were right...

All of the conspiracy theories that we once thought were crazy, were actually true. After the shark attack that made us lose Nora and Rachel’s hand, Leah told us everything. From her finding Jeanette’s second phone to seeing Nora talk to a camera in the trees. You all thought it was crazy, until the questions that Dr. Fader and Agent Young asked could’ve only been known if they were on the island.

You flipped the paper over, seeing that there was something else written: Escape plan ???.

The next few days were quiet. You didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. Until finally, your door swung open. Fader and Young were both standing there with hands in their pockets, “You ready to see the girls?”

Your eyes lit up for the first time since you got there. Happiness overwhelming your body at the chance to see the only people who have been keeping your mind sane in that Hell hole.

You shot up from off the bed and followed them into the corridor. But not before trying to examine each hall, to find some sort of exit plan. Then it all came to a view, your favorite people in the entire world.

“Toni?” you whispered and she turned around to face you. A huge smile formed onto her face before she wrapped her arms around you.

You let out a sigh of relief. Your whole body seemed to relax at the slightest touch, “Hi love.” she whispered, holding you tightly.

The two of you let go and you see your best friend. Her long lucious blonde locks no longer there, but rather a buzz cut replacing it. You know you shouldn’t have laughed, but c’mon it’s your best friend. The two of you make fun of each other all of the time.

“You like it?” she asked, pretending to flip her hair over her shoulder.

You bursted out laughing, “Oh yeah! Getting a little bit of Caillou vibes from it.”

She pushed you back softly, before grabbing your shoulders and ultimately bringing you into a hug of your own, “I’ve missed you.” she whispered.

“I’ve missed you too...” you begin to say with seriousness, but you couldn’t help the nickname that popped into your head, “...Shelbald.”

Everyone in the coordior seemed to have busted out laughing at the nickname, “I hate you.” Shelby said.

“Mhmm, I hate you too.” you said, pulling away from the hug. Going around the room to hug all of the other girls.

Once all of you realized that you were alone, without the two agents watching your every move, you decided to catch up on the plan.

“How is this gonna work, Leah? I mean how did you get the notes out to us in the first place?” you asked. A question that has been flooding your thoughts for quite some time now.

She had a small smirk on her face, “We have an ally on the inside.” she said, bringing her voice to a whisper, “I have these napkins for all of you. We’re gonna put them in our door before closing. It’ll give us a chance to not allow it to close.”

Leah handed everyone a napkin. All of us clenching them in our fist, trying to hide it as much as possible.

“Our ally is gonna cut the power like they did when they slipped the note to everyone for me. We’re all gonna run and meet here at the corridor. He told me where the secret exit is and we’re gonna get out through there. The rest of the plan from there is a little fuzzy, but escaping is the most important part.” she explained.

There was a tense silence between everyone for a little bit. Before we all broke out into smiles, “Leah,” Rachel began, “Thank God for your craziness. It’s gonna save our asses!”

“Hell yeah it will!” Fatin exclaimed. All of you laughed along with each other. A sudden weight being lifted from your shoulders, like for once in the past few months everything was gonna be okay.

God, how you were so wrong.

“When is this happening?” Dot asked.

Leah’s lips quirked into a smirk, “Tonight.”

After a couple more hours, the two agents came back. Escorting us one by one to our rooms. We bid each other goodbye before walking into our rooms. As our doors close, all of us stuffing a napkin into them. The slow sounds of footsteps slowly fading away down the hallway, you pushed the door open a little and low and behold...it opened.

You pretended to act the normal the entire rest of the day. Lying in bed, pretending to be upset with the world. It’s not like that part changed, but at least now there was a glimmer of hope at the end of the road. You didn’t know what time it was, it could’ve been 10pm or 2am or 4am, but all of the lights shut off again. And you watched as the cameras fell, like they have been disarmed.

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, “Let’s do this.”

Slowly, you stepped out of the room, looking up and down the hallway. The coast was clear. You ran out of your room, trying to not make a lot of noise. When you reached the cooridor, everyone was there and you could tell that nervousness hung over the group.

“We ready?” Dot asked and all of us just nodded, “Let’s fucking go!”

All of you walked out of the cooridors, making sure the coast was clear. Toni intertwined her fingers into your hands and the tension in your shoulders seemed to have fallen away. Shelby was right behind you guys and you made sure to look back every now and then to make sure she was okay.

“There they are!” you heard a deep voice yell.

All of you stopped in your tracks, looking at one another. Then reality hit all of you like a truck, before you took off running. Toni practically dragging you along with her and every second you looked behind you to see Shelby keeping up. But when you do, you can see a butt-load of agents, the distance between you and them growing smaller and smaller by the second.

“Guys! They’re gaining!” you yelled. As time went on, your energy and adrenaline that the group once had was slowly diminishing.

“Well run faster!” Rachel called back. Both her and Leah leading the charge.

“I didn’t sign up for a marathon!” Fatin exclaimed.

Dot shrugged, “It’s either run a marathon or get captured by them.”

Fatin looked back at all of the angry men. And somehow, someway, she started running faster, “Yeah, yeah. Marathon it is!”

You reached the exit Leah was once talking about. Shutting the door behind you guys, locking it just before they could get in. You did a mental head count...Rachel, Leah, Dot, Fatin, Toni...that’s only five? That’s only five! You scanned the two way hallway frantically.

“Love? What’s wrong?” Toni asked.

You shook your head, “Where’s Shelby? She wa s right behind us. I should’ve...I should’ve kept watching her. I should’ve make her run in front of me.”

“What?” Toni questioned, her voice a little softer.

“Where’s Shelby?!” you practically screamed. Your voice echoing throughout the hallway.

You heard footsteps coming towards you. Shelby in the hands of Agent Young, you released a shaky breath. All of you were surrounded, the door to escape right there in front of you. A middle aged lady that you recognized from the Dawn of Eve video appeared from behind the two agents.

“Relax darling. She’s right here. Now how about we all get you back to your cells?” she asked.

Everyone shook their head, “No, this is insane! You can’t keep us here forever!” Dot yelled.

“Well we need one of you to explain to us what happened. So if you’d like to escape, go right ahead, but we keep Shelby. Easy peasy.” she explained.

You looked at Toni, sending her an apologetic glance. Her head tilting to the side in confusion. You leaned forward softly, placing a small kiss to her cheek, before letting go of her hand.

“Y/N? What are you-“ she began to ask, but you stepped towards the woman and the two agents.

You let out yet another shaky breath, “Take me.” you said sternly.

An echo of “What?!” rang throughout the hallway. And you tried not to focus on the fear that laced, each and every one of their voices.

“You let them go, let them go back home. And I’ll switch places with Shelby. I’ll cooperate and tell you the entire truth.” you negotiated.

Shelby stared right at you, “Are you insane?” she asked, tears pooling at your eyes.

“Please. Let them go. I’ll tell you everything I know. That is your best bet of trying to get yourself out of whatever sick game you’re playing. Because if you keep all of us here, we will not cooperate and you’ll know nothing.” you explained. The middle-aged woman pondered your negotiation for quite a few minutes.

And with one snap of her fingers, she was released and you were in the grasp of Agent Young and Dr. Fader. You finally brought yourself to look at the girls who were all crying. And you couldn’t bear to look at them anymore as you heard sobs course throughout Shelby, Leah, and Fatin’s body. Then there was Toni, Dot, and Rachel who were trying their best to stay strong, but you knew they couldn’t.

“You can’t do this!” Toni yelled.

You shook your head, “We don’t have a choice. I need you guys to leave. We’ve lost 2 already! No one else can get hurt anymore.” Everyone went silent, “Can I say goodbye first?” you asked, softly. The three adults all looked at each other before nodding.

You stopped first at Rachel, pulling her into a small hug. And you could feel little tear drops fall onto your shoulder, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save her.” That caused Rachel to sob even more.

You rubbed her back softly, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you.” she whispered back before pulling away.

Then there was Fatin. She immediately crashed into your arms, holding you tighter than she ever has before. You ran your fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her as best as possible.

“I’m still holding you to your plans for when you escape.” you mentioned, out of the blue.

“What?” she asked, pulling away a little.

You smiled widely at her, “You still gotta fuck the rowdiest guy with biggest dick ASAP!”

And for once since the great escape happened all of you finally laughed and smiled. She sniffled before nodding, “I promise. I’ll dedicate it to you.”

Then Dot. You could tell she was trying her best not to cry, but a few tears slipped out. She hugged you tightly, patting your back in the process, “Do me a favor?” she just hummed in response, “When you get back home to Texas, watch after Shelby. Live in your old house together, something...anything! She can’t go home, she’s not ready for that yet. But you need to protect her and make sure that she stays the same person she is jow. Not the person we knew before, can you do that?”

“With my life.” Dot promised and you look back at her to find a determined nod on her face.

Leah’s turn was next. Her piercing blue eyes looked like the ocean when it rained. The glossiness of the raindrops hitting the water. You smiled at her softly, pulling her into a hug.

You were right by her ear when you whispered, “When we get out of here, you need to tell our story. Tell the truth the whole truth. Don’t let these bastards win. Sue them if we have to. Just get our story out. I trust you more than anyone to do that. Do it for Jeanette and Martha and even Nora. The ones we’ve lost and the ones who are lost in the trauma.”

“I’m on it. You come back to us okay? We need you here too to tell our story.” she said.

You smiled at her sadly, “I’ll try.”

Then there was Shelby. You look at her and she looked at you shaking her head, “No no you can’t do this. You can’t sacrifice yourself for everyone else. I’ll stay here with you! I’ll follow you always!” she pleaded, sobs following her spoken words.

Tears finally fell from your eyes, “You can’t stay here okay? You have to go home.”

“You’re my only family!! Why are you doing this??” she practically yelled.

You sniffled, smiling softly, “You know how we always wanted to be the hero? We would go on missions for church to help people’s lives.” she nodded, “I’m gonna be the hero today and save the people I care about the most.”

Shelby grabbed you forcefully, holding you into her arms. The two of you shaking, as sobs coursed throughout your bodies. You placed your hand on the back of her head, holding her unbelievably close. Until you finally let go.

“I’m not gonna let you do this.” Toni said sternly.

“You have no choice-“ you began to say, but she cut you off.

“Fuck that! I do have a choice and I’m gonna swap places with you! You took Shelby’s place so easily, so why can’t I do that with you?!” her voice echoing, causing everyone to flinch back.

You took your hands in her face, rubbing circles along her cheekbones. Something you did on the island to calm her down when she got too angry or stressed. You placed your forehead on hers and you could see her lips start to quiver.

“You can’t stay here.” she pleaded, “I can’t-what am I gonna do without you? I don’t have Marty or you, what am I gonna do?”

You placed a kiss to her forehead, “I’m gonna find my way back. Find all of you again, okay? I’m never leaving you as cheesy as it sounds I’m always gonna be right here.” you pointed at her heart, “But until then I have to go darling.”

“No, please!” she practically begged. You kissed her softly, but with so much emotion to let her know how much you love her. Not knowing when the next time will be.

“I love you Toni.” you placed one more kiss to her forehead before taking a step back to look at all of the girls.

Again, with one snap of the fingers, you were back in the agents arms, “Escort them to the exit.” the middle-aged woman stated, “You’re coming with me.”

Ear piercing screams rang through your ears. You were about to be dragged off when Shelby and Toni tried rushing towards you. They grabbed your hands trying to pull you back, but the agents were stronger. Not to mention the other agents holding them back.

“We’re not leaving you!!” they yelled.

You didn’t want it to end like this, “Please just go! We lost! You can’t stay here! It’s not safe for you! So please just get out!” you screamed before everything started to break down in front of you, “Just go.” you kept mumbling over and over again between sobs.

Dr. Fader and the middle aged woman escorted you away from the girls and to the interrogation room. While Agent Young escorted the bawling girls towards the exit, probably to drive them to the airport on wherever the hell we are.

“You promised! I trusted that you would keep all of us safe!” Leah spat at Agent Young when they were all alone. She started banging on his chest, “I trusted you! And you-you made us lost Y/N!”

He just let her go at it, before grabbing her wrists as softly as possible, “I tried, but Gretchen watched all of you run from her office. She figured you were going there. And called for everyone to surround you. I tried Leah. I tried for all of you and I failed!”

“You were the ally?” Dot asked and he nodded.

“You girls don’t deserve this. You’ve already been through so much. It’s time for you to go home.” he said sadly, “I’ll take care of her, I promise.”

///

tag list: @hstoria @greysky22 @shalifoestilinski @yourssincerelyj

#the wilds imagines #the wilds #toni shalifoe imagines #toni shalifoe x reader

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Hey wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote a crossover between canon and the roleswap AU.

So I did <3. There’s no reason for this to exist, I was just bored and self-indulgent and amused myself by thinking about how fucking insane the Space Cadet team has to be in comparison to canon. This takes place at S4 Canon!Jon’s time, and basically between chapters 2 and 3 of solitaire. It is not canon. Do not think too hard about it. Enjoy. Story under the cut.

“Yes, in almost every way.” Jon wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up and dropping it on the table. “Jonathan Sims, thirty one years old, Aquarius. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. The Archivist.” He paused a beat, uncertain of how to broach this. “I think Helen may have deposited me in an alternate dimension? Best case scenario.”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Jon woke up at his desk, which was so common that it was somewhat pathetic.

Not that a lot of things weren’t pathetic about Jon, but seeing as he no longer technically had anywhere to live he’d give himself a pass. Or was it pathetic to be homeless too? Jon felt strongly as if it was, but he was working on the judgemental thing. Martin had always -

Martin. Jon blinked blearily at his empty desk, scrubbing a little at the sleep that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes. Right. Speaking of pathetic. Jon didn’t like admitting that Martin was the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing he thought about before he went to bed, but he was working on being more honest with himself. Denial about the situation didn’t do anyone any favors. Denial was what made him start stalking and hunting people like - like some sort of awful predator. No more denial. Jon knew who he was, and he knew what he was, and he was going to try and be as good a person as he can be despite it. It was the least he could do.

Wait. Why was his desk empty?

It wasn’t completely empty. There was a laptop on the center of it, and some assorted papers stuck haphazardly underneath. The usual recorder was tucked into the corner, clicked off. He swiped his hand over the trackpad of his laptop, quickly logging in, and instead of seeing his usual research or theory maps, he saw...a video game?

Jon squinted at the video game. What was The Sims?

He looked around his office, well-lit with the harsh fluorescent lights. It was his office, complete with the couch on the far wall that Daisy had taken to napping on and the two walls of metal shelving that held filling boxes and collections of tapes. Several filing cabinets were lined up behind Jon, holding his favorite statements. Organized by Entity. He was quite proud of it.

But the Statements seemed to be gone. Some loose papers were always scattered around, slipping out of boxes or sitting in haphazard piles weighed down by tape recorders. None of them were there. Basira must have taken them. Jon stood up, moving around the desk to pull out a box and peer inside. Empty.

Some part of Jon’s brain, growing louder every day, wailed and gnashed its teeth that someone had stolen his Statements, his knowledge. Most of Jon was just worried over what Basira could possibly be doing with them.

Unconsciously, Jon’s hand drifted down to his stomach. It was purely a habit, of course - the hunger never gave him stomach pains. He was so hungry all the time, he could barely feel it anymore.

The Statements were all gone.

Was Basira trying to starve him out…?

Jon shook himself. She wouldn’t - well, she wouldn’t go behind his back to do it. She knew that he’d just start preying on people -

His life had gotten so pathetic.

A loud crash and a yell echoed from the other side of the door, and Jon recognized Melanie’s voice. He winced, and decided to stay in his office for the time being. Best to stay out of her way. She always reacted somewhat explosively to him -

Then the faint, muffled tones of Martin’s voice echoed through the door, and Jon forgot all hesitation as he burst out of his office.

The bullpen was just slightly different from where Jon had seen it last - the desks arranged differently, different detritus scattered around, no sleeping bags or hair dryers - but he wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was only paying attention to Martin, who was sitting at his desk as easy as you please. He was smiling.

Jon hadn’t seen Martin smile in so long.

He also hadn’t seen Martin wear those adorable little sweatervests in so long, but that wasn’t important right now. Jon cried out softly, like he had been punched - he did feel as if he had been punched, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation - and Martin turned slightly in his chair to look at him. He smiled when he saw Jon, so kind and happy and Martin, and Jon felt like he was dying at the sight of Martin just smiling, just looking at him.

“Look, you don’t need to worry about me,” Martin was saying, to an unamused and remarkably composed Melanie. He held up a large combat knife, the metal glinting off the fluorescent lights. “Jon likes it.”

“See, it’s not you I’m worried about,” Melanie said, arms crossed. She was dressed - in her jeans and green flannel, like she used to. Her hair looked clean. The crop top, cut-off shorts, and fishnets, that Jon hadn’t seen her take off in the last month, where - “It’s poor Jon. He’s too desperate for affection to stand up for himself.”

“Jon, you okay?” Tim asked, sitting behind Martin and sipping a margarita. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That was when Jon - hungry, tired, hallucinating - felt his legs give out. It was just in time, too. He collapsed to the ground just as Martin threw the knife, sending it whistling where his head had been half a second ago.

Then he hit his head on the floor, and blissfully fainted.

****

“ - she’s not his mother, it’s not Georgie’s job to make sure he eats.”

“It’s because Daisy isn’t here.” That was Basira’s voice, almost mournful. “Daisy always used to remind him to eat.”

“How did this guy make it to thirty again?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

“If it wasn’t for this ragtag bunch of lesbians, I would have killed him months ago,” Tim said, then paused a beat. “What? I’m owning up to my mistakes.”

“Remind me to give you a sticker later,” Melanie said dryly.

Jon opened his eyes, to see five faces crowded in front of him. They were all bending over him, identical expressions of mild intrigue on their faces as they bickered with each other. Martin looked very, very mildly concerned, as Melanie and Basira just looked exasperated. Tim - and the woman - who was the woman?

Instinctually, Jon reached out with his mind and sought the answer. But it was as if he was reaching with a limb that had been cut off. No, a limb that had never existed. Dazed, Jon lifted his real hand, if only to make sure that he could still move - and found himself staring at an unmarred, smooth, healthy hand.

“Martin didn’t cut it off,” the woman said helpfully. She had a thick mane of curly brown hair, and brown skin a similar shade to his. She was holding a granola bar, and she easily stuffed it in his outstretched hand. “If that was a concern or anything. When’s the last time you ate, Jon?”

The question spent a spike of anxiety through him, Jon instantly interpreting it as an accusation. The granola bar wasn’t going to do anything. Of course he was hungry, he’s always hungry -

Jon wasn’t hungry.

Jon sat up, letting the assorted people, both alive and dead, step away. He mechanically unwrapped the granola bar and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing lethargically. It didn’t taste like sawdust and cement. It tasted like salt, and nuts.

He swallowed the granola bar, forming a hypothesis. He looked at Basira, who at least was the most familiar here. It galled him even having to ask, not just knowing, but - “What year is it?”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “If you hit your head we’re taking you to C&E. We can’t afford for you to get any stupider, Jon.”

“Your concern is noted,” Jon said, strained.

“Don’t make fun of him, he’s a concussion victim,” Melanie scolded. She smiled at Jon - hideously novel. “It’s 2018. I’m calling Georgie and getting you home, you’re useless to us with a brain injury.”

He no longer had a hypothesis. Jon shook his head mutely. The last person Jon wanted to field questions from was Georgie. “I’m fine,” Jon said hoarsely. “I think I just need to - lie down a bit.” And not look at Tim. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and was still slurping his margarita obnoxiously. He was leaning against a desk, somewhat heavily. “I’ll be fine.”

Everybody looked at each other, then shrugged. Melanie reached down and helped him up, gently pushing him towards the couch set up in the corner of the bullpen, and he found himself stumbling towards it and lying down. Martin loudly offered to nurse him back to health, which incentivized Basira and Melanie to quickly push him inside the recording room and lock the door for...some reason. Jon wanted to go talk to Martin, figure everything out with him. But he didn’t - paralyzed, or maybe just frightened, or maybe just very tired.

The knife he had thrown was still lying on the floor, somehow innocently. The woman picked it up, inspecting it closely, and sighed.

“There is something off about that guy.”

“None of them are ever going to believe you, Sash,” Tim said dully, flipping through a brightly colored magazine on his desk. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. “Melanie thinks it’s freakier if you haven’t stabbed anyone.”

This was it. This was when Tim would say, ‘Everybody wants to stab Jon’, or something. It’d be fair. If this was a dream, a fantasy of dead friends, then that’s what he would say. But he didn’t. Tim - strangely small, strangely gaunt, with hollow cheeks that reminded Jon a little of Daisy - didn’t look up at Sasha, flipping through his magazine, and Sasha avoided eye contact with him. She looked at Jon instead, from where he was lying on the couch, and gave him a strained smile.

Jon found the courage to speak to her. It should have felt familiar, like Sasha, but nothing about her was familiar. He had listened to her tapes a dozen times, any scrap of her voice he could find, but - well, everybody sounded different on the tapes. “Sasha. Can you get me my phone? And a...Statement?”

Sasha brightened enthusiastically. “You want a Statement? Say no more, Jon, I’ll hook you up. Nice to see somebody taking an interest. Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?”

“What…?”

But she had already disappeared into his office, and the faint sounds of banging echoed throughout the room. Melanie and Basira were standing in the kitchenette, chatting lowly, Basira occasionally laughing at something Melanie said.

Jon wondered where Daisy was, and instinctively tried to reach again before hitting that wall. He gritted his teeth, head still swimming.

The most important thing was figuring out if this place was dangerous or not. Wherever he was, whatever was going on, he had to discern if it was a danger. Could this have anything to do with an unknown ritual? No, how could it? Elias? He wouldn’t put any of this past Elias.

With a twist in his gut Jon remembered the cannibal priest’s Statement. Any suspicion of unreality, any feeling as if things were not as they should be...or was this a pleasant, Lotus Eater’s dream instead? If that was true, would Martin be throwing knives at him?

“Here you go! First one I saw on your desk.”

Jon sat up, mutely taking the paper and phone Sasha held out to him. It wasn’t his mobile - it was much nicer and sleeker than his own battered thing - but he had to assume it was Jon’s. He took the Statement too, scanning it quickly.

Of course, of course. It was Anya Villete’s. Jon thought about this one frequently, captured by the prospect of multiple realities. Not worth the danger of exploring, but there was an intoxicating element of danger. Maybe the Jon that these people thought they were talking to had been reading it, and accidentally triggered something -

“What did I say!”

Before Jon could react, the paper was unceremoniously ripped from his hands. Jon cried out helplessly, only to see Melanie standing in front of him with an unamused expression and his lifeline in her uncaring fists.

“We’ve been over this,” Melanie scolded - scolded? “No statements, they’re bad for your tummy.” She frowned at Sasha, who didn’t seem very guilty. “And I told you to stop enabling him. He’s already sick, and you know these things upset him.”

“I’m gathering data,” Sasha said cheerfully. “Something weird was happening in his eyes when he was reading that Statement. Give it back, I need to record it.”

“Can I have that back, please?” Jon asked planatively. “I need it.”

“You do not.” Melanie folded up the statement tightly, shoving it in her jeans and ignoring Jon’s cry of despair. “If you’re feeling under-stimulated, go play knife monopoly with Martin. Otherwise relax and make sure you aren’t going to faint again.”

“I’m not going to -”

“I will call Georgie,” Melanie threatened, and Jon clicked his mouth shut. Melanie nodded, satisfied in having won the argument. If it was even an argument. “Sasha, if you let Jon find another Statement I will be locking the library and giving the key to Martin.”

“Yes, boss,” Sasha said, depressed.

“Tim, you’re with me, we need to design our plan of attack for chasing down Daisy,” Melanie barked, and Tim straightened in his seat. Jon saw for the first time that there was a folded up cane on his desk. “I need your dumb fear demon powers.”

“That’s not how they -” Tim started, but at Melanie’s look he quailed. “Yeah, boss.”

“Great.” Melanie folded her arms, frowning down at Jon, and at the receiving end of the look Jon found himself quailing too. “If you leave the Archives to do anything other than go to the bathroom the rest of the day, I will tell Georgie that you were exerting yourself while sick again. And she will call you a poor little dear and give you lots of hugs and lots of soup. You will hate it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” Jon said, depressed.

“Good. I need to go psychologically torment more people, I’ll be in the library. Tim!” She snapped her fingers, and strode off to the library as Tim scrambled up and limped after her.

Jon watched her go dazedly as the library door clicked shut behind her. Sasha sighed and went back to her desk, cracking open the thick books on the top and relaxing. They weren’t even research books, just nonfiction about the Mayflower. Basira was back at her desk too, this time with her chin resting on her arms folded on the desk as she watched a...movie. Was that a romcom?

This was dangerous. The situation was dangerous, doubtless the plot of some force or another that hated Jon personally and wanted him to suffer. He had to do some research, find out what was going on, track down Elias and find his power and dig into that source of infinite knowledge lying dormant in his mind, uproot every terrifying thing that hated him and shake them down for answers.

But he was more scared of Melanie. Just because she didn’t seem to have any knives on her didn’t mean that it was the case. Unless Martin had them all. So Jon lay back on the couch, rotely pressed in the passcode to his phone, and idly opened up the internet browser in complete comfort and relaxation.

The couch was so comfortable and soft, in fact, that Jon soon fell asleep. Easy and smooth, as if he really was still a human, who needed sleep at all.

And when Jon dreamed, he dreamed of blissful and restful nothing.

******

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder, and Jon screamed himself awake as his eyes flew open.

But it wasn’t anybody dangerous, or anything willing to hurt him. It was just - Basira. Just Basira. Jon exhaled in relief, ignoring Basira’s incredulous expression.

“It’s five, we’re heading out. You feeling well enough for pub night, mate?”

They were going home. The strangeness registered first, the fact that Sasha was shrugging on a jacket and Melanie was stuffing a laptop in a backpack, before Jon remembered where he was. Or where he wasn’t. He mustered a faint smile for Basira, but judging from her frown it came out closer to a grimace.

Pub night. They were going out for drinks, then going to their own flats. Eating dinner. Sleeping. Waking up the next morning, then heading off to work. The mundanity boggled.

Maybe it was a Lotus Eater, Jon thought, dazed. A world where there were no Entities, no fears or harm. Where everybody was human, and happy.

Maybe. He hadn’t actually been allowed to look at any of the Statements, so he didn’t actually know. He couldn’t imagine that this group would be so casual if the Statements really were true.

Part of him wanted to beg off, curl up and sleep in document storage so he wouldn’t have to interact with these people for any longer. He was out of practice: these days he rarely had long conversations with anybody who wasn’t Daisy, and he hadn’t seen Daisy all day. Basira exchanged a few curt sentences with him each day. Melanie...cried and screamed, a lot. Not exactly conducive to social skills.

Sasha’s face was buried in a book, not even looking up as she navigated the desks. Tim was talking a patient Melanie’s ear off about Nietzche.

“I think I can make it,” Jon found himself saying. “Just a pint.”

Besides, he had the feeling that if he curled up in document storage Georgie would...be mad at him. Or something. They were flatmates? Or something?

They walked out the door in a herd, talking and laughing. Jon found himself hanging in the back of the group, next to Sasha. She wasn’t looking up from her book, so Jon felt safe in staring unabashedly at Tim. He was using a cane, just like Daisy had for two or so weeks right out of the coffin. He even used it in the same way: not favoring one leg or the other, using it for strength instead of balance. Muscle weakness. He was just as emancipated as Daisy had been too, in that particular corpse-like way that made him look like a zombie. His hair was long and lanky, brittle strands reaching to his chin instead of his normal lush and gelled look.

The faces in the lobby were the same - Sabrina behind the desk, Roy playing security guard - even as the decorations were different. No portrait of Jonah Magnus, or of the other directors. They broke out into the London street, as smoggy and crowded as ever, and Jon found himself trailing behind the others in a direct route to their usual pub. The same one he, Basira, Melanie, and Daisy go drinking at sometimes. Only sometimes. They went without him more often, but Jon didn’t blame them, really -

“Something on my face, mate?”

Tim’s wry voice startled Jon out of his reverie, and he flushed. Tim smiled at him, thinly and without humor, and gestured him forward as he dropped behind Melanie. Jon stepped forward, tucking his hands into his jacket, fighting the rising swell in his throat.

“You’ve been staring. I’m not that much uglier, am I?” Tim asked lightly, a parody of his old good humor. That, at least, was familiar - Tim’s fragile and brittle humor, tightly leashing rage.

“You...you look good,” Jon said. He buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets, fighting the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “It’s good to see you again.”

It was probably a strange thing for Jon to say - but Tim just smiled, even more bitter than the last. “You’ve always been too nice for your own good, Sims.” First time that’s been said about him. “You forgive too easy.”

“Grudges...aren’t worth it, in my experience.” Jon exhaled slowly, watching Melanie’s red hair glint in the sunlight in front of him. “Life’s too short and all.”

“Really? Thought you people loved grudges.” Tim blinked a second, before clearly remembering something. “We love grudges, right. Still, Jon, I never really…” He trailed off awkwardly. “You know.”

He did not. “Right,” Jon said.

“Apologized,” Tim said hurriedly, when it became clear that Jon wasn’t about to say anything committal. “For trying to kill you all those times. Uh, and trying to get you arrested. And helping frame you for murder. And that whole kidnapping incident -”

Something began to occur to Jon. A rational thought seeped into his brain.

“In the woods,” Jon said slowly. “Because you thought I was a monster.”

Tim winced, confirming Jon’s suspicion. “Right. Trust me, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I know I was wrong. I’ve turned over a new leaf and everything.” He brightened. “Did you hear I’m bisexual now?”

“Everybody heard you were bisexual now,” Basira said, bored. “Ten times.”

“Good for you,” Jon said, as sincerely as he could. “That’s...great. Bi rights.”

Tim beamed. “Bi rights!” He clapped Jon’s shoulder supportively with his other hand as Melanie held open the door to the pub for them, ducking inside. “Man, I never thought I’d see the inside of a pub again. I only got to go a few times with you guys before everything. Can Martin still hustle the room at pool?”

“One way to find out,” Martin said serenely.

“Please don’t start a pub brawl,” Melanie said, pained. “We’ve been kicked out of three places already, I don’t fancy making it a fourth.”

But when Jon looked backwards, he saw Sasha looking up from her book, staring directly at him, blinking owlishly.

They crowded into a corner booth, squishing up against each other and all talking at once. Jon wanted to drift towards Martin, get him alone and ask what was going on, but after one look at him eyeing up the pool cues speculatively he changed his mind. Only Basira was acting even remotely normal, so he settled for sliding in between her and Sasha. He was dizzy with the noise and the clamor of the familiar pub, overwhelmed by the familiar-unfamiliar tide of voices, and it was taking all of his energy not to spend hours just staring at Sasha, memorizing every line and crease of her face.

The first thing he did was order every single crummy, greasy, soggy serving of pub food he found on the menu, ignoring the way his Assistants laughed at him, before settling in the corner of the booth and pulling out his phone. Jon wasn’t even hungry - he wasn’t hungry - but he was shoving every soggy chip into his mouth until he puked. A human body was a drastically underrated thing.

Out of curiosity, Jon turned on the front camera of his phone and scrutinized his reflection. He had noticed that his hair was shorter, tied back in a puffed bun instead of his customary ragged ponytail, but beyond that he hadn’t checked.

He looked...good. No longer gaunt and malnourished, he was a healthy weight. No bags under his eyes. Well kept fade and modest, well trimmed facial hair. No scar over his throat, no circular worm scars. That was less of a surprise - Tim, Martin, and Sasha were all missing the worm scars.

His eyes were brown. Just brown. No electrifying green, no spinning iris, no churning wheel of knowledge. Just his normal, boring brown.

He hadn’t known how much he missed it.

As the others started arguing passionately about...vlogs? Or something?...Jon pulled out his wallet. Money had the same old Queen on it, along with his old collection of take-out receipts that had all started disappearing when he stopped eating. A photocopy of a picture of his parents, heavily worn and creased. Still an orphan, then. Jon missed the days when that was his biggest problem.

His driver’s license was the same as ever too. Same name - Jonathan Andrew Sims. Same birthday - February 14th, which he had always considered life’s practical joke on him. The United Kingdom still existed, which was either a good or a bad thing.

He replaced his wallet, ignoring Sasha’s curious stare, and pulled out his phone. He had only gone so far as making sure that major world events were the same before passing out. This time, he pressed his text messages, and scrolled down his most recents. As usual, it was only a few people - almost all of which were at this table - but there were a few other people too.

Georgie was the obvious one, and the most recent. He clicked on that conversation, unsurprised to see an immediate photograph of the Admiral looking angelic as he rolled around in some grass in a patch of sun.

Georgie: Baby at the park soaking in some rays!!! <3 <3 <3. I caught him terrorizing a stray dog. Naughty baby!!

Jon blinked at the message. The Admiral did seem a little...more evil, than he once did. Why were his eyes green? Underneath was Jon’s own text, sent twenty minutes before he had woken up that afternoon.

Jon: He’s committing atrocities and you’re laughing. You’re laughing.

Jon couldn’t fight a smile. He missed Georgie.

He switched over to the text conversation just underneath. He squinted at the contact name. That couldn’t be right.

Gerry: can u pick up milk from aldis? and scented candles

Gerry: for necromancy reasons

Jon: Can you raise the dead tomorrow? Helen said she wants to talk to me so I may be home late. If you don’t hear from me in five hours she’s likely kidnapped me. As a heads up.

Gerry: OH, SO LONG AS I HAVE THE HEADS UP?

Gerry: I’m making Georgie give Melanie the money to buy that toddler leash she’s always threatening to get for u. If u die im not resurrecting u.

Jon: Have fun with one less person to share the rent

Gerry: we dont PAY RENT

Gerard Keay. Jon blinked at the phone. That conversation raised as many questions as it answered. Gerard Keay was alive? He was Jon’s flatmate? He practiced necromancy? None of it seemed very relevant right now, but it made Jon wonder who else was resurrected from the dead. Was necromancy common in this universe, like knitting?

Still, Helen explained quite a bit. It also suggested what Jon was already wondering: that the supernatural was far from foreign. If Helen was supernatural, and not just...a jerk.

If Tim was an Avatar of the Hunt...if he had been in the coffin...and Daisy’s been hard to track down…

Jon was interrupted in his increasingly coherent train of thought by his food arriving, and all thoughts were thrown out the window. His basket of fish and chips slid in front of him, and he wasted absolutely no time in cramming the fries into his mouth three at a time, not wasting time salting or putting vinegar on them. They were dripping with crease, soggy and burning his tongue.

They were perfect.

The waiter, looking somewhat intimidated, slid his bacon butty on the table too, and Jon took barely a moment to swallow before stuffing that in his face too. Bacon, butter, brown sauce - it exploded on his tongue, a cavalcade of salt and seasoning. Increasingly terrified, the waiter put his pie and mash on the table and quickly fled, as Jon finished cramming the sandwich into his mouth before moving back to the fish. It was hot, crackling on his tongue, strong and fishy and perfect.

Jon looked up from his food long enough to grab a glass of water and gulp half of it down. It wasn’t until he put his glass down that he saw the looks on the faces of his Assistants. All of whom ranged from frightened to terrified.

Everybody except Martin, whose chin was propped on his hand and was sighing dreamily. “It’s really hot how you can pack it all away, Jon. Do you want to come over to my flat and let me cook for you? I’d make a lot of food. ”

Jon choked on his fish.

That was it for Sasha. She slammed her book down, expression intent, and jabbed a finger at a now wheezing Jon. “Jon would never choke at Martin’s creepy flirting! That isn’t Jonathan Sims!”

Jon stole Tim’s glass of water, ignoring his squawk, and downed that too.

Now everybody really was staring at him, and Jon felt heat rise to his cheeks. As the kids say, busted. He should probably stop eating and make his escape while he still could, before Tim decided to change his mind on his ‘murdering Jon’ stance.

But outside did not have pub food. Inside had pub food. Jon made his decision with the knowledge that, if his Assistants reacted from a reasonable place of Imposter-based trauma and killed him for pretending to be Jonathan Sims, he’d deserve it. He was not moving from this spot until his food was gone or his Assistants killed him.

Jon finished off Tim’s water, dropping it back on the lacquered table, and hoarsely said, “I’ve been having a very strange day.”

Nobody leaped for his throat or pointed a gun at him, which was always nice. It was more than Jon had been expecting. Instead, everybody looked at Melanie, who narrowed her eyes. Jon realized, a second too late, that they were waiting for her. Whatever happened to him, Melanie would decide.

...why Melanie?

Melanie rested her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She locked eyes with Jon, breaking him down like a judge at a dog show, and Jon tried to shovel mash in his mouth as innocently as possible.

“Sasha. What’s your evidence?”

“He’s been acting weird all day,” Sasha said promptly, as if she’d been expecting the question. She shifted her arm purposefully, and Jon realized with a start that she was concealed carrying. Was that legal? “Jon never asks me for Statements outright, he always just sneaks them behind Melanie’s back. If he really fainted because he was hungry, he would have eaten his lunch too, instead of just my granola bar. And he hasn’t talked to Martin since he fainted - he isn’t even sitting next to him.” Sasha drew herself up triumphantly. “And, he looked actually scared when Martin threw that knife at him. He’s never scared of Martin. He normally just role-plays the fear bit.”

“Which I appreciate,” Martin said supportively, making Jon blanch. That elicited more suspicious looks from everyone, which Jon couldn’t even begin to parse. “But he has been acting strange today, hasn’t he?”

“Tim?” Melanie asked sharply.

Tim sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose a little. “Smells like him.” At Melanie’s intense look, he grudgingly added, “No sawdust or plastic. Flesh and blood, boss.”

Jon began stuffing forkfuls of pastry and meat crumb from the pie in his mouth as Melanie went back to squinting at Jon. Not glaring - just an intense, sidelong look, fingers steepled in front of her. “You aren’t denying it, Jon.”

Jon mumbled something.

“Swallow your food.”

Jon carefully swallowed his mouthful of dough. “I have not eaten human food,” Jon said delicately, “in five months. I will answer your questions momentarily.”

And then Jon cleaned all three of his plates, to the dumbfounded looks of his Assistants.

Finally, after everybody else’s drinks had arrived - including Jon’s pint, which he reached for so quickly that Martin stole it away from him and refused to give it back - and Jon had cleaned all three of his plates, he felt ready to talk. He thumped on his chest, burping a little, and leaned back in his plush seat. Melanie was nursing her pint, sipping from it slowly, as Basira gave him her usual ‘I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you’ look.

“Okay,” Jon said finally. “I apologize for not - ah, clarifying before. I thought I was dreaming. To be honest, I worry that I’m still dreaming.” He looked down at his empty basket and plates. “I dearly hope that wasn’t human flesh or something horrid like that.”

Sasha perked up. “Like in the cannibal priest statement? That’s fascinating -”

“Shut up about cannibal priests,” Melanie groaned, and Sasha guiltily shut up. Oddly rude, but nobody seemed surprised. “You are Jon, right?”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Then everybody was talking over each other, arguing and exclaiming and yelling, and Jon frantically drank his pint. They were so loud.

Finally, Melanie chopped a hand through the buzz, and everyone quieted. She pursed her lips, looking Jon up and down, and he anxiously let himself get looked at. “How did you know it was an alternate universe? What’s the difference?”

“Martin threw a knife at me and Tim and Sasha are alive,” Jon said instantly.

“I’m not actually dead in your universe,” Tim said quickly, “just trapped in an infernal demon hell coffin. If you can get me out, I’d be really thankful -”

“No, you’re quite dead,” Jon said apologetically. “That happened to Daisy in my universe, though. A - a lot of what you did here, I think, Daisy did.” He looked at Basira, frowning. “Where is Daisy? She’s not…”

“She’s fine,” Basira said curtly, folding her arms and leaning back. “Having lots of fun ditching us and having fun at her little secretary desk. It’s fine. I don’t care. She can do what she wants, she’s an adult.”

“Basira’s been pining tragically ever since Daisy ran off to go work for Peter Lukas,” Melanie said sympathetically.

Jon felt a little called out. “Ah. That’s - that’s very unfortunate.” He slowly turned to Martin, who still seemed caught up in the ‘two Jons’ aspect of this. “And you’re...you would define yourself as full of rage?”

“At all times, all the time, without cessation,” Martin agreed affably. “Why? That’s not weird to you, is it?”

“Uh huh.” Jon slowly turned to Sasha. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but...did you happen to once work as a Constable for the Met?”

Everybody winced. Sasha sighed. “I regret all of my actions and I’m very sorry that I was once a pig and I’ll never do it again because I value due process now.”

“Word, sister,” Tim said, raising his pint.

“Hm,” Jon said, far too much coming together. But that left a big question, one thing that didn’t make sense. “What about me? Do I - eat trauma?”

Basira stared at him blankly. “You try, sometimes, but we usually just spray water at you until you stop.”

“That explains it,” said Jon, despite the fact that it didn’t explain anything.

“Your questions are pointless, and this is a waste of time.” Melanie clapped her hands sharply, making everyone straighten to attention. She stood up from her seat, everybody scrambling to protect their glasses as Melanie clambered on top of the table. “Helen! Get out here!”

“She’s not - she’s not Beetlejuice, you can’t just call her name and make her appear,” Jon said blankly. “How’s she even supposed to hear -”

“She can hear me just fine,” Melanie called, “because she’s been sitting at the bar this whole time.”

Everybody’s heads craned around to look at the bar. Through the stream of people, carrying drinks and laughing, Jon could faintly make out a tall, willowy figure with a large afro sitting on a barstool at the bar, tapping the rim of one elegant martini with a long, manicured fingernail.

Then she swiveled around, and Helen grinned broadly at all of them. She waved cheekily with one hand, fingers waving and rippling strangely in the dim pub lights. “Hello! You rang?”

Melanie jabbed a finger at the table pointedly. “Michael’s too young to be here too, Helen!”

“They’re eighteen, they’re a big non-Euclidean concept!” Helen tittered, as she hopped of the stool. Jon’s draw dropped as a much smaller, slight figure next to her hopped off too. They were a teenager, with a curly mop of blonde hair and big, watery blue eyes that seemed just a little strange. Everything about them was on the edge of familiar, and not in the usual way of the Spiral.

“She was waiting for us to figure it out,” Basira murmured, catching Jon’s attention. “It’s definitely funny to her.”

“Helen defined schadenfreude, I’m afraid,” Jon said, depressed, as Helen and her tagalong popped up at the edge of their table. Melanie had said Michael - and the kid did look like Michael, younger and alive and wide-eyed. Their watery eyes caught on Jon, and they tilted their head curiously. The sight of them hurt Jon’s head more than the Spiral usually did - a testament to the human body he was borrowing.

Human. That was no defense. He was vulnerable, and judging from the angle of Helen’s smile she knew it.

“Enjoying your vacation, Archivist?” Helen tittered, folding her hands girlishly as Melanie hopped off the table and back in her seat. “I’ve been having so much fun in this universe I thought I ought to bring a friend! Buy one plane ticket get one free, you know. I have this coupon for a great spa around here -”

“Helen,” Melanie intoned dangerously.

Helen tittered a nervous laugh. Was she...scared of Melanie? “Don’t worry! Your darling little Jon’s perfectly safe. He’s having a great time in one of my favorite dimensions, this wonderful post-apocalyptic adventure with a werewolf -

“Helen,” Melanie said slowly, danger building with every word, “we talked about what happens when you remove Jons from their native ecosystems.”

“They get sick,” Michael said somberly, nodding their head. “An’ wilt.”

“It is very stressful for the Jon, Helen. You know what we don’t like?”

“A stressed Jon?” Michael volunteered.

“Yes, Michael.” Melanie smiled pleasantly at Helen, who blanched. “A stressed Jon. Because when Jon gets stressed, my girlfriend gets stressed. And when my girlfriend gets stressed, I get stressed. And when I get stressed, everybody is about to have a very bad time. Get it? Helen?”

“Completely understood, very sympathetic, I see your point completely,” Helen said hurriedly. “Really, you can say that I did my dear Archivist a favor! He hasn’t had a human body in almost half a year, the poor dear was so sad about it. It’s a break, really!”

Tim squinted at Jon. “You’re really full on fear demon, then?”

Jon squirmed guiltily, ashamed. “I prefer the term Avatar. But...yes, I’m an amoral monster distant from humanity, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melanie said impatiently. “You’re about as far from humanity as I am. Having stupid superpowers or cramming shitty food into your mouth doesn’t make you inhuman, it just means you hang out with the wrong crowd. Go back to your own universe and get some rest, I bet you’re stressing out all your friends.”

“I’m really not,” Jon said weakly. “I - I really only have one friend.”

“No wonder you look so tragic all the time,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “Jon gets all mopey without affection. Like an unwatered plant.”

“I eat trauma,” Jon said, bewildered at the perception of harmlessness.

“You and half of the YouTube vlogging community.” Melanie clapped her hands again sharply, pulling everyone to attention. “Helen. Put Jon back where he came from or so help me.”

“Ruining all my fun,” Helen pouted, but at Melanie’s glare she sighed. She held up one hand, and static rippled through the air. The hand elongated, twisted, and turned into Helen’s signature lengthy claw. Michael eyed it with interest, before holding up their own hand and doing the same. “Fun while it lasted, Archivist! Now hold still. I wouldn’t want to lobotomize the wrong lobe.”

“Nice meeting you,” Sasha said politely, to a very freaked out Jon. “Don’t come back, though.”

“Come back if you want,” Basira yawned. “My life’s boring, spice it up a little.”

“Sorry I’m dead in your universe or whatever,” Tim said, waving a hand. “Life and death is meaningless anyway, so I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“I want my Jon back,” Martin complained. “Go on and get out, then.”

“Tell your friends what we told you,” Melanie said. “Don’t they know that you get all tragic when you’re lonely?”

And Jon didn’t know how to say it - that they didn’t know, or if they did then they didn’t care, because they had so many bigger problems than if Jon was sad or not. With Elias’ strange plans, with Jon’s encroaching monsterhood and his slow and steady starvation, with Martin’s loneliness and Basira’s desperation and Melanie’s instability, Jon’s feelings were the least important thing in the world.

Did it matter, to anybody but Jon, that he thought of Martin first thing in the morning and last thing as he went to bed at night?

“Hold still and look straight at me!” Helen said, and Jon had to be thankful - because that let him look at Sasha and Tim, eyes wide and intrigued, as Helen speared her finger through Jon’s forehead.

Jon blacked out, but the images of Sasha and Tim stayed burned behind his eyelids. He dreamed calm dreams, of him and Martin and Sasha and Tim, laughing together, as the world faded away.

****

When Jon woke up, it was with a crick in his neck, and he knew immediately he had fallen asleep on the battered old couch in his office again.

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and when he pried his eyes open he saw the top of Daisy’s head in front of him. Dusty blonde hair pooled on his chest as Daisy snored, deep asleep, arm stretched over his torso.

The taste of salt and grease was on his tongue, and Jon let himself go back to sleep. The dreams would be terrifying and desolate, but at least in them he was never hungry.

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im also doing an UNBELIEVABLY self-indulgent tim character study but im not sure if i should post it because tim's not funny #melanie king #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #slaughter!martin #basira hussain #sasha james #helen richardson #michael shelley

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Ducktales Shadow Into Light (Lena Retrospective): Friendship Hates Magic! (Commission by WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people! And welcome, and to some of you welcome back to Shadow Into Light, my fully paid for but gladly done Lena retrospective, covering everyone’s faviorite lesbian emo shadow’s personal jounrey through all three seasons and some brucey bonuses.

So this time we pick up in mid-season 2.. yes MID season 2. Though for once taking so long to adress things had valid reasons. It dosen’t make the 8 month wait for Lena to return and for Violet to show up, her concept art having been shown off shortly before Shadow War aired during San Diego Comic Con, any less aggravating, especially since the episode did air overseas before that but never leaked anywhere properly. So I knew she’d be okay but not HOW.

As I said though.. they had their reasons. The episode was set for episode 8 in production order, right behind whatever Happened to Della Duck? which answered the other big cliffhanger from season 1, Della’s exile on the moon. So while this episode was back in the queue, along with Della’s, which had to wait till after the christmas episode to air because said episode takes place before it. So waiting on this episode was fair on the crew’s part even knowing it was a hiatus.

It ended up getting pushed back by a week once the episodes started airing.. but as outlined last time, THIS TIME Disney actually moved it for good reason instead of just doing so because shut up. See the problem with moving episodes around in season 2.. is Della’s return. Several episodes that in theory could’ve easily been pushed back instead of this one, Depths of Cousin Fethry, Treasure of the Found Lamp... couldn’t because they take place BEFORE Della came back and it’d be weird to air them after. One features Donald, the other dosen’t but still lacks Della and it’d be weird if it did> While this episode takes place before Della comes back or was at least meant to, no one appears in person, and Beakly mentoning “the boys and scrooge” at the bin could simply be her forgetting Della’s a part of things for a second. It’s not entirely in character, but it’s much easier than explaning why Della’s not there and Donald is.

They also moved one episode ahead of this.. but it’s one I approve of. See from episode 7 onward the episodes were aired in week long duckbombs, woo-ooo. I I don’t fault disney for it or the reason I suspect they had for doing this: while it wasn’t the intended way of airing, they likely did this airing style to get shows on Disney Plus quicker for it’s debut and given they’ve sunk a LOT of money into the streaming service and it’s a key part of their future, I can’t blame them for wanting the entire series thus far on the platform at launch. It’s one of if not their most popular show at the moment. They wanted it front and center.

So this one took an extra week to air, and an extra day as they aired raiders of the doomsday vault right after Della’s return in “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!”.. which is also not a bad move. Fans wanted more of Della and her bonding with the kids, I wanted more of that so while the wait was grumble inducing, it was worth the tradeoff to get more of this character and her bonding with Dewey.. and let’s face it Glomgold. You know what i’m about at this point.

So there were delays but not the mind boggling ones that reshuffled the season last time and by next season there’d be zero reshuffling with both holiday episodes designed to go anywhere. So with the history and the agonizing wait out of the way join me under the cut as a snark knight returns, a new fan faviorite debuts and Beakly gets sucked into Launchpad’s awful fandom.

We open our story at the Duckburg Library. Man I fucking miss the library. I mean you can go by apointment and what not but I also have library card debt and stuff, and it’s just not the same.

Anyways naturally Webby is going there to research the Shadow Realm in hopes of finding something to bring Lena back. Last week was “Children’s Card Games, Dark Magic and You! by Professor Yugi Moto which while enlightening got her nowhere. Next up is “Shadow Games on Motorcycles!: How a Crimson Dragon defeated a giant Shadow Monster and brought the dead back and I helped by Doctor Yusei Fudo”.

But that one’s not in yet so she instead goes to the Librarian to get another book.. and it’s Quackfaster! Horay! As for why she’s working two jobs, she’s saving up for a retirement condo in BIRDDDBAAADDOOOSSSSS. I had to type it that way it’s ape law.

But her next book “I Went there and it Sucked, My Time in the Shadow Realm by Mayor of New Jersey Joey Wheeler” is taken by “another strange little girl”. Quackfaster, you chase people around with a scimitar. Just accept your the weird one and live with it like me. You’ll be happier that way.

And so we finally meet Violet whose introduced pitch perfectly. Webby gives out her usual “Hi I”m Webby”.. and Violet simply holds a finger up, finishes her page and gives a simple “Yes?” It demonstrates her quite nature, her love of reading and her lack of social skills all in one fell swoop. The ensuing dead language off is also pretty damn adorable reminding me of that scene from “Lisa’s Wedding” where she and Hugh fight over a book and reading it before making out.. minus the making out because these are children, no one wants that, and Webby is taken. .and even then again children. Most we get is an innocent peck and some blushing.

So Violet, finding out Webby needs it and is researching the arcane too offers to research together tonight, bringing a sleeping bag just in case it goes on long... to Lena’s unheard objections as she’s rattled by the break in her normal routine with Webby, and the possibility of Webby falling for someone else. I mean this i framed as a friendship thing... but you can only say “friend” so many times in a work before you sound like a retired grandma in denial about their granddaughter.

Later at the Mansion, Beakley is enjoying a nice quiet afternoon to herself. Turns out once a month Scrooge has “Binventory Day” where he and the boys catalogue the bin for hours giving her a night to herself and Webby. Webby loudly interuppts the peace as is Cartoon Law, but Beakley is pleased Webby is getting back on the friendship horse.

Bentina ends up ruining it a bit though by bringing up her previous slumber party disasters... which even Lena at her most jealous admits were her fault and only agrees to in the hopes Webby’s going to cancel. Instead Webby decides to make this the most normal sleepover ever! The one where her new friend is coming to specifically help her with magic.

Bentina tries to back her grandaughter/daughter down from this insane logic, but Webby does, if innocently clap back well to her being the one to give her “Be yourself” advice. “I’m not like you Granny, I need to have friends”

And while Webby quickly flees after Beakley tries to deny it.. she’s not wrong. She has exactly one friend who she works for and no social life to speak of.. and as far as I can tell she’s fine this way. Beakley is happy with her work and raising Webby and has someone to talk to in Scrooge. She has everything she needs, while Webby is a social butterfly.. a socially inept social butterfly. She needs people and loves meeting new people and needs friends and not just her family. One’s an introvert the other’s an extrovert. I’m both at times, and before you ask why yes it is a living nightmare thank you so much for asking. I get where both are coming from. And Beakley clearly had friends at one point it’s just a long war with FOWL and a sudden granddaughter probably whittled it down to just Scrooge. It’s okay to be yourself.

So this is where the plotlines split off, so as usual, i’m splitting the up.

Launchpad and Beakley in Getting To Know You And Getting Sucked INto Your Strange and Lovely Fandom

So Beakley naturally cries out “name one person I don’t get along with.. and in walks Launchpad , Nature’s Perfect Himbo, having destroyed the gate and at least being honest he probably will again. Why he’s here when the boys and Scrooge are all gone?

But I don’t care as this subplot is just.. a nonstop delight. Starting with Beakly inviting Launchpad to sup with her.. which just confuses him. Look Bentina you have to use small words.. it’s a miracle he gets up in the morning, dreses himself and hasn’t died in a tragic gasoline fight accident. You have to know your audience. Still funny.

And “not knowing your audience” continues as Beakly serves them pea soup but Launchpad is intimidated by the spoons and while she does offer to help instead tries to use all of them then a straw and then falls facedown in his soup. And this is the SECOND TIME Beakly’s left someone living at the mansion to die. I mean that’s not a lot but it’s still weird it happened twice.

Finally they sit quitely, Beakly reading the Scarlet Pimpernell, and Launchpad doing a coloring book. And besides the odd couple energy what I really like about this subplot.. is that it fleshes Beakly out> This is one of her ONLY plots in the entire goddamn series, yes really. 70 episodes and she only got five spotlight episodes/plots. But it does at least show her off: her upperclass pedigree we really don’t see often, showing that while she applied to the job as maid out of necisity she knows her stuff, her love of classic literature and her being out of touch with the common person. It’s not a ton but it’s more than ninja butler or “stop having fun with your kids della and be a parent”. I mean she wasn’t wrong but she could’ve been nicer about it given the circumstances.

So Launchpad, given Beakley’s never shown any interest in him as a person before, assumes she’s going to fire him and was just softening him up. I mean Scrooge himself outright said he never would and if he did he’d do it to your face, hard as it’d be. But that aside, he’s fine with getting to know her once he knows that no he’s not being fired she just wanted to hang out, he’s everyone’s friend. But naturally an upperclash british former super spy and a dumb as a bucket with a heart of gold pilot have nothing in common, not even aircraft as “plane go up, plane crash going down’ is about the extent of his actual knowledge on aircraft that isn’t instinct or dumb luck.

He does manage to break the ice though, mistaking her book for a Darkwing Duck book and deciding to show her the show since it might be something they have in common. At first she’s as unintuhsed as you’d expect a british lady who never watches the telly watching a 90′s kids show would be.. but by the end she’s gotten all the way into it.

It’s really endearing, showning that two vastly diffrent people with nothing can common can be brought together by something as simple and glorious as liking the same show. I’ve had it happen with me. She naturally is all for filiming his fanscript after the finale provides no answers, being the one to suggest it and the two end the episode shooting it with her in full darkwing duck cosplay. I’ts a cute and entertaining subplot and a nice contrast to the main plot which while not super dark, does have a fog of tension over it. Speaking of which.

Webby, Lena and Violet: In Two’s Company, Three Accidently Creates Monsters That Nearly Take Your Girlfriend Off Into The Shadowy Abyss So the slumber party gets underway with Webby shooing away Duckworth after clearing out her room to greet Violet herself and violet having brought pie... a great callback to an earlier joke where Webby wondered if pie was normal at a sleepover. No but it should be. So Webby welcomes her in to her totally normal room devoid of anything. Nothing suspicious about that.

So Violet tries to get her into research, specifically Tulpas, an actual magical concept, a mental construct of some kind created out of desire, imagination or what have you. Gee I wonder if that will come into play this episode. Webby.. wants to play baggle or what have you or do makeovers and drags Violet along to do the second thing after Violet asks about Magica. Lena then finds something glowing in Violet’s bag...specifically, her old amulet, cracked but still working and flowing with Magica’s power.

Lena assumes Violet is Magica and goes to warn Webby only to find her HORRIBLY MUTATED! Naturally it’s a misdirect, as it turns out Violet is just REALLY good at special effects makeup. It’s something I honestly forgot about her... i’m betting one of her dad’s is an effects artist. Just saying that’d be neat. But Webby gives the “i’m normal really even though I live in a giant mansion with my dad I don’t know is my dad and my grandma whose actually my adopted mom” game away by pointing out the demon’s fang is crooked and Violet is curious and heads to Webby’s room finding a picture from said demon. He signed it and everything. Good man that Rakshaka.

Webby is worried Violet will be freaked out by all the weird but nope, she enjoys it. And it’s not a suprise: violet is actively researching the shadow dimension. Why WOULD she be scared off. The conflict was in Webby’s head all along.. and partly out of PTSD, but we’ll get to that. Webby still tries to get her to baggle but they settle on ancient rune dice baggle and summoning some spirits. Lena scoffs.. until it actually works. It does make sense though: As we’ll see in her last starring role, Lena is kinda like Wanda Maximoff: she has an extreme amount of power but she has no idea how to use it and is simply making up most of her magic as she goes along or took magica’s lead. But the spell means Lena can touch the dice so she spells out don’t trust her.. but forgets she’s dealing with two nerds who love unlocking puzzles and assume the message is on the dice themselves.

Webby and Violet decide they need more clarity and resume the seance.. which summons mysterious white shadow creatures Lena saw before.. .some now taking Magica’s shape. And Lena’s panicked “Oh not again” says it all. So Lena tries the tried and true bedsheet ghost cliche, grumbling about it but showing up as a ghost without any abillity to speak or talk to webby dosen’t do anything and Violet tackles the sheet before deciding to grab the amulet to dispiate the spirit.. only for Lena to show up for a breif second before she does show making the panicked child look incredibly supscious.

Webby naturally tackles and interrogates Violet wanting the full story. And it turns out the big secret is.. Violet is entirely normal. Nothing to do with Magica, no possesions or secretly being her or a minon of hers... she was just a logic obsessed 12 year old who thought magic was a myth.. until the Shadow War proved “Nope it’s real everything you know is wrong. Up is down black is white and short is long”. She just happened to be close to the bin and found the amulet when the remains of the staff fell near her and compacted back into it.

It’s a brilliant reveal. See first watch around your genuinely unsure if Violet is a real person or not.. unless you went in knowing she is, but semantics. Point is most first time viewers didn’t know she’d be a beloved member of the supporting cast and didn’t know what to expect. But looking back... it makes no sense. If Magica had the amulet.. why would she need to infiltrate the mansion. Revenge? Possibly but she’d want Scrooge there too. Even being evil on her own Violet had valid opportunity to pilfer Webby’s magical items, she has an entire box of magic rocks right there and then simply zap her with the amulet. But she didn’t.. because Violet is a person. When she DOES use it she’s utterly terrified, and we can see her breathing heavy, scared.. something Magica has NEVER been of Lena. To Violet it was just a ghost. Webby hadn’t told her about lena and any information she had about her was second hand from newspapers and the like.

Webby is sympathetic, as Violet’s feeling of being sheltered from this greater world naturally resonates and while Lena is still supscious, having reincorperated, it’s clear Webby trusts violet and simply dosen’t want to loose another friend to magic. Here trying to hide it now takes another tone.. she knows Lena was behind it.. but is so afraid of it consuming violet the way it did Lena, she forgets almost ALL of the weird magic stuff in sleepovers was magica’s manipulation, and that Lena died because her creator was a monster, not because of magic. Magic is not inherently good or bad, it just is, and that will come back as a theme in a few episodes. It allowed Magica to ravage the town and kill Lena.. but it allowed Lena to exist in the first place and while the terrible events with Magica clearly shook her.. it also shook violet out of her complacency and got her to research a world she never would’ve considered. Good can come from bad.

And it’s with this in mind that Violet.. does not give up. She’s stayed in her box enough.. and now she knows the spirit is a friendly one.. she figures they can bring Lena BACK using the amulet. After all it was lena’s and the source of her powers.. it might be the key to reiviving her. And while Lena, if invisibly as always, remarks it’s dangerous.. Webby, with no hesitation agrees to get her girlfriend back. It’s risky sure.. but what Lena hasn’t gotten is she’s WORTH the list. She’s so full of self loathing from both her manupations of webby and Magica’s gaslighting and abuse that she can’t see herself being worth anything even as Webby spent MONTHS trying to save her, clearly still loves her, and only didn’t want violet getting hurt because she misses her. Webby still loves and needs her for who Lena is.. Lena just can’t it and it hurts to think about that.

So the girls once again try to summon Lena and it starts to work.. but also summons the Tulpa’s back... this time taking Magica’s form and causing a suspcious lena to panic.. and suck both of them into the shadow realm. We get the reunion we’ve been waiting for as Webby tackle hugs her happily.

But it’s soon cut short as Lena still thinks Violet is just manipulating Webby, lying to her and that “she’s mine!”

For the record Joss Whedon sucks, not taking that out on Anthony Stewart Head or the guys who actually wrote the episode. Moving on.

I feel Lena’s jealousy comes from the aformentioned self loathing, mixed with a life of having to live just to surivive at the beck and call of a throughly awful person who didn’t consider her a sentient being worthy of anything especially love. She can’t fathom anyone else loving Webby the way she does because she feels once webby has anyone else.. she won’t need her. It’s toxic and wrong.. but it’s easy to see why that’d happen when sh’es only had one healthy relationship. She barely knows the boys, Beakly only grew to tolerate her and she was only friends with Scrooge for like.. a minute. Webby is the only person she knows, loves and trusts and she just can’t risk loosing that and can’t convince herself to share.

In a realistic scenario Lena would have to simply learn to trust and let her girlfriend have other relationshps and that hogging her all to herself is inhernetly toxic and bad. And while she still does we’re talking about a living pile of shadows smooching a clone, so yeah instead the tulpas come out and drag her off..and take Lena’s form. While Lena tries to blame Violet, Violet has absolutley none of that and makes Lena see the hard truth: Lena is so worried about being forgotten, she created the tulpas by accidnet. As I said her power is raw and unfocused.. so she didn’t do it on purpose nor did she realize how toxic she was being. This finally snaps Lena back to reality, and see Violet geniunely cares about Webby and any ulterior motives were just in her head, so the two agree to work together, using a similar chant to the one from Jaws to destroy the Tulpas and save Webby.

So the shadow realm is disapated and our trio are returned to the human world.. but Lena, not being part of it and no longer having a tether.. starts to disolve, with a really heartbreaking scene of Webby holding her hand, as does violet. But.. then a miracle happens. Since the Bracelet was Lena’s link to Webby, and to her own magic, with it and the amulet close by.. both swirl around Lena, and the power of love.. for a new friend and a first love... revivies her. Mist parts.. and we get one heartwarming sign that after all this time “I’m back?!” Lena is confused.. but once again part of this plane of reality. She’s free and WEbby triumphanthly hugs her with Violet joining in. By letting go of her hate.. Lena returned to who she loved. They also run into the end of the other subplot and Launchpad’s casual hey lena is just great.

So our heroes are reunited and doing horror makeup and I really love Webby’s updo here and wish more works fan nd otherwise used it. WE get a final fakeout as Lena seemingly disovles and Violet reveals herself as magica.. only for it to be a prank and Webby to just be glad the love of her life and her new best friend get a long. We get one last hearwarming image and we close out.. with Lena finally having what she always wanted freedom. And while she may not know it yet in accepting violet.. she’s finally found family. More on that in a few weeks.

Final Thoughts: This episode is excellent. It’s not the best of the Lena arc, that comes next and it does drag once or twice.. but overall it’s a really great character piece, with a nice ballance betwen the tense main plot and the funny and goofy subplot. It adds more to Lena’s character, finally brings her back, while giving us a new and throughly fascenating new character to rave about in Violet, as well as giving Webby her own personal squad. It’s a great episode.. and only leads to a better one. But we’ll get to that in a week or so. First we have a bit of a detour and my plug.

If you liked this review, follow for more, spread it around, and join my patreon. It’s almost time for new patreons to pay up and if you hit my stretch goal i’ll review a darkwing duck episode next month and every month! We’re just five bucks away people! And if you’d like to just comission a review directly it’s just 5 bucks an episode and avaliable via my dms, ask or discord.

Next Time on Shadow Into Light: We take a break from the last two Lena episodes to go to one of her sources as we head back to Ducktales 87 with Magica’s Shadow War! I know almost nothing going in so... Shadow betrayals and stuff? Yay?

Tommorow: It’s Fenton’s birthday! And since i’ve done a LOT of ducktales recently and can’t do super ducktales till I hit my next stretch goal at 25 bucks, we’re going back to ST Canard at long last for Gizmoducks second apperance.. which can’t possibly be worse than the first so i’m excited. Let’s get dangerous tommorow!

#lena sabrewing #webby vanderquack #ducktales #weblena #violet sabrewing #shadow into light #friendship hates magic #great title by the way #bentina beakley #launchpad mcquack #darkwing duck

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deviliciousdev · 4 years ago

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MBTI✨One Letter's Difference, So Close yet So Far✨

intj (the architect)

intp (the logician)

new friends

(ft. intj x enfp dating)

--------------------------------

[at intj's private office space]

intp: [feet on the desk throwing skittles up into the air and into their mouth]

intj: [enters from kitchenette with a cup of coffee. pushes intp's feet off of the desk, and goes over to blueprint sketch table]

intp: ahh!

intj: [not looking up from there work] there are skittles on the ground.

intp: oh yeah, poor lil guys. didn't make it. they're the failures...

intj: failures...?

intp: i was doing an experiment to see if one could catch something in their mouth without moving one's head. thusly primarily using only one's hand eye coordination and muscle memory. mostly because i have mastered the normal throw n catch candy game.

intj: [finally looking up] ... and... what did you conclude?

intp: that skittles are surprisingly bouncey on your tacky greyish green carpet. [putting feet back on the desk with a devilish grin] 😁

intj: 😑🙄 [rolls their eyes and keeps working] so, you know enfp and i have been a few dates now...

intp: do you have any juice?

intj: top self of the fridge in the kitchenette.

intp: [gets up and heads to the back] sorry what we're saying, dates enfp, what about it??

intj: enfp wants to set you up with one of their friends

intp: [from back area] me?? why??

intj: well they asked me about your social life...

intp: [coming back in with a juice box🧃] what'd ya tell em?

intj: the truth.

intp: oh... and??

intj: enfp said and i quote: "oh my god...that's so sad" and i said that's your preferred normal, to which enfp said "ok, that's even sadder... i should fix them up with one of my friends, i have some really cute friends they might hit it off with 😊"

intp: mmm... ner... not like any of words... just said... "fix up"... "hit- it- off"?? what does any of that even mean??

intj: i'm not sure, but enfp invited me and "my friends", so you and entp to meet them and their friends at that overpriced whiskey bar on 3rd street, saturday night.

intp: oh no no no no, that sounds like a lot of small talk with people i don't know or care about and having to push past whiskey drinking hipsters who talk about self aggrandizing pedantic quotes they saw on tumblr as if they were this century's greatest philosopher. so, noooo thank you, but you and entp have fun 👍 [plops back into desk chair]

intj: probably, but you're still going.

intp: [throws head back and huffs in a tantrum] ugh! nooooo... whyyyyy...??

intj: [stops working and puts a hand on their hip, holding pencil in hand leaning on sketch table] one. because if i have to go, you have to go. two. you owe me for getting you out of all of your parking tickets by offering to design the judge's new patio and pool area for free. and three... i've... gotten... use to enfp... and i... enjoy their physical attributes and... surprisingly... their company. all of which i intend to continue. [quickly looks back at work, and holds blue print up] so, if you meeting one of their attractive air head friends will aid in that continuation than that's what we're going to do.

intp: mmm... 😒... fine. [sips juice box in pout]

intj: good. now enfp has told me to ask you what your "type" is, to help with their "matchmaking".

intp: type?? i dunno know... [looks back and forth in confusion]... oh um... [snaps] villains.🤓

intj: [stops what they're doing]... villains...??

intp: yeah, i feel like i always have a crush on the villain of the movie or tv show... or video game. but not the grimy gross villains but the rich get-shit-done while saying something bitchy yet remaining classy kinda villains... like when there's scene with a hot villain character in expensive business/dress attire drinking champagne 🥂 while delivering a sassy line... i'm like mmmm... nice... 😏... [looks into distance with a little smile nodding]

intj: [camera looks]... great, i'll tell enfp... [scoffs into chuckle] villains... why do i get the sense you have a bunch of toxic exs...

intp: ok, i don't have that many exs, like 4ish... may be, i think... i delete any memory files attached to terminated associations.

intj: [tapping pencil on chin] and they're probably each a different type of toxic because you get bored easily. i bet if we dug into your past relationships, it'd be like who's who of human garbage and insane asylum patients. 🧐

intp: HOW DARE YOU. THAT IS SO... true.

intj: [laughing a little]

intp: yeah no it's like a horror movie that's set in a landfill, WHICH is why i don't do the whole relationship or dating thing anymore, well not that i've ever intended to do it, more that in the past i had fallen into the traps the horrors set for me in the landfill... but anyway now i stay away from the whole [motions hands in a chaotic fashion] ordeal. also because i absolutely HATE first dates and small talk... and i don't really understand flirting i mean i do in theory but less so in practical use and romantic game playing bores me 🙄😒... as do most people.🙂

intj: [nods] true. on the bright side maybe you'll be so awkward and robotic enfp will never try to set you up ever again. 😊

intp: well we can only hope. [lifts juice box in cheers and crosses legs on desk]

intj: [lets out laugh through their nose and heads towards the back. knocks intp's feet off of the desk as they walk past]

intp: ah!

intj: [from back area] pick up the skittles or i'll tell enfp... [leans into room] to set you up with the preppiest pseudoscience loving hipster they know.

intp: *gasp* 😱 you are ruthless. we're going to get along very well.

[both share an evil little grin] 😈😈

intp: can i have another juice box?

intj: apple or grape?

intp: apple please 😁

intj: you're coming over for a star trek movie marathon tonight right?

intp: but of course.

intj: sweet, i'll order pizza.

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fabricated-misslieness · 4 years ago

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Peter Parker x gender neutral hero reader

Had the idea out of nowhere, thought it’d be fun

Reader has the ability to resurrect, but have they told anybody? Guess what, no. This technically means that they’d be invulnerable to eternal death by old age, except they’d live dying from old age over and over until the end of time.

Requested: No

Word Count: 1842

Warnings: Major character death, swearing, angst to fluff, sad Peter, promise rings, car crash, atheist Peter and atheist reader, swearing

He thought the 5 stages of grief were false, just a meme to laugh at on the internet. Boy, was he wrong. It was real, all too real.

You'd proven him wrong.

He wished all the ceremonies would be done.

They were overwhelming. He barely had any time to grief before all the events had begun. As a result, he had to bottle up all his feelings. All those speeches he gave in frustration, all those fake smiles he had to give, and all those condolences he had to receive, he wanted it all to be over. When he had the time and everything was over, he finally realized that you were truly gone.

He wished he could have warned you sooner.

“Look out!” His spider-sense had told him before he could warn you. Those were his last words to you. All the pleading, shouting, sobbing.. that’d been done when you were long gone. It was his fault and he would never stop blaming himself for it.

He wished that by some miracle, you’d be with him again.

You didn’t have powers like him, you didn’t have powers, tenacity or years of training like most of the Avengers. You were just you, a teen without a family, with bare strength, flexibility, and the biggest heart he knew. Perhaps in another timeline, you’d never become a hero. You’d just be his lover, supportive and loving and caring and all that. He would do anything, kill, betray, massacre, if it meant having you back. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was irrational, but he wanted you to be here, with him.

He wished you’d never left him.

But Peter can’t control life and death, the same way he couldn’t control your actions. You were gone. Nobody could change that and nobody would. He should stop visiting that sapling.. or maybe he should go more frequently. It made him cry more but… maybe that was the way to let you go.

He wished to live forever.

To visit that tree every single day until he died, to see it grow the size of a Coast Redwood, because he knew you were strong enough for that. To live for you, to continue going for you. You’d want that. You’d wanted kids, you’d wanted marriage, you wanted to die of old age with him, you wanted to do so much with him. If he couldn’t do most of those things, at least he could do one. At least he could live like you wanted him to.

Ned, Tony, the Avengers, they were like family to him. They, along with aunt May, had helped Peter come to terms with you. They'd been with him through and through, just like you had once.

Which is why he started all over again when he saw you.

“Hey Peter.” Soft-spoken words in the same gentle voice he’d learned to love. Yet, why was he hearing this again? For a second, he contemplated this, thinking about all the possibilities. This could be a new person with the same voice, he could be hallucinating, which makes ‘I can still hear their voice’ true; this could be some sort of recording… this could be you.

He whips around, almost too fast, to see you, in the flesh. This couldn’t be. You’d died, for god’s sake, you’d died! He saw your lifeless corpse. He was there at your funeral, he looked into your casket at the reception, you were there. So why the fuck are you here now?

“Who-” Peter chokes back a sob. He can feel the tears prick his eyes; he thought he’d ran out of shit to cry out, yet his body finds a way to defy him. “Who the fuck are you?” He has a right to be confused, and to feel threatened. He’s a teenager with superpowers who’d witnessed his partner’s death, and then suddenly he’s back in front of him as if nothing had happened. For all he knew, this could be a new supervillain with transformation powers. Loki and other mutants proved that anything could be possible.

"I know you're confused, and probably scared, but…" You step forward slowly, arms cautiously reaching out to your love. Peter slaps your hand away, but you understand why.

"No shit!" Peter shouts, backing away from you and towards his web shooters. Whoever you were, supervillain or not, you definitely knew about his powers. He could climb up the wall and get to safety. Though everything in him was fighting against his logic and longing to hear you speak and explain.

"I'm not here to hurt you," You step back, remembering just how shitty that phrase is. It's also a phrase a villain would use, and Peter knows that perfectly well. "I'm sorry about that. I don't mean it like a supervillain." It really felt like that was you, but he couldn't trust you until he was sure. "Peter, I'm your lover. I'm (y/n)."

Peter almost runs into your arms but he fights to stop himself. "How do I know that's you?" He shouts. The thin walls would alert neighbors, but he didn't care.

At one point, he'd begged and pleaded for you to come back. Now you were in front of him, and he hadn't done anything for this to happen; he was sure it wasn't those gods he prayed to, as an atheist.

"You can't." You mutter under your breath, hoping he doesn't catch it. You hadn't thought this through enough. You fiddled with your hands, pacing back and forth. Unbeknownst to you, you were scaring Peter. The pacing had made you look insane. Then, you got a thought. The promise rings you'd gotten each other like the cheesy naive teens you were. They were unique, custom-made, courtesy of Tony, and you were buried with yours. "Peter."

"I was buried with this. There's no other like it." You hold up your hand, showing him the ring. "Hell, I was buried in these!" You gesture towards yourself.

Tears stream down Peter's face as he scrambles for his ring. He'd left his in his nightstand drawer while he cried all those nights. The engravings had scratched against his skin as he wiped his cheeks. He grabs it out of the mess of the drawer, the sight of it causing the tears to start rolling in bigger, hotter droplets.

"(y/n)!" Peter cried out. The promise ring was enough to prove you were… you. Plus, you looked sincere.

"Sweetheart." You sigh out of relief. Peter rushes over to you, wrapping his arms around you in a concerningly weak hug. He buries his head into your chest. You kiss him his hair multiple times to reassure him. "I love you, I'd never leave you."

"But you did!" Peter sobs, further staining your burial clothes. You didn't particularly like them or anything. Peter knew that, but your family was in charge of it.

"I know I did, I'm sorry." You cup Peter's cheeks and pull him to look up at you. The sight of his face, puffy and teary-eyed, it made you feel bad because you were the cause of it. "How about we sit down and I explain?"

He nods, pulling you over to the bed.

"You need anything? Water or..?" He shakes his head.

You sit on the bed, but Peter pushes you to lay down. He snuggles into your side, still sniffling but doing better. "Well, where do I start?"

You run a hand through Peter's hair as you think. "For starters, I can resurrect."

"What the fuck."

"I know, totally weird. I figured out when I got into a car crash. I was pronounced dead on the hospital bed, but when they came back to move the body, I was suddenly alive again. Nobody had an explanation, since they tried with a defibrillator earlier and it hadn't worked." Peter reaches for your hand. "They called it a miracle, some work of god. It sounded like bullshit so I never believed it. There was never really a second time until now, which proved my ongoing theory."

"That's… rough." He really didn’t have anything to say.

"That's rough, buddy." You quoted, to which Peter laughed.

For a moment, you sit in silence. Neither of you know what to say or even if you shouldn't talk. Maybe you should get up or maybe you should stay. Peter speaks up, ending both of your insecurities.

“So.. you’re alive. Does that mean we’ll get our happy ending? Get married… maybe have kids?” He looks up at you with pleading eyes, even if he knows you agree. You got these promise rings and you’d talked about your happy ending a whole lot. Should you be thinking that far ahead? Whenever you thought about the future, all you saw was Peter as your husband.

“Everything we’ve talked about. Yes.” You sit up a bit, which confuses Peter for a second until you pull him onto your lap and pepper kisses all over his face. It’s something you commonly do when talking about stuff like that.

“I missed this.” Peter mumbled. “But I do have one question, well, maybe a couple.”

“Ask away.”

“You were buried with the ring, so what happened with the grave?” You grimace, which makes Peter giggle in anticipation for the obviously chaotic story you’re about to tell.

“I dunno what happened, but it exploded. When I woke up the casket was broken and the dirt above it was scattered everywhere. Might have messed up other graves, hopefully the dead don’t come after me.” Speaking of which, you rub a little dirt smudge off your ring.

“Did it happen at the hospital, too?”

“No.” You shake your head, gazing off as you think about it. “Maybe it’s my powers looking after me. After all, I wouldn’t love being buried alive.”

Peter winces at the thought. “Right. Wouldn’t your powers mean that you’re immortal?”

“Yeah…” You frown, pressing a kiss on Peter’s nose to reassure the both of you, maybe more for yourself. “I would be, and I’d be very lonely too. Damn, never thought about that.”

Peter pulls your hand up to his lips to kiss your ring. “Then live for me, just as I did for like a week.”

“A week? It’s been that long?” You scratch your head. “It was a few hours at the hospital. Maybe it’s cause of how brutal that dude beat me.” You shiver, remembering the pain you’d felt right before your death. “Has it made the news?”

“Yea. It’s like a movie now.” Peter laughs. “Fighting crime while the criminals think you’re a ghost. Wait.. wouldn’t that mean you’d have to hide your identity? I’d be alone with school, nobody to defend me from flash? Man, that’d suck.”

“Unfortunately. Although the crime fighting part is fun, the rest would be awful. Well, I could get a new identity. That cool haircut I’ve always wanted, a new cool name like… I don’t know, Remy?”

Peter laughs loudly, “Remy is not a cool name!”

“Hey, don’t hate on the Ratatouille rat.”

#swearshirt #peter parker x reader #spider-man x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #angst #angst fic

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a-little-slice-of-fandom · 5 years ago

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Anne's characterization is bad. She's without a doubt the most intelligent and analytical queen. She single handedly manipulated the most important men of England to break up with the most important organization in the world. She'd not be a "chaotic gremlin", she was a master at social rules and managed to not sleep with the king while still keeping him interested for 10 years. She did not became a queen on accident and I hate that her song make it sounds like things just sorta happened to her:)

So this has been in my inbox since yesterday, but then everything with that one annoying anon happened so I wanted to wait to post this.

(Also before people come for me I’m first and foremost an English student. Discussing characters, what makes them likeable, their subtext etc is literally what I do to pass the time. I see this from a dramatic perspective, not a historical one, but as six is a musical it’s important to view both the history and the dramatic elements as equally important)

So firstly I wouldn’t say the character is bad. She’s not historically accurate, she’s probably the least historically accurate out of all the queens...but as a character she’s actually really good. I mean, she’s the the definition of “loveable asshole” and rarely do you see female characters written like that. Mostly they’re just labelled as bitches. Boleyn is spiteful, competitive, silver tongued, unapologetic and aggressive when she wants to be. But she still manages to be a generally likeable character. And she’s never villainised for being the way she is, that’s just her personality. Boleyn could have easily been portrayed as the villain of six...but she isn’t. She’s just a woman. Yes, she’s all the other things I listed, but she’s got her sense of humour, her relatability and her moments where her facade completely breaks. I always love how Vicki did the “what was I meant to do” before shouting “he’s actually going to chop my head of!” Vicki sounds genuinely TERRIFIED at that moment, and it’s such a cool contrast to her very mean-spirited version of the character. And I don’t know, I like that?

But I will address the “chaotic gremlin” Boleyn as well. This idea is a fandom thing that comes from the megasixes, where Millie would often act very chaotically and because a lot of people didn’t have access to the show and were just going off the album and the megasixes, people assumed that’s how Boleyn is in the script. But she’s really not, at least, when you look deeper into the script. In the actual show, while Boleyn can cause chaos but she’s not always defined by this chaotic spirit. Millie Boleyn isn’t actually that chaotic, in fact she’s one of the more balanced Boleyns. I’m not denying that as time has went on, there haven’t been chaotic Boleyn’s, but that’s more due to actresses feeling they have to conform to the fandom expectation in my opinion than the script itself. The most distinct versions of Boleyn are Ashleigh and Christina, from the student and studio casts respectively. Because they weren’t confined to the fandom expectation, they have some of the most interesting versions of the character. Ashleigh especially feels refined and calculating.

Lastly, I’m just going to talk about this idea of manipulation. Because the queens are trying to manipulate the audience. Think about it: this is a competition to see who will be the leading lady of the band and the audience are supposed to decide. So the queens, in theory, have to play to the audience and get them on their side. They have to make the audience like them.

Some queens are really bad at playing to the audience. Seymour garners a lot of goodwill from Heart of Stone and gets the audience on her side...but she forgets to keep the audience on her side. I mean, she’s so insanely petty and she literally gets up in Aragon’s face and screams at one point. Seymour isn’t good at playing to the audience. Parr makes no effort to play to the audience before her own song. She doesn’t want anything to do with the competition, and while her efforts to keep the competition fair may gain her some points with the audience, it isn’t anything groundbreaking. All of parr’s iconic lines come after IDNYL, after the competition has been shattered anyway. Cleves does play to the audience, but in a different way. She’s not going to play misery poker, but rather is laughing along with the audience, hyping herself up and letting everyone have a good time. I mean, she often compliments the audience members and dances with someone. She knows she won’t win the competition (and frankly, she doesn’t want to) but she still will have a good relationship with the audience and make them like her.

At the end of the day, the queens are trying to manipulate the audience to like them. But who is the best queen at manipulating the audience? Who plays to them constantly and is constantly hammering how how relatable they are? Boleyn...and also Howard but for the purpose of this discussion it’s Boleyn.

Boleyn is constantly playing to the audience, manipulating the situation and making them like her. She’s got the catchiest song firstly. She’s one of the most casual queens to the audience “My name is Catherine of Aragon” vs “I’m that Boleyn girl” for example. She pulls Aragon to the forefront of DLUH specifically to make fun of her, taking the wind out of Aragon’s sails and undermining No Way. After Seymour and Howard’s emotional songs? Boleyn instantly swoops in to make jokes at their expenses and get the audience to laugh along with her. She’s always playing to the audience. She never lets it slip from your mind that she’s the most relatable queen, and that you should like her. That’s pretty smart if you ask me!

Also Boleyn is the best at manipulating the other queens as well, and can read the social situation between the other queens the best (along with Cleves but Cleves just feels like she doesn’t want a fist fight on her hands). Boleyn always knows exactly what to say to push someone’s buttons, but also knows when to back off to make sure the audience still root for her (unlike Seymour). She only gets super aggressive after AYWD, when she’s realised that there’s another queen who is equally relatable as her, but more sympathetic. And then she starts to panic.

In regards to don’t lose ur head, it’s actually another tricky discussion because a lot of it can be read as sarcasm or Boleyn making fun of herself. Courtney Bowman is literally the most sarcastic Boleyn out there, to the point where none of her song comes off as serious. “Politics? Not my thing” often comes off as a blatant lie for many of the boleyns, and like I said, we know that she’s great at manipulating the situations in the show so clearly she is good at politics? The thing is, we can’t just take what the characters say in their song as 100 percent true...we need to look at their actions as well. And again, if Boleyn wants to be seen as relatable, she doesn’t just want to go saying about how she was super sneaky and a great social player. That’s counter intuitive! The competition is to make the audience think you had the worst time, and Boleyn understands that! She’s literally manipulating the truth so you like her more!

And lastly, Toby and Lucy have both discussed how they sort of regret what they did with Boleyn, and I’m totally aware that I might be reading way to much into all of this. But I don’t know...I think that, at least as a character (not an accurate representation of the historical Boleyn) Boleyn can be good.

#enya discusses: six #six the musical #six #sixthemusical #anon #ask #six: west end cast #six: studio cast #six: student cast #ask answered #anonymous #anonymous ask

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 4 years ago

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More therapy thoughts part 1/?

Behavior Theory Frameworks/Conditioning and What the fuck does Master Chief talk about in therapy?

Ramblings below - like a lot, like I spent too much time writing this and you should not read this

Behavioral Theory could work well as a framework with rehabilitating Spartan IIs if the case worker focused on Operant Conditioning Theory and Cognitive Social Learning Theory, which I talked about in this ask because I think I’m funny and this blog is an archive of me applying human behavior theories to video games.

Spartans have always been taught the mission comes first! Always! The 2s are indoctrinated from age 6-14 and then have that reinforced the rest of their lives. From the beginning they are taught to push themselves to the limits, earn their food by winning, form bonds with teammates but be ready to sacrifice them for the mission. The whole lives wasted vs spent conversation between John and Mendez after the augmentation surgery!

What the UNSC/ONI wants comes before their lives, the lives of other soldiers, civilians, AI etc. This constant conditioning of expectations and rewards has created the norms cemented in their minds. This becomes standard operating procedure.

Spartans are also an entirely separated social group, other people have made really great posts on how they are Othered and have their own way of communicating with body language. ODSTs hate Spartans, marines see them as cyborgs or saviors, and while they’re allies, Spartans are not seen or treated as human, by literally everyone. They are a means to an end, with the original goal being to maintain the UNSC’s position of power and crush the insurrectionists in the outer colonies, but uh oh Aliens!

Maybe the 2s aren’t as expendable as the 3s but the mindset and reinforcement of “mission first, people second” being repeated their entire lives is going to stick. So is the constant mistreatment and abuse from their fellow soldiers and handlers.

Addressing the cognitive distortions that come from their upbringing while also balancing the fact that Spartans are so fundamentally different from the way they developed to survive would be so much work, especially considering how much information on them is given to their therapist. The main distortion I would apply is minimization, making large problems small and not properly dealing with them, and specifically for John, personification, accepting blame for negative events without sufficient evidence.

Like these are grown ass super soldiers who can kill you in less than a second and calculate the amount of gravity in a room on the fly but then also can flounder when trying to comfort civilians or make small talk because their experiences and values are so alien to adults who had more developmentally “normal” lives.

Literally applying therapy to Spartans would be like, what was done to you was wrong, the ends do not justify the means, you were children and the adults in your life failed to protect you. You are a human person who is fallible and did the best you could with what you had. And the Spartan would say, “sounds fake but okay, can I pass my psych eval and go back to war now please?”

Jumping back to Behavior Theory

Different approaches to therapy under the Behavior Theory umbrella help modify negative behaviors with treatments like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical behavior therapy that teach individuals adaptive coping like emotional regulation, distress tolerance, cognitive distortions, and interpersonal communication. And that’s just one framework under the umbrella of human behavior theories.

Social work therapy is different from psych as it approaches individuals with heavily researched, evidence-based theories and frameworks in a holistic viewing of person-in-environment, instead of a strong focus on internal psychology.

Social work looks at all the interacting systems, environment, history, and internal and external factors affecting an individual. One of the most useful frameworks is the Biopsychosocial-Spiritual Frameworks (BPSS) when helping a client. It helps with identifying all the intersecting factors, both risk and protective, that shapes a client’s lived experiences. The most important thing to remember is that the individual is an expert in their own life, they know their experiences best.

The hardest part is applying this to Spartans because they Are So Fucked, their lived experiences, their environments and systems and institutions interacting with them, and the amount of their personal information that is probably so classified.

BPSS is a tool to help social workers assess individuals and their situations by collecting info that is related to the presenting issues and current and past circumstances. Info like medical history, hospitalizations, substance abuse, mental illness, personal relationships, family history and background, culture and norms, education, legal history, spirituality and participation etc. is all under this framework.

For Spartan 2s most of this info is lost or classified and helping someone who has repressed every negative emotion they've had for the sake of the mission would be so much to unpack but that’s also why you’re reading the mad ramblings over an over caffeinated nerd on the internet.

Life Course Theory which looks at developmental milestones and the individual’s experiences versus the socially expected markers, how do you apply that to children who were taken and have lived such different lives?

While early adolescence is when “normal” development of thoughts of self and identity take place alongside the physical changes of puberty, Spartans were being turned into emotionless calculating weapons. Sorry John, no forming a sense of identity and peer bonds for you, go kill that Watts guy who betrayed us and joined the insurrectionists.

And now that I’ve gone this insane and opened 2 whole textbooks up, let’s get to Master Chief thoughts. If you’ve read this far thank you, I swear I’m normal, 2020 has just been a weird year.

Why the fuck did I think I could write a therapy fic on a guy with 20 minutes of actual dialogue across almost 2 decades of games?

I make fun of him and call him a himbo, but he’s smart, he knows he’s being used and there is resentment there that’s been building for years.

There’s also decades of trauma and combat experience, physical, and emotional abuse, the lack of a support network, lack of an identity, the biological factors and aftermath of the augmentations and injuries he’s received, a whole lot of grief and self-inflicted guilt.

The loss of a third of his peer group with the augmentation surgery, Sam’s death, the loss of Reach (the only place he’s considered home), Keyes, the Pillar of Autumn crew, Miranda Keyes, Johnson, Cortana. He cares about the marines who fight with him!!!

He just stands there and takes it and rarely snaps, and even then it’s just small cracks on the surface with fissures running deep. The few details I will pull from Halo 5 are Blue Team’s reactions to John pushing himself so hard from the beginning of the game, and the literal crack in his armor from the fight with Locke. Like dude.

John’s a leader and will get the mission done but he tugs on the leash. He’s earned enough of a reputation and uses it to get his way.

Halo 2’s “Permission to leave the station” with Mr. “I’m going to hand deliver a bomb to the fusion reactor of a covenant supercarrier and hope my friends catch me”.

Halo 4 is when we see him say no to a superior officer and then 5 is him going AWOL. Palmer literally points out that no one is going to stop him.

Halo 5 kills me for many reasons but John bringing up Halsey and what she did to him and also pointing out that he knows Halo 5 Cortana is trying to manipulate him with psychological tactics hurts.

He knows what’s been done to him!

I cannot remember which book it was but John isn’t used to working alone. He literally takes fire because he was expecting someone to have his back!

He’s lost without Cortana! She was in his brain! Y’all! I played Halo Combat Evolved on the original xbox when I was like 8 and I knew these two were meant to be together. From the moment they met they had great chemistry and relied on each other! Cortana literally goes after people who have it out for John! John wants her approval and shows off for her in one of the books.

I’ve already written too much here but like all of the games have John showing off for Cortana, making dry jokes, jumping out of things he shouldn’t.

The whole point of this rambling is to try and get my thoughts about how to approach John’s character under control.

And that’s the thing. He’s lost control. He’s lost people, he’s losing his position and being phased out as an aging spartan, a relic. John’s used to following orders and making some decisions on the battlefield but it was always short term.

He has no identity beyond being a weapon. Complete the mission, clear the LZ, get put in cryo. Rinse, repeat.

The timeline of the games are what I'm most familiar with but with the comics and books too it’s one long run from Halo 2 to Halo 4. Cairo station to the Dreadnought to the crash landing to Forward Unto Dawn to Requiem to “The Didact is Dead but not really but we’ll deal with him off-screen”.

I know Hood apparently gave John R&R orders before Halo 5 that he ignored and kept running himself into the ground. This is a man who has to keep moving and keep being useful.

I imagine him giving in and seeking help as a last resort to fix any problems he has with performing his duties rather than helping himself be healthier.

Any professional he sees is going to have to approach him like they’re approaching a self sacrificing feral cat, with lunch meat and quiet. This man needs to have his support network closer, set up long term goals, and do some serious, and most likely incredibly painful, self reflection on where he’s come from and where he wants to go. Get him out of that tin can and into therapy. I don’t have a nice neat ending because this was a ramble and also therapy is not neat and tidy. Thanks for reading my words about mr halo

#this is not coherent but it needs out of my brain #John - has different characterizations based on what media he's in #Me - my writing must be in character or I Will Die #also me - we don't talk about halo 5 but i will loot its corpse for bits of lore I like #im sorry for being like this #my writing #Therapy time #John 117 #this is not a halo blog #haha this was peer reviewed nonsense #thanks yall for enabling me #i have even more ideas for the infinity sitcom folder now

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 years ago

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Just Like You - Kenny McCormick(South Park)

I wrote this a really long time ago when I was obsessed with South Park. I don’t know why lmao, but here it is.

Warning: Also wrote this when I was an edgy teen™, so cringe and possible trigger warning.

~~~~~~~~~~

Welp, today’s the day...

New town. New house. New school.

My parents had gotten a better job offer here in this little town of South Park, much to my dismay. I love traveling, but moving from a large city in New York to a small mountain town in Colorado is a lot.

It should be interesting though, more opportunities that I’ve never gotten before. Although, I still have to go to school. The local South Park high school.

I put on my outfit for school and wear my black coat over it. It seems to always snow here, only on rare occasions it gets warm. I run downstairs and grab a piece of toast my mother made from the kitchen. I find a note on the counter.

Have a good first day of school, hon. Try to make some friends, and yes, that means being nice to people. Your father and I will not be back until tomorrow morning, so keep those memories of your first day in you head until we can hear about it. Love you!

My mother is a freak, I love her, but she’s a freak. I’m surprised my father has a job with all the day drinking he does. It helps him get work done, I guess.

I walk to school still eating my buttered toast. Approaching the school, I take in its features. It’s an ugly yellow color. Although, I think all bright colors are ugly. I walk in the school and all eyes are on me. I pretend not to notice. I get my class schedule and such from the receptionist and make my way towards my locker.

“You must be new. I think I would’ve recognized an ass that fine before.” A brunette says to me. I roll my eyes and huff.

“As a matter of fact, I am new. I was hoping for something better than a lame catcall on my first day, but at least you tried.” I said and patted him on the shoulder. He glared, tears filling in his eyes, and stomped off.

I bet he’s never been rejected in his entire life, poor soul.

I walk into my first class and immediately get called on. “Well, hello there! You must be the new student. Y/N right? Well, I’m Mr. Garrison and this here is my little friend Mr. Hat. Say hello Mr. Hat!”

Okay...already creeped the fuck out. Something about his southern accent and oh yeah, his fucking creepy ass puppet just rubs me the wrong way.

“Now, please, go take a seat. Wait...are you a troublemaker?” He asks.

“Oh no. Not at all, sir.” I lie. It’s easy to lie. I have a natural talent for it.

“Oh alright, I guess you can sit next to Kenny. That boy in the orange coat. You can keep him in check.”

Will do, you creepy old fuck.

I take my seat next to the blonde haired boy. He’s kinda cute actually. After class a group of boys came up to me, including that Kenny kid.

“Hi, new kid! Just thought we’d introduce ourselves. I’m Kyle. This here’s Stan, Cartman, and Kenny.” The redhead said.

“Holy shit, look at those tits!”

“Cartman!” Kyle scolded.

“Well, first off. It’s Y/N, not new kid. And nice to meet you too...I guess.” I said and walked off.

Yeah, I don’t have great people skills. My harshness has pushed people away. I’m trying to work on it. But determined from what the fatass said I probably don’t wanna be friends with those dudes.

Off to lunch, finally. Hopefully the lunch here is better than the ones at my old school. I took my tray and looked around the lunchroom. Everyone in groups or pairs. I see one empty table. I head towards it and sit down.

The food isn’t that bad, but I’ll definitely be bringing my own from now on. While I was eating I noticed people staring at me. One, that Kenny kid, and two, that guy that used that lame catcall. I got uncomfortable real quick.

The rest of school was a bust. It was boring. Now, I want something fun to do. I heard that there’s a pond near here, that sounds like fun. I asked directions to where the pond was, which I found out was called Stark’s Pond, and headed there.

I approached and noticed no one was there. Perfect.

I looked around in my bookbag for some rope, and luckily I carry some around with me at all times. I look a heavy looking rock and tie it to the rope. I’m not that heavy so it should work.

I tie the other end of the rope around my ankle. I throw the boulder into the pond and it yanks me down, breaking my ankle. It drags me down until the rock rests at the bottom of the pond.

It’s dark and cold. I’m floating, suspended in time. I look up and see the sunlight breaking through the surface of the water, but it’s not enough to reach me. My hair flies around, loose and tangling each other. I reach up and run my fingers through my soft hair.

It starts...I try to gasp for breath but it isn’t there. My lungs start to burn with fire as no oxygen reaches them and they only fill with water as I struggle for air.

I always find this part of drowning so fascinating. Your survival instincts kick in and you try so desperately to fight to survive but come up short when your lungs fill completely with water and your body becomes stiff and frozen.

I black out.

*The Next Morning*

I gasp and bolt upright from my bed.

I sigh in relief to see that I’m back again, in my new home. Every time I die, there’s always a part of me that’s afraid I’ll never come back, and yet I always do.

The first time it happened, I was 10. I was at a birthday party. It was my friend’s party cake that killed me. Someone, while making the cake, accidentally put poison in it. I don’t know how in the hell someone “accidentally” puts poison in a cake, but it happened.

I started to feel hungry, it wasn’t time eat yet but the cake was on the kitchen table and I couldn’t help myself. I took a small piece of cake, it was delicious but it caused me to foam out the mouth and have a seizure. I died almost instantly. Good thing I died otherwise the rest of those kids would’ve had a bad day.

Then I woke up in my bed the next morning.

The hardest part was that no one remembered that I died, but I did. I remember the whole painful experience, and my parents didn’t even believe me. They took me to counseling after that, not that it helped.

One day, a few weeks after the first time I died, I tried crossing the road without my parents. I looked both ways and no cars were coming as far as I could tell. As soon as I almost crossed the, a car came out of no where and completely wrecked me. Again, I woke up in my bed like nothing happened.

The day after I built up the courage enough to test out the theory that I was unkillable. My dad had a 9 mil in his safe. I shot myself, and just like that, I woke up in my bed the next day.

At first, I was insanely afraid of myself and it wasn’t until last year that I realized it could be fun.

I’ve tested out so many ways of dying. Yesterday at the pond was my first time drowning, but I wanted to get over it cause I knew I’d drown soon even if I avoided it. Next on my list is falling to my death, but besides drowning heights is my biggest fear. Heights might be a good excuse to procrastinate getting that done.

I get up out of bed and take a quick shower. I wonder if I’ll ever stop being immortal? It’s probably a good thing I am since I’ve become so accident prone.

After my shower, I quickly got dressed and jogged down the stairs, almost falling in the process. I walked into the kitchen where I saw my parents.

“Y/N! Hello, sweetie!” My mom said and gave me a hug.

“Hey.” I said.

My mom was making waffles and my dad was just sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Dick never pays any attention to me.

“So, how was your first day of school? Did you make any friends?”

“Uh, not really. Some guys introduced themselves to me, but you know how I am with people. And school was fine, learned a lot, teachers are a freaky though.” I paused. “Oh, and I drowned myself at Stark’s Pond.” I said nonchalantly.

My mom sighed. “That’s nice dear.”

Ever since I’ve been experimenting with dying over and over, I’ve been telling my parents about it. They never believe me of course. Even when one time I purposely hurt myself and bled to death in front of them, but they never remember. My dad didn’t really give a shit though. Anyway...

“I’m going to school now. Later!” I said, walking out the door.

Hmm, maybe I should take the bus. I wait at the bus stop, cause I don’t feel like walking to school.

“Y/N!” I flinch when I heard my name being called out. I turn to see Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman walking up to me. “I didn’t know you took the bus.” Kyle went on to say.

“Didn’t really feel like walking to school today.” I said, looking down and kicking the ground beneath me absentmindedly.

The bus finally arrived and we all walked on, I sat in the very back by myself. Until Kenny decided to sit next to me.

“Mmph!” He said, well I don’t exactly know he said. His bright orange parka covering his face made his voice muffled. I’m just gonna assume he said hi.

“Hi.” I replied.

“Mmph mmph mmph mph mmmph mmph!”

“Uh...huh?”

He rolled his eyes and took off his hood, revealing a mop of messy dirty blonde hair. “I said, how are you liking school so far?” He said.

“Oh, um. It’s okay, I guess.” I smiled.

“You guess? Okay, so I take it you don’t really like it.”

“Well, it always sucks when you’re the new kid and you have no friends.” I sighed.

“No friends, huh? Well, I’ll be you friend. I’m sure Kyle and Stan will too!” He said, making me blush. Darn. “Aw, you’re blushing!”

“Shut up. I always blush.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kenny smirked.

When we finally got to school Kenny walked me to class, which was nice. He’s actually really nice and funny, also really adorable.

*A Week Later*

School so far has been good. I’ve grown really close to Kenny, since he’s basically my only friend.

Kenny invited me to sit with him at his table, I agreed. Stan and Kyle seemed to enjoy my company though, Cartman didn’t. Didn’t like me for some reason, although he could be just an asshole all the time.

As the talk started to slow down and lunch was almost over, I looked around the lunchroom to avoid small talk. I saw the guy with brown hair staring at me again, but looked away when I saw him. “Hey, Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Who is that guy over there?” I ask, discreetly pointing at him.

“Oh, that guy in the red coat is Clyde. Why?” Kenny asked.

“Oh, no reason. He was just staring at me my first day here and also today. He also kinda catcalled me that day too.”

Kenny noticeably frowned. “He has?”

“Yeah, but it’s probably nothing.” I stuttered a little. Kenny giggled.

“You’re cute when you stutter.” He smiled, which made me blush. “Aw, you’re blushing again.” He poked my blushing cheeks.

“Ugh, stop.” I whined, and shoved his hand away.

The rest of school was okay. Kenny stayed by my side the whole day, I didn’t mind, but he seemed like he was in a clingy mood which was weird. “I’ll walk you home.” Kenny said.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.” I said.

“Nah, I insist.” He said.

Well, who could say no to Kenny. We were almost to my house, we had to cross the street first. We both walked side by side, Kenny had his arm around my shoulders to which I giggled. I suddenly hear a loud horn, I tried to push Kenny out of harm’s way but it was too late.

We’d both been run over by a semi-truck.

I gasp and bolt upright from my bed in a cold sweat.

Oh, god. Kenny. We both got hit. I tried to get Kenny out of the way, but I was too late. I let him get run over. He’s probably dead because of me.

I start to sob. He’s dead and it’s my fault. My fucking fault. God no. Why couldn’t it have just been me? I wouldn’t even care if I wasn’t able to come back, I just want Kenny to still be alive.

My alarm went off. I smashed it. I’m not going to school today. I can’t. Everyone probably knows Kenny’s dead and they’re mourning him school. I can’t be knowing it’s my fault.

My doorbell rings.

Ugh...I don’t feel answering the door. The person is now beating on the door, damn they’re persistent.

I get up to yell at the person who’s beating down my door. I mumble profanities as I answer it. My heart stops. Not literally but it feels like it.

“K-Kenny?” I start sobbing as I take the blonde haired boy in my arms, holding tightly. “I thought you died!” I sob. I pull away. His face looks like he’s in shock, also confused.

“You...you remember?” He asks.

“Of course I do! I tried pushing you out of the way of that truck, I guess I succeeded.” I sigh in relief.

“But...how? I thought you died too.” He said, flabbergasted.

“What do you mean too? Wait, you remembered I died?” I ask, also so confused.

“Y/N, I died. You didn’t push me out of the way in time, but I didn’t save you either. We both died,” he paused, “and we both remember.”

Suddenly, Kenny grabs both my upper arms and pulls me close to him and gives me a passionate kiss.

I pull away, shocked. “Woah....what was that for?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just...nobody has ever remembered me dying. No one, but you can.” Kenny explained.

“And you remember me dying?” I ask.

Kenny nods. “You’re the first person that remembers me dying too.” He says.

I don’t know what to say or do. This has never happened to me before. I think Kenny feels the same, since we’re both just stood awkwardly at my front door. I finally break the silence.

“Kenny, I thought you died, and I’ve never been more scared in my entire life.” I said, with still a few salty tears flowing down my red cheeks.

“I was too.” Kenny said. “Well, looks like we have more in common than I originally thought.” He giggled.

~~~~~~~~~~

#south park #south park fanfiction #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

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All in the Family

Chapter 80: The Unexpected Task

Lily's landing was actually not uncomfortable for once. She floundered in place upon her back, but it was soft material ruffling behind her whatever it was. Worry spiking if this was some sort of trap to compel her to get comfortable, she sat up abruptly, bunching the silk blanket in her hand suspiciously. She found herself in a luxury room fit for a princess.

The canopy bed was baby blue with pink lace, the pillow looked scandalously shaped perfectly for her head, there was even a thin film draping's that were almost see-through and felt cool as rain to the touch, but were blocking out almost all the light. The moment she pushed them aside, they glided away without a second thought, and she could see a window, leading out onto the Hogwarts grounds. She stood at it for a long time, seeing Hagrid's cabin in the distance, and got a strange guess of where she was, but wanted further proof. She got it almost immediately when she passed the trunk at the end of the bed wide open with Beauxbatons uniforms neatly folded inside, and The Book resting on top. They must be inside their carriage then, possibly with Fleur making a larger appearance in the coming chapter.

Inspecting the area just a bit more, she found a private bathroom that resembled a spa more than anything, and would have believed it if someone told her she spent a weeks worth of time just enjoying being by herself and not thinking of anything but how warm the water was, even if she couldn't read any of the french labels. Once she got out she swayed on her feet for a few moments with comfortable exhaustion, for once, deciding that as she'd landed in here and nobody had come to call yet, another good rest was in order. They'd all stopped plenty of times in the past with mutual sleep at hand. It took nothing else to convince her to crawl back into the strange bed and the slightest of tugs had the curtains back around her before she was out.

Frank dithered uncomfortably in the hallway. He'd grudgingly passed several open and inviting beds in the long, candelabra lit hallway just to find Alice, to assure she was alright and this wasn't some weird trap for Harry's next task, but he'd found her peacefully asleep. She'd even found a room with some muggle invention that had music playing from a big black disk she'd figured out how to work, it sounded like a nice string quartet in the whole room. However, he didn't want to assume just because they'd shared a bed together once she'd be okay with it again, especially in even more, ah, private quarters as all of these rooms seemed set for individuals. He'd just turned away and decided to just sleep in the room across, honestly the floor looked comfortable enough to nap on at this rate, when a giggle behind him made him twirl around to see she'd rolled over and was laughing herself silly at him before beckoning him to get in while wiggling to the far side of the bed.

"But Moony!" Sirius whined, managing to sound like an irritable six year old despite being ten years plus that. "Why not just take the opportunity while we can to not have to sleep in the same place as those two wankers, I quite enjoyed it last time."

"Because last time, we hardly slept a wink," he didn't need to elaborate, and was glad they hadn't found the other two yet as he couldn't quite suppress a blush. "We're finding them first you dolt."

They'd already passed several rooms containing their other quest members asleep, and Remus was just beginning to wonder if he'd passed them accidentally somehow when he came across a room with stripped bedding, and now sure at least they were thinking the same as him, he kept his hold on Sirius and dragged him along until he found what must be the equivalent of a living room in a mansion inside this pumpkin carriage. Peter was already curled up on the queen sized sofa, fidgeting with his school tie despite the fact it was loose enough to come off. James was upside down in a squashy armchair Maxime herself could stretch out in, his glasses placed carefully on top but eyes wide awake.

There hadn't been this much awkward silence between the four of them since their first year, those first few months before they'd even decided if they liked each other, let alone would become the best friends they were supposed to be. Both of them still grinned when they entered, and Sirius couldn't stop a small, albeit grudging smile as he shook his head at the lot of them, calling them sentimental fools as he snatched some covers from the floor and padded down in yet another available couch next to the purple lit fireplace that had wine goblets only half empty he'd save for breakfast. Remus barely had time to smile before he too passed out amongst the synchronized snoring, letting his feet tangle together with Sirius' but resting on the opposite arm of the couch.

Regulus stretched languidly as he awoke, still as disoriented as ever to find the light outside was exactly where it had been when he'd gone to sleep, but the comfortable bed had rivaled his own and who evers room he'd borrowed had good taste. There were posters of all of the French National Quidditch Team doing their signature move, the Blitzen Ballet, across several posters, which had been what had drawn him into the room in the first place.

He pulled some individually wrapped macaroons out of his pocket and began eating those as he went through the rest of this persons belongings, finding several textbooks all in French he couldn't follow, but not the book they needed. He didn't really fancy going through every room to find it, but he also didn't want to start until he knew everyone was awake- "The Unexpected Task." He crumpled a purple one up in his hand in surprise all over the blokes belongings. Well, clearly Evans didn't have those same reserves.

James startled awake with a yelp, flopping right out of the chair and confused for several long moments. Whoever would have thought waking up to the sound of Evans' voice would give him heart failure? The others were stirring with only slightly more dignity, he couldn't even blame Sirius when the first thing he did was reach up and snag those wine glasses to finish them off as her voice echoed around them before they'd even had morning tea.

"Evans does an impression of McGonagall telling off Harry too well," Peter groaned, trying to shove the blanket through his skull.

Remus looked like he was trying to burrow into the couch for more rest without comment, and James and Sirius woke up too hungry to really be paying much attention as their head of house held up Ron and Harry after class for something as silly as not paying attention. The two of them were busy trading a basket of fried fish back and forth and lamenting how fast it was vanishing when they simultaneously choked on the cold batter upon hearing no detention was being served, but quite the unexpected task indeed.

"Harry has to wha-?" Remus actually jerked his head free from his cocoon.

"Get a date, and dance her?" Peter repeated, inspecting the sleep he'd rubbed from his eyes as if expecting to find something else contaminating him.

"Or him," Sirius corrected with a suddenly wicked smile, "maybe he'll ask Ron, you don't know Wormy." The snide remark had slide easily from his tongue as he envisioned the fun of Hogwarts hosting something like a dance, it wasn't until he looked over to see his mate blush and stammer at the idea that he really, fully woke up. He wouldn't have believed it five seconds ago himself.

Peter was smiling to himself despite not able to look over at Sirius, and James swooped in to save the awkward silence. "Listen to this poor kid telling McGonagall he isn't going to do it! A books not good enough anymore, I'd pay money to see this in action!"

For just a moment, they all got a good laugh out of that.

They weren't the only ones, Frank and Alice were having their own fits of laughter still curled up in bed. Frank could at least sympathize with Harry though as he struggled to even conceptualize asking Cho out, he'd had a crush on Alice for months before he'd over heard her struggling with Charms and offering to tutor her. Asking her out, outright and to a dance, would have been insanity at that point. They both listened intently for any hint of what Neville would be up to during all of this. As much as they sympathized with Harry not being able to go alone because of his public dancing, they very much hoped Neville would at least be mentioned going with some friends rather than not at all.

Lily was giving herself a very hearty pat on the back for deciding to read this one alone. She was sure it wasn't just her imagination hearing the obnoxious laughter of the Marauders over this adorable idea, barely a teenager Regulus' pompous expression and possibly boasting he'd been trained to waltz before he could walk, and worst of all Frank and Alice's adoring looks at each other. She liked the both of them, more and more as they talked honestly, but her own life right now didn't leave her in a good position to be happy the only two people she could possibly count as friends during all this were dating and she felt like she was a third wheel half the time around them.

It was even more than that, if she were being honest with herself. While the idea of getting to dress up like that for the evening sounded nice in theory, she had about as much chance of going with anyone as Harry did Cho. Her heart sank for the poor lad as his crush admitted she was going with Cedric. Her prospects were even less endearing. Potter would ask her, of course, and anyone who proceeded to afterwords would likely end up in the hospital wing for one various reason or another until the offers stopped for a time again. And Sev...

She flipped the page hurriedly, it would be too obvious now if she stopped to stew over this, someone may come and see where she was and she wanted to actually enjoy this alone chance while she had it.

Regulus listened with the most absent of attention to these teenagers getting turned down left and right, the Marauders laughter echoing out into the hallway as he went exploring the rest of the carriage. Was he the only one who still remembered someone had put Harry in this tournament for more than embarrassing him? Nobody had even bothered to speculate on a suspect in ages, Regulus didn't really buy it was Karkaroff himself. It wasn't improving his mood he'd had no one to talk to in a while now, of course now that Peter had made up with his friends and they were all chummy again he'd go right back to being ignored. He should have known nothing about his life would ever really change no matter how much he heard.

He startled in surprise upon opening the next door as an orange cat came tottering out of the room, immediately twirling around his legs and purring in affection. Shaking his head in disbelief someone would bring their pet on this trip, he bent down regardless and gave a friendly scratch on the felines rump as he looked around once more, finding something new to wonder on. Why was it the pets were usually present? Magical animals as well, he reminded himself with a shiver of disgust at the basilisk. The paintings had all been present to, but he'd have never considered them as people. What was the criteria then for what was left behind as they were thrown around this place? It was something to ponder on at hand anyways, as he found himself sprawled on the floor, covered in cream colored fur while Hermione Granger dropped the surprise she'd gotten a date but wasn't telling who.

The chapter was finally coming to an end with everyone successfully getting dates, and Regulus snorted in disgust, was he the only one not obsessing with romance around here?

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #Marauders #Wolfstar #Jilly #Regulus Black #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #James Potter #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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notsoharsh · 4 years ago

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Let’s Grab a Bite || Miriam & Harsh

Timing: A week ago Location: Eluria Cemetery Participants: @meflemming and @notsoharsh Summary: Harsh and Miriam skip out on a party to find common ground over a late night snack. Content warnings: Quick medical blood mention

Eluria Cemetery was almost like a tourist trap as far as Harsh was concerned. Maybe he was getting old, but there was something about the ragers that new vampires threw that just seemed exhausting now. They didn’t have the same shine as they used to when he would dive right into the middle. He had come by to get a couple drinks, but his attention had started waning before he had finished his first solo cup of spiked blood. Waving off a few enthusiastic hangers on, he wandered his way out of the large crypt. The night air was still and cool away from the stuffy tomb. Cup still dangling from his fingers, he found a headstone to lean against as his eyes drifted over the cemetery. A solitary figure caught his eye. A woman, but an unfamiliar one. She didn’t look like the rager type either. Idly, he pushed himself off the headstone, slowly sauntering over. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. If you’re here for the party, I should warn you, it’s pretty lame.”

Being around others of her “kind” always made Miriam a little perturbed. It wasn’t that she disliked other vampires. She simply didn’t care to get to know them. She had better things to do than go to Teeth or the Bloody Stake to indulge in blood with the rest of her cohorts. In fact, she had never been particularly attracted to the idea of sharing a meal with someone. Her meal tended to be long and messy, and she didn’t have time to share. So… she didn’t particularly understand why she’d been drawn to the party going on in Eluria. She’d been hunting magic users when she’d stumbled across it, the noise with a distinct lack of heartbeats catching her attention. She decided to watch a bit on the outskirts, intrigued and a bit disturbed by what was going on inside the crypt. They all seemed to be having fun, certainly. But she didn’t feel a part of them. She didn’t feel a part of anything. She noticed the gentleman walking towards her, though, and she gave him a charming smile. “I’m not one for parties, I’m afraid. Keep to myself, you know. And, well, if you say the party’s lame, darling, then I’m inclined to believe you. You seem like the type to know.”

“Oh, I do. I can spot a boring rager from a mile away.” Harsh offered his hand. “I’m Harsh, by the way. Are you new in town?” He couldn’t remember ever seeing her around, but then again, it wasn’t like he had been there particularly long either. There were always more vampires crawling out of the woodwork. He could probably live in White Crest for a hundred years and never quite meet all of them. Still, it never hurt to make a few new friends. Hanging around humans always posed a risk. There was a chance they might notice just how chilled his fingers were, or the smell of their blood might get a little too enticing. Though the music drifting from the party was on the edges of his awareness, he couldn’t pick up a heartbeat from the stranger. But, in White Crest, that could mean a whole mess of things.

“Pleasure to meet you, Harsh. I’m Miriam,” she said, taking his hand. She gave him a wide grin. “Not new, no, I’ve lived here my whole life, actually. I just… had to leave for a bit.” Not that she could really leave town, a fact that embittered her every time she thought about it. She thought about the mausoleum on her property, of all the years she spent willingly trapped in there, not conscious but not sleeping, either. “What about you? Have you been in town very long?” She looked at the party going on a short distance away and gave a slight snort. “Besides being around long enough to tell a bad party from a good one, of course.” She felt uncomfortable even being within this proximity to the party. Not that she didn’t love parties; at least, she had when she was alive. There was just something that she didn’t really connect with when it came to supernatural ragers. They distracted her from her goals.

“Oh yeah? A local huh. Well, I’ve only been here for a little while, but I can’t blame you for needing to get away for a bit. This place is… kind of a lot,” Harsh said, with a little chuckle. Though he had only arrived some months ago, it felt like a few years worth of insanity had happened in that time. “Nah, not too long, well… actually, I think I’m getting near to six months now, so I guess that’s a decent while.” Following her look, Harsh nodded. “Well, that’s something I picked up way before White Crest. That one’s going to fizzle out fast. Y’know, I was thinking of going for a walk, I wouldn’t mind some company if you don’t have anything else going on tonight. How about it? Maybe we could even find something to eat?” The wink he added on was probably unnecessary, but if never hurt to tack on a little extra charm.

“A lot is a terrible understatement,” Miriam said, smiling at this stranger. “But it’s home. Nowhere else I can ever hope to be. You get used to it.” She cocked her head a bit and nodded. Yes, she’d been awake for about six months, give or take. “I think the last six months have been the weirdest I’ve ever experienced in my time living here, which is saying something, truly.” Of all the witches and vampires, werewolves and fae, none of them had ever caused as much trouble as the last six months. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Miriam cast her eyes back to the party that she’d had no interest in to begin with and then back to the vampire in front of her, one of the few she’d met that she actually found interesting. She grinned. “Well, when a gentleman like you ask, how could a lady possibly say no? A walk and a bite to eat would be lovely.” She wasn’t even particularly thirsty. Maybe she just craved the company. “Tell me, Harsh, what’s your favorite flavor?”

“Fair enough,” Harsh said, with a little chuckle. He definitely couldn’t argue with that. “Huh, I wonder if it’s just gotten extra weird recently. I’ve kinda traveled a lot and I’ve never been anywhere with as much weird as White Crest. It keeps things interesting at least.” As exhausting as the place could be, Harsh couldn’t recall the last time he was bored. Between the killer mimes and all the other nonsense that seemed to make the front page every few days, there was always something to keep busy with. Smiling, he moved to fall into step at Miriam’s side. The smell of death was everywhere, pretty normal. Somewhere past that, toward the edge of the graveyard, there was something a little more lively. Maybe a jogger or someone out walking their dog. Whoever they were, it probably wasn’t their lucky night. “Hmm, depends what I’m in the mood for, I guess. I like spicy things most of the time… but I don’t mind a little B positive now and then. What about you?”

“It wasn’t this strange, when I was growing up,” Miriam said, though she frowned. “Or, if it was, it was a lot easier to ignore. You’re certainly right, though. Never a dull moment around here.” She looked at him, interested and curious. “Where all have you traveled to? I haven’t been out in the world too much.” She regretted that, now. She should have traveled when she was alive, before she was stuck here, forever a prisoner in the place she’d always called home, haven. She supposed there were worse places to be trapped. At least White Crest was familiar. She glanced towards the sound of life, a heartbeat, a quickened pulse. It didn’t stir her appetite so much as remind her that she could go for a bite, if she were so inclined. And, looking at the gentleman beside her, she felt inclined. “Spicy things are nice, the stronger the better. Just so that it has any flavor at all. I find I’m not particularly picky, though,” she paused, “magic users. I think that’s my particular flavor of choice.” Miriam laughed, keeping her tone light. “ Of course, I know it’s just my mind probably playing tricks on me, but, I don’t know. I like to imagine that the magic in their blood gives it an extra kick.”

“Huh, I wonder if something’s changed,” Harsh said, frowning. It would make sense. If a place was always as weird as White Crest, why would anyone still live there? “Oh, all over. I cruised around Europe for a while, spent a couple years in India, then Australia. I’m, uh, a little older than I look. I sort of get this itch when I’ve been in one place for too long, y’know?” There was also the fact that… by the time Harsh left a place, he usually wasn’t exactly welcome there anymore. “Spellcasters huh? They do have a little kick to them sometimes, you’re not wrong. I remember this one guy I ate--he said he was a warlock or something, what a nerd--but he was the best I’d had in a while.” It was freeing, talking about eating people without worrying that he was about to get staked. He spent so much time, too much, trying to be normal, to pretend like he fit in with boring old humans. Not having to constantly watch his words, play the sweet little goody goody, it was a massive relief. The heartbeat was getting closer, a bouncing, healthy thrum. Harsh licked his lips. “So, do you wanna do the honors, or do you want me to grab dinner?”

“Maybe it’s aliens,” Miriam mused. “That used to be a big theory for some of the weirdness back in the eighties. Or maybe someone opened a portal to hell and let all the monsters out.” She grinned a bit. “More fun for us, huh?” She listen to him talk about where all he’s been, fascinated and more than a little jealous. “What’s your favorite place, that you’ve been? The place that makes you the happiest, or that you think is the prettiest?” It had been stupid, in her youth, to not enjoy the world while she could. “We’re all a bit older than we look, I suppose, though I’m only,” she paused, trying to remember, “sixty? Not old, by our standards, I suppose.” Though, how the hell was she supposed to know? Her interactions with vampires were limited, to say the least. “Spellcasters. My husband was one. Technically, I suppose he’s still one. A very dead one, along with the rest of his wretched family. The blood’s nice. The screams are better.” Miriam could so rarely talk about this. Morgan would judge her for it, hate her for it, and Evelyn… Miriam didn’t want to bring Evelyn into any of this at all. Both of them knew about her preferences, but they couldn’t understand it. Not like Harsh possibly, hopefully could. “Oh, you do the honors, darling. I wasn’t expecting a meal, anyway, so this is a real treat. I’m following your lead.”

“Could be. I feel like aliens would want to land somewhere a little more interesting though. Hell portal sounds about right though.” With all the strangeness Harsh had seen, that actually didn’t seem all that far off. It would explain some of the things he had seen at the hospital. “My favorite, oh that’s tough. Probably Paris, I hung out in the catacombs for a while.” He glanced over her, nodding a little. She didn’t look sixty, but then, he didn’t look over a hundred. The whole not aging thing definitely had its perks. “That’s not bad. I’m a little older than that… just take sixty and add a hundred. Or two.” It was weird saying it out loud. He had been telling people he was just twenty-eight for more than two centuries, it almost felt wrong. A little smile curled onto his face. “So you like it when they scream? Y’know, I gotta say, a little background noise makes it even sweeter. I usually try to keep them quiet, but sometimes, it’s nice to know you can still scare the shit out of people.” People were so desensitized these days, especially here. Grin growing, Harsh nodded. He didn’t need much more encouragement than that. They were closer now, enough to make out the jogger. The poor idiot was headed right for them. Bad night to try to get some exercise. Harsh let his pace quicken. Two beats of their heart, three. Harsh struck the second they were in reach. He jabbed sharply, catching their throat, leaving them stumbling and wheezing, momentum still carrying them a few more steps. Harsh was there in an instant, the jogger’s leg crunching soundly as he brought his foot down. They were still coughing, struggling to scramble away when Harsh’s teeth sank into their arm.

“What?” Miriam asked with mock-indignation. “You don’t think that White Crest is just the most interesting place in the world?” She smirked though, not truly invested in her words. She was far more interested in his. “Paris always sounded lovely, and I once heard about how lively the catacombs are, all things considered.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation with a vampire, much less one so old. She wondered, for probably the first time, about her maker. How old were they? Were they still in town? Did she actually care? “Well, I think we both look good for our age, don’t you?” She smiled back at him, showing her teeth. Her fangs. “I think the screaming, the fear, that’s the best part. Probably better than the blood, sometimes,” she said, a bit quietly. It didn’t matter. With his hearing, she knew he could hear her. She followed him, let him go in first. Hesitated, momentarily. This was… a new experience. Was this what their kind was supposed to do? Hunt together, feed together, a sort of twisted community founded on the blood that others provided. She found that she wasn’t against it, exactly. She rushed forward herself, taking the jogger’s other arm. She ran the tips of her fingers over the flesh near their wrist before digging her nails in, savoring the agony it brought them. She could almost imagine she felt magic inside them and wondered if it was real or not. Whatever it was, it felt heady as she brought her mouth to their already bleeding wrist and drank.

“I mean, it’s got it’s upsides, but I think that it leaves something to be desired.” Harsh didn’t have quite the hatred for White Crest that some of the locals seemed to, but… it didn’t take a genius or even a soul to see why they wanted to be anywhere else. “They’re great. I had a couple buddies there, we’d hang around and pick off tourists who got lost.” Maybe not the most noble way to hunt, but it was fun. Sometimes being the villain in a horror movie scenario was a pretty sweet gig. He nodded. “The fear makes it better sometimes. It’s a rush, isn’t it? Seeing that panic and knowing you did that.” A little sadistic maybe, Harsh had the awareness to see that at least, even if it wouldn’t stop him doing it. It felt good. Why should he hold himself back from one of un-life’s greatest pleasures? He watched, almost gleefully as Miriam sank her teeth in. This was how it should be. Eating, doing whatever they wanted without worrying about some damn slayer giving them crap for it. He drank deep as the struggling slowed and stopped, wiping his mouth as he pulled away. “Not as good as a witch, but I bet we can find one… maybe later on, if you’re already full.”

Snorting, Miriam said, “It leaves quite a good bit to be desired, one finds, especially when it’s impossible to leave.” She loved this town, the way it inspired a childhood nostalgia in her, but she wished she’d seen more of the world when the door had been open for her. Now she was held in this town by some sort of curse or strange happenstance, and there appeared to be no way to fix it. “Sounds delightful, darling. Fine dining, certainly. I’d imagine France is known for all that.” She liked this man, his understanding of her, his lack of moral high ground. They weren’t the same, but they understood each other. “It really does. Gives the whole experience a nice kick.” Perhaps he didn’t feed off of it the way she did, but that was fine. She’d never enjoyed feeding like this, but maybe that was because she’d never tried to share the experience. This was nice. It was far more than she needed, bloodwise, but it was nice, and it felt good, and, really, what need did she have to curb herself? What want, what desire, would make her stop? As the jogger took their last breath, there was none. Miriam licked her lips, grinning at the other vampire. ��No, but it certainly hit the spot.” She checked her watch, making sure the sun was nowhere near rising. She should get back to her home, to her guest, but… this could be more satisfactory, if they found a witch, if she could properly feed and not feel so hollow. “Why the hell not? I wouldn’t mind a bit of an overindulgence, myself, and we’ve got a bit of time.” She raised an eyebrow. “Only if your interested, though, of course.”

“Impossible to leave? Are you trapped here?” Harsh frowned. White Crest was fine for a visit, but being trapped here or anywhere sounded like a nightmare. He would’ve staked himself years ago if he had been stuck in his hometown. Staying in one place had never suited him. “Right? That panic, I always like that.” It had been a while since he had really let someone get nice and frantic before he had bitten into them. That wasn’t a good look for his attempts at good deeds. But that didn’t matter now. He could take things nice and slow, make it last, really revel in that fear. And now there was someone to enjoy it with. Bending, he grabbed the body, hauling it up and tossing it over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m very interested. Let’s get rid of this guy and then we can go find ourselves a witch. I’m thinking we maul him a little then drop him in the woods. Works every time.” He offered his free arm to Miriam, grin wide.

“Yes,” Miriam said, bitterly. “I can’t go past the damn town line. It’s a bitch.” She’d never truly forgive her younger self’s foolishness, thinking that she’d have all the time in the world to explore and live. She made do, though, and it wasn’t like there wasn’t plenty of hunting to do in White Crest. For better or worse, there was just about always a spellcaster waiting in the wings to snack on. “I’m glad someone else gets it,” she told him with a smile, using her thumb to clean the last bit of blood from her lips. She knew he probably didn’t exactly get it. Harsh, though a vampire, most likely couldn’t truly understand her plight. Still, this was nice, to have a meal with someone like herself and properly enjoy it. “Marvelous,” she said, taking Harsh’s arm. For a man with a name like that, he was an absolute gentleman. “I absolutely agree. That’s a perfect way to get rid of a body. Let’s get to it, then.”

#meflemming #c: miriam #chatzy #para #wickedswriting #let's grab a bite #medical blood tw

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onestowatch · 4 years ago

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Lynn Gunn’s Honest Portrayal of PVRIS’ Past, Present and Future Plus Details on New LP ‘Use Me’ [Q&A]

Did you know that quicksand cannot really sink your entire body? Hollywood renditions of this frightening occurrence showcase “Indiana Jones” type heroes desperately reaching for a branch or a vine to evade being swallowed whole by the muddy foe. In real life, however, quicksand is much denser than the human body–namely your torso and lungs. So, although you may sink to some degree, you’ll only be engulfed to about your torso region. That being said, to escape the hold of this mucky captor, you’re called to utilize, not a vine or a stick, but a natural aspect of yourself–in this case, the buoyancy of your torso and lungs. Doing so allows you to adjust your positioning so that you are on your back and are therefore more easily able to free your legs and eventually, yourself.

During moments of crisis such as this, it is not often that we think to use what comes most natural to us in order to overcome difficulties. However, as PVRIS frontwomxn Lynn Gunn discovered, tuning into your natural inclinations can be exactly what sets you free.

After battling debilitating health issues, anxieties, and multiple album delays, the refreshingly new album Use Me is here, and it has the empowered LGBTQIA+ artist plastered all over it. From the distinctively raw lyrics, impassioned vocals, dexterous commixture of that classic PVRIS Alternative Rock and new-aged Glitch-pop, and even a 070 Shake feature, this new album is taking everything we thought we knew about PVRIS to much higher heights. Use Me serves as the first release since Gunn followed her heart and came forward as the sole architect behind PVRIS back in March. After listening to all 40 emotion-inducing minutes of this cinematic project, it becomes clear that Use Me is so much more than an album, it is an unapologetic reclamation of power.

We were able to speak with Lynn Gunn before the release of the album and gather her perspective on this new era of creativity, utilizing her natural abilities for this new project, and even on supporting social justice causes.

All quicksand jokes aside, sink into this interview with Lynn Gunn below:

Ones to Watch: Although you’ve been making music for quite some time, this new era seems to be of a new bloom, not only for PVRIS, but for you. As you have stated, PVRIS is still very much a collective, but you have decided to shed the skin of “band culture” and from it emerge as the sole vocalist, lyricists, and creative director of PVRIS. How has that transition been on you all? Are people taking to it the way that you imagined?

Lynn Gunn: I didn’t really imagine anyone taking it any way, to be honest, it’s happening regardless of what others want to say or feel about it. It’s felt great personally and as a unit. I’ve seen mostly support but obviously, with anything, there’s always going to be people with the opposite. At the end of the day, this is what this is moving forward and works best for us, I know my truth and what this journey has been and looked like so far. I’ve seen so many insane and comical theories and conspiracies about the transition/negative comments… but ultimately I think anyone who decides to wastes their energy like that might find their life to be much more enjoyable if they channeled that energy back into their own life as there’s clearly a lack/wound somewhere within themselves. If that seems sprinkled with “shade”, it is, but I mean that with the most sincerity as well.

The saying goes “you can never really outrun yourself”, and from White Noise to Use Me, it seems that you’ve left a bit of a breadcrumb-trail leading us to this point. Although PVRIS has primarily been recognized as an Alternative Rock “band”, we can hear tiny glimpses of the sound that best encompasses PVRIS now throughout your entire discography. Was this glitch-pop, disco-esque sound something you were intentionally experimenting within your previous projects?

To be honest, this is always where I imagined PVRIS’s sound living and the type of production I’d heard PVRIS songs being told through. I think in the past I didn’t fully know how to communicate the little production nuances that would have taken some tracks from point A to B, there was also a fear (that I now regret having) about straying from the “rock” production/experiencing rejection from the “scene” we initially started playing shows and touring in.

For the most part, and I truly mean this, there really isn’t that much of a difference in the instrumentation and sonic choices of this album from the first two, it’s still a very even play of organic instruments and electronic/synths, it’s just being produced through a different lens that’s a bit cleaner, crisper and crunchier in some areas. It’s a new interpretation of the woodwork that’s always been there.

What has kept you motivated to continue creating and sharing your truth with the world?

That’s a great question because I go back and forth with that feeling sometimes… Ultimately seeing comments from fans/listeners and hearing everyone’s stories and ways that they connect to PVRIS’s music is the most motivating thing in the world. I also feel that no matter what type of obstacle course the universe wants to throw me through, I’m always going to be grateful for the bruises/lessons and always going to feel compelled to create and share those truths through music.

I understand you’ve run into a deluge of unfortunate health issues the past few years that have affected you and the band greatly. If you feel comfortable sharing, could you talk a little bit about these illnesses and the ways you have had to overcome the obstacles they brought forth to get you to where you are now?

Totally comfortable sharing! I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis (AS) about two years ago and then about a year ago was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. AS is an inflammatory disease that mainly attacks the lower back, hips, and ribs, but it can also manifest in a lot of other ways as well such as joint pain, chronic fatigue, and even eye issues. Sometimes when my AS is really bad, I can barely get out of bed or even roll over in bed. Over time, if not treated properly or managed, it can cause your vertebrae to fuse... I’ve heard that’s super rare though. Crohn’s is chronic inflammation in the digestive tract and is a little more embarrassing but pretty self-explanatory haha…

They definitely taught me (and by taught I mean forced me) to take time in caring for myself and caring for my body. Resting properly, staying in shape, eating super healthy, setting boundaries with work, etc. It’s also just made me really appreciative of the moments when my symptoms aren’t as bad/just happy to be alive and not have it worse. I’m determined to manage both diseases holistically and through integrative medicine, so far I’ve seen great progress.

Do you believe these difficulties aided in your journey towards this self-actualization that listeners are able to distinguish in this new era of PVRIS? If so, how/in what way?

Definitely! There are definitely some references to those difficulties in a few of the songs. I think outside of the music, it’s given a lot more self-love, strength, and patience. It’s also just created even more urgency to live my truth and to live it unapologetically in the way that I want, which naturally extends into PVRIS and the art that I want to make.

youtube

If you had to use one word to describe each album thus far, what words would you use and why?

White Noise - Freshman - everything was so new and exciting and there was so much eagerness with it, like a freshman walking through a high school for the first time haha.

All We Know of Heaven, All We Need of Hell - Bootcamp (haha) - creating it and touring it were both pretty hard experiences BUT incredibly strengthening.

USE ME - Upgrade - despite all the chaos around this release, this is the freest I’ve felt and the most confident I’ve felt about a PVRIS album.

All the visuals and music video treatments that you have conjured up have a strikingly symbolic and cinematic feel to them. However, the symbolism and tone of the music videos tied to Use Me seem to take on a different nature. Can you talk about this shift in creative expression?

Mostly just working with new collaborators (Yhellow, Katharine White and Griffin Stoddard). I feel a lot less precious about things (to a healthy degree) and much more open to letting others run with the concepts as they wish! So many fun new exciting perspectives have been able to shine through.

I know you are a film fanatic and dabble in cinematography. Do you have any staple films that influenced the creation of the last five music videos?

The Holy Mountain was a big influence for the “Hallucinations” video, as well as [for] “Old Wounds”. For “Dead Weight”, I was actually inspired by the opening credits to That 70’s Show and Saturday Night Fever haha.

In July, you announced that the album was being pushed back so as to allow the floor for the amplification of Black voices, and to generate events in support of Black Lives Matter. Do you believe artists have a responsibility to take steps such as these to create a better future, regardless of whether or not these issues directly affect them?

Absolutely. We all need to be educating ourselves and actively doing the work to demand and create change towards a future that’s equal and just for Black lives.

Fans have been clinging to the edges of their proverbial seats waiting for Use Me in spite of all of the justifiable album delays. If you could relay one message to all the fans who have been patiently waiting, what would it be?

Please enjoy/connect, be good to each other and please please please vote if you are able!

Who are your Ones to Watch?

DRAMA, Jax Anderson, HDBeenDope, Royal and The Serpent, Nikki Hayes, Kat Cunning and LEXXE!

#PVRIS #Alternative #Pop

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