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devilsskettle · 3 years

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okay i want to shut up about fear street more than anyone else wants me to shut up about fear street but i just thought of another reason why it drives me up the wall thinking about how underutilized and underwritten ziggy is in the 1994 part of the plot line: in a movie series where one of the main themes is cyclical forms of violence and trauma, where there’s a focus on characters resolving the conflicts of their narrative parallels from the past, even if the writers didn’t expect the audience to identify with/care about ziggy as an adult, she is a representation for our protagonists of their potential futures.

for sam, this is pretty clear, since it’s the narrative reason why they go to her in the first place (seeing the witch and temporarily dying, she represents the hope that there’s a way to break the curse).

for josh, she is a perfect parallel to the stakes for him of trying to save sam - losing his older sister as she sacrifices herself to try to save the people she loves. i was actually surprised that these characters didn’t sympathize and identify with each other more, like in the mall scene when josh is like “too many people have died i’m not going to let them take my sister too!” and ziggy and martin just stand there like. okay i guess. that was such a weird writing choice to me lol i was like why wasn’t that a moment for ziggy to identify with him as someone who lost a sister like this. make it make sense. (also i’ve seen some people say that in interviews, it’s been said that cindy and alice are meant to parallel the relationship between sam and deena, so i think that would situate ziggy and josh as playing comparable roles in each plot line as well).

for deena, i think she’s the most apt reflection of her potential future out of all three main characters. first of all, they’re the most similar in terms of personality: cynical social outcasts convinced the world is fucked who actually care a lot more than they let on. and again, she is living the consequences of what the stakes are of trying to break this curse. the main risk for deena isn’t that she might die, it’s that everyone she cares about will die and she’ll be trapped alone in a town she hates, just like ziggy.

this would also mean that adult ziggy would play a similar role to the kids in 1994 as nurse lane did for her in 1978. like. god. do you ever think about how nurse lane was the one person who was nice to her and cared about her, and ziggy was the only person who noticed that something was wrong and she was the only one who didn’t write her off as crazy and violent like her daughter when she attacked tommy and instead actually sympathized with her, but no one believed nurse lane, and then no one believed ziggy about what really happened during the camp nightwing massacre, and how they both had to live not only with the loss of their loved ones but also the doubt and mockery of everyone in town who thought they were just crazy. anyway. ziggy similarly is the only adult in town (other than, eventually, martin) who believes and is willing to help the kids in 1994 at the expense of her own safety, just like nurse lane tried her best to protect the kids at camp at the expense of her own reputation (and if she had succeeded in killing tommy before he became the nightwing killer, she would probably have spent the rest of her life in jail or a mental institution, which she had to have known - so she also was willing to sacrifice her freedom, and as ziggy puts it, ruin her own life. god i am sad about this)

oh and also the motivation of ziggy to help these kids in the first place (we assume) comes from a place of self identification with them and trying to save them in the same way she wishes she could’ve saved her younger self and her sister. so like. i want to see that play out in part 3 if that’s the intended interpretation

so going back to the focus on resolving the conflicts of their narrative parallels from the past, the kids do this for ziggy, cindy, and alice as much as they do it for sarah fire and hannah miller. sam does this…. just by surviving lol, josh does this by not only believing in the curse but also unrelentingly telling others the truth about it (and miss queenofairanddarkness actually seems to believe him), and deena does this by breaking the damn curse and (presumably) becoming less cynical and self-defeatist in her world perspective. and ziggy does this for nurse lane, effectively warning the kids about the dangers of the curse and helping them fight it, where nurse lane was unable to stop the events of camp nightwing, and (as we see at the end) giving her closure about the death of her daughter. she also, i think, plays the same kind of parallel role to sarah fier as deena does in different ways, both as a social outcast who is scapegoated for other people’s wrongdoings as well as her relationship with nick reflecting the relationship between sarah and solomon. like deena and sam, she also is connected by sarah by bleeding on her bones and seeing (some of) the truth about the curse

anyway. all this is to say that these movies had the potential to do this effectively, and i’m not even saying that they should’ve set aside a huge amount of time from the plot to explore this concept, but there’s small, easy changes and additions that i think could’ve been made that wouldn’t ultimately change anything about the movies but would’ve made such an impact on the overall quality of the writing. first of all, there’s this big time jump from ziggy’s story to the 1994 “present” which is fine and expected and i wouldn’t expect them to try to include a whole lot about what her life is like in between, but we don’t know anything about her present day life, except that she has a dog and a lot of clocks and that she might be an alcoholic. we don’t even know what her job is. we have no idea what she’s been doing for 16 years. it takes maybe two extra minutes at the beginning of her introduction in part 2 to show a little bit more of her daily life, or a line or two to give us an idea of what that might look like. for character development/relationship building purposes, she needs to actually have a conversation with other people lol. she shares how much silent screen time with martin in part 3? another criminally underutilized character but don’t even get me started.

even in the 1978 plot line, her character is established almost entirely by tell-not-show; everyone is like oh she’s trouble! she’s a creep she’s a weirdo! but we see very little of her actually getting up to trouble or doing anything out of the norm (all of the characters in 1978 suffer from this writing problem, to be fair). then in the 1994 part of part 3, the way that they show her reactions to what’s happening is through flashback to her in 1978, and first of all it’s like. we just saw that we know what happened. second, it’s lazy writing! we see nothing new from her basically the entire movie. (i’m specifically thinking about the part where she learns that nick is behind the curse - cut to a series of flashbacks - moving on with the plot. then at the mall, when she sees the tree - cut to a flashback of the camp nightwing - deena comes up to her: “this is it.” “yup.” and she walks away and leaves deena to her own flashback to her sarah fier vision. and that’s the full extent of either of their emotional reactions to that moment. missed opportunity imo. and sure, maybe that’s the character - she’s not a people person lol - but you can write characters who are closed off and blunt while still being interesting and emotionally compelling and not basically stock characters. 1978 ziggy and deena are actually both examples of this so i’m mainly disappointed because i know they could’ve done better lol)

anyway. i’m not saying they needed to derail the main plot to make ziggy the main character or anything, i’m just saying that with better pacing and attention to her as a character, i think these movies could’ve had the depth and emotional resonance they were aiming for and in fact it would strengthen the themes that are central to the main plot and the protagonists without having to change anything major, making a small shift that could’ve made these movies go from mediocre and forgettable to actually pretty damn good. anyway netflix call me i have ideas for you <3

#okay i know i know it's not that deep or whatever but. it could've been.#fear street #ziggy berman

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impalementation · 4 years

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What are your official takes on each of Buffy's major love interests?

i am…really afraid to answer this. heh. so i will put the caveat that i’m indulging myself here and am basically going to drive straight into headcanon territory. these aren’t really “takes” in a textual-analysis sense, and i’m not particularly attached to them. more like descriptions of how the relationships read to me. i’ll take them in chronological order.

buffy/angel: i think…that buffy and angel deeply and sincerely loved each other. but that love was wrapped up in a lot of other stuff that makes it hard to say what exactly it means that they loved each other. i think that buffy was a beacon of light in angel’s pretty sad and lonely existence, and that a big part of his love for her was the sheer joy of finding someone to love at all. the feeling of, oh god, i’m capable of really caring about someone. that’s how i see his characterization in light of becoming especially. (because so much of angel’s unhappiness is related to guilt-driven isolation and detachment, i find something nice in the fact that his love for buffy was a stepping stone to angel being more engaged in the world and able to care for people in general. not just buffy.) meanwhile buffy was a teenage girl, and angel was this confounding, yet romantic figure. i get a vibe like, angel is the hope that something beautiful can be made out of her dark and violent life. it just makes complete sense to me that buffy would be deeply drawn to the idea of a vampire with a soul, a vampire who rejects vampirism, in view of her own fears of losing herself to her calling*. it also makes sense to me that buffy goes back and forth between keeping angel close and pushing him away all through season three, because season three is a big season for identity. and angel, like faith, is strongly linked to buffy’s sense of self. i see her reluctance to give him up not just as a matter of loving him a lot, but of not wanting to feel like nothing beautiful can be made out of a life of slaying. especially given her guilt over killing him in the early part of the season, and especially since faith is busy transforming slaying into something ugly. but of course, angel’s unattainableness is also bad for buffy, because it magnifies these guilts and fears of hers.

*(this is also my read of her pretty intense protectiveness over spike in season seven. i don’t think her feelings towards him change because she sees him getting a soul as a big romantic gesture. buffy has never been impressed by spike making romantic gestures. i think her feelings towards him change because making something light out of something dark is very very important to her. like it’s at the fundamentals of her character. and that’s what spike did. so it’s important to her to protect it.) (this is also my read of why buffy is such a forgiving person in general. she’s desperate to make light from dark. hence why she takes it so personally when faith goes bad, and then rejects the many chances that buffy tries to give her. i think that buffy has a harder time being moved–or more like, letting herself be moved–by faith’s efforts towards redemption in sanctuary and season seven because faith made something dark out of something light first. and that initial choice, plus faith’s repeated commitment to it, scared the shit out of buffy. it’s her worst fear.)

buffy/faith: mainly doing this one because the subtext is so obvious and because faith was written in a way that has seemingly-if-not-actually-deliberate similarities with buffy’s other love interests. i see attraction on faith’s end, but in a ha-ha-just-kidding…unless? way. i see attraction on buffy’s end too, but in that way that is completely unable to register that it’s attraction, since it’s for another girl. that said. i personally think that if they had acted on an attraction during the run of the show, the plot would have still gone basically the way it does in canon. their relationship still would have blown up. because both of them have mad identity issues with each other, and that kind of thing doesn’t go away when you add sex or romance to it—it makes it worse (witness: season six spike/buffy). not to mention the fact that faith has a distinct pattern of weaponizing sex during seasons three and four. if buffy/faith were to ever happen in an actually-sustainable way, i see it happening post-series.

buffy/riley: i think one of the more unfortunate things about how this relationship was written is that it doesn’t feel like we get a ton of information about buffy’s side of things. why buffy likes riley. or even what the show is trying to say with the relationship at all. so you kind of have to read between the lines. i think that riley likes buffy because she’s different. he reminds me of an online dating message telling a girl she’s “intriguing” (“i’m sure every pretty girl has some guy telling her she’s a mystery” …yeah). i think that riley does really care for buffy, but he also wants to feel important, and an interesting girl makes him feel that way. up until it turns out that he can’t handle a girl being more interesting than him. i don’t think riley is a bad guy, but i do think that he and buffy had fundamentally incompatible needs, and he handled that realization badly. buffy, from what i can gather, seems to value his safety and loyalty. which is why the show has riley flirt with danger and disloyalty when it’s trying to introduce friction into the buffy/riley relationship (see: riley sleeping with faith, riley letting vampires bite him). i think ironically, buffy specifically wanted a boyfriend who was not stronger than her at this point in her life. but maybe gets off on the fact that riley has the aesthetic of strength. like, i think she likes having control over male strength and normalcy, likes being desired by it, after the whole drama of angel—in which she didn’t have much control. and at some point, that was always going to end up in conflict with riley’s insecurities. but riley’s insecurities blindside buffy because she never saw him as weak—i think she genuinely values safe, loyal people. she picked lovable outcasts as her friends, after all. i think she really admires those traits in riley, and is startled that they aren’t good enough for him. and maybe aren’t good enough for her, either.

buffy/spike: i think it’s a shame that people try to read a conventional romantic dynamic into this pairing as-written, because—in my opinion—it’s way more narratively and emotionally satisfying when you don’t. like i enjoy watching it, but i enjoy watching it because it’s dark and weird and ambiguous. i don’t think that they were writing a love story with these two characters. i think that they were writing a character story. it just so happens that character stories often make very compelling love stories, because of the time spent on…character. in fact, i think kind of the whole point of buffy/spike in seasons five and six is that spike thinks he’s in a love story, and the audience might be tempted to agree with him, but he isn’t*. i think the writers saw that buffy and spike were good at exploiting the vulnerabilities in the other, and leaned into it. why wouldn’t you exploit character vulnerabilities? that’s good drama. all of which is to say, questions like whether buffy loved spike romantically, or whether they could be good for each other, are sort of…uninteresting to me. they don’t feel like the point. the point is the self-knowledge that buffy and spike gain from being involved with each other. the big and uncomfortable things that they provoke each other into learning about themselves. it’s a specific kind of dynamic. one that is inherently intimate and not-incompatible with romance, but is still something other than romance. “i’ve seen the best and the worst of you”: that is the point of buffy/spike, to me. they are each other’s mortifying ordeal, and the payoff is that scene in touched. the payoff of being known is not a matter of being in a sexual or romantic relationship. the payoff is that when someone tells you they love you, you believe they love you. (this is why their final scene in chosen is supposed to be so bittersweet. both of them are trying to say that they understand and accept each other—only this time, the same history that made that understanding possible gets in their way.)

*(contrast with season seven, when he’s convinced up to his death that he’s not in a love story, but maybe accidentally is. and contrast with buffy/angel in seasons two and three when they think they’re in a love story, and they are in a love story. but that doesn’t mean they’ll be happy. and contrast with buffy/riley who aren’t in a love story, and know they aren’t in a love story. but haven’t quite accepted it. note how their attempts to pull off love story tropes in into the woods totally fail.)

#gen

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roxannarambles · 3 years

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Firewatch Review: Where There’s Smoke

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Mar 4, 2016.

Contains major, major spoilers including endgame. Do not read if you haven’t played!

When I first started into this game I thought it was a horrifically depressing introduction. It opens telling a tale of a man and a woman who fall in love and it’s a lovely story and then the woman falls ill from a rare hereditary disease and slowly gets worse and loses her career and the man loses the wife he knew and struggles to care for her and it’s fucking awful. Then the game opens with the man– you– taking up a summer job in a park near Yellowstone. He’s done this to get away and have some time to think about his life.

He works in a watchtower. Lone rangers station in these towers to watch the horizon for signs of fire. He has little to do but keep an eye out and sit alone in his station up there. His only company is his supervisor, in the nearest watchtower over, whom he speaks to via walkie-talkie. (these are the days before cell phones) Her name’s Delilah.

All I was really told about this game is that it involved exploration and was story-centric. And that’s an accurate description. And while it starts off with a rather depressing backstory, the main part of the game is not all bleak and bleary. It is a story about the interaction between Henry and Delilah. There is a mystery plot involved in the game as well; the game starts off with small park dramas and tasks to ease into things, then develops a mystery, which eventually gets rather intense. But entwined with this mystery story, always central and foremost, is the character-driven plot of these two.

The voice acting is fantastic, and the writing is excellent, so it carries well. Dialogue writing is certainly not everyone’s strength, but the writers here did a very good job. The two characters have excellent chemistry; it flows naturally and is very enjoyable. The quips and interactions are fed in small bits steadily throughout the game as you explore, providing an enjoyable regular stream of interactions. It’s a satisfying blend of exploration and conversation.

The game is atmospheric and beautiful to look at, and that’s not something to dismiss either. Those factors really do add something special to a game.

And here’s the thing. I fell in love. It was such a compelling story. And the characters felt so real. I found myself deeply engrossed in the mystery and unable to stop. I found myself deeply emotionally invested in the characters and I truly cared about them. They were relatable human beings. And I loved Delilah. She was the light in the dark. The beacon in the middle of the loneliness. My lighthouse; my watchtower. Quippy, caring, flawed, human. I shared my troubles with her, and she listened.

Early on in the game, one of the conversation responses caused Henry to say something that annoyed Delilah and kinda offend her a little. I had accidentally overheard a phone conversation she was having (she left her walkie-talkie button depressed) and it sounded like kinda maybe she had been talking about me? So I asked her, were you talking about me? She was confused and surprised at the accusation and no, it had just been a conversation about work, and besides, was that really any of my business?

So the good mood killed, she stepped out for a while and I couldn’t talk to her anymore on the walkie-talkie. ‘Cause she was annoyed and didn’t feel like talking. And the thing is– I felt so bad. Like, I really felt sorry and wanted to apologize and felt I’d been a bad person for accusing her of that, and I wanted her to like me. And I didn’t want to be left alone. It was hauntingly quiet, unlike the rest of the game, when Delilah wasn’t there for company. I think this plot point was especially effective because it was in the middle of what had been at that point the deepest conversation we’d had so far, and we had been really bonding and sharing. But now I’d screwed it up.

Eventually Delilah forgave us for our rude question. And I cannot tell you how much of a relief it was. Heck, I thought I’d lost my chance and it would never be brought up again and I’d never have a chance to apologize, but she brought it up later. (She actually apologized for being so snappish over it, and said she knew what it was like to get too lost in your own head out there and start imagining things.) I felt so much better knowing we were cool again. It was that delicate part of a budding new friendship, you know, and I didn’t wanna mess it up. I really commend the game for including the callbacks to previous conversations. It enhanced the feeling of history between us and internal consistency throughout the story.

There have been many people online complaining about the way the game ultimately ended. In my humble opinion, those people are missing the point of the game. Indeed, with games like these, that have a somewhat open-ended conclusion (and there’s plenty of stories that fall into that category), how you interpret the ending and its meaning says a lot about the person who played the game. The whole point of an open-ended conclusion is for a person to think and draw conclusions, after all, but many people seem to fail to realize this.

One game that comes to mind is ‘Presentable Liberty,’ a game that you spend in a prison cell for the vast majority of the time, reading letters that are delivered to you. It had a very open-ended and nebulous ending. But that game made so many people think, and I think Firewatch makes you think a lot too.

I won’t lie, of course; I do somewhat understand where the critics are coming from. In some ways the ending did feel anti-climactic to me. It felt like it was possibly building up to something and that payoff never came. Yet … that experience in and of itself was fascinating to me.

Let me explain in detail. First of all, I reached the conclusion of the mystery plot. Plenty of people bitched about this online as well, but I loved the way it concluded. The plot was suggesting a very exciting but rather typical video-game story where a government conspiracy was uncovered that was studying human subjects (perhaps a psychological study of the effects of isolation in people), and Henry and Delilah were the subjects in these nefarious privacy-violating experiments. However, this “plot twist” of a secret government study ended up being a false twist. Instead, the story ended up in a less typical direction. As it turned out, the group of mysterious people behind all the spooky hijinks wasn’t that at all … it was one man. One lonely, desperate man living as a hermit with a tragic, awful secret he was hiding about an accident during his job as a fire watch. It was our fears and paranoia that had conjured up this imaginary, yet very real-feeling plot of conspiracy and subterfuge.

And I loved that. I loved that it was something driven by a simple lone man who was guilty and afraid. I loved that was the explanation, that it was something so prosaic rather than fantastic and fanciful. Like the best horror stories are about man as being the worst monster instead of werewolves and vampires, this showed the best mysteries were about human loneliness and desperation and guilt rather than complex conspiracies or extraordinary mojo. Indeed, you felt bad for the man who had been unintentionally tormenting us this whole time.*

After this conclusion to the mystery plot, hot on its heels– literally, because you were being chased by the spreading wildfire– was the conclusion of the Henry/Delilah plot. I was rushing out of there to rendezvous with a rescue helicopter so I could escape my post before fire consumed everything. They landed near Delilah’s watchtower, before I had made it to the rendezvous point– I’d been busy tracking down the ending to the mystery. She told me the helicopters would make another pass for when I got there, but … she might just leave now since the current copter was there.

“Wait for me,” I said into our walkie-talkie. I wanted to leave with her. Together. She was very reluctant when I begged this of her. But she finally relented that ok, ok, she’ll wait. I hollered I was on my way. I rushed as fast as I could.

I finally reached the spot– it was Delilah’s watch tower. The point in the distance I had always gazed upon but never had been to until now. But something didn’t feel right as Delilah was oddly silent on the walkie.

I entered the empty watch tower. I saw a small sign, “Pork Pond” attached to her wall and smiled faintly. I *knew* she had that sign. I put on the radio headset and called.

Delilah answered, in a tone that made it clear she knew I wouldn’t exactly be pleased to be listening to her voice over the radio waves yet again instead of seeing her standing there. She asked me not to be mad.

“I’m not mad, I’m just …”

“Disappointed?”

And yes. I was. That was it exactly.

It hurt. I genuinely felt sad and hurt that Delilah had left without me. It felt like she abandoned me. She stammered about having not want to meet me in the shadow of that poor dead child I had just learned about, but … it still hurt. After all we’d been through the least she could have done was waited. And you’ve no idea how much I had wanted to finally meet Delilah in person, dang.

But I pondered it after, and it made a lot of sense, her actions. She had been afraid to meet me in person, I think. It would have made the whole thing even more real, you know? If it was just over the walkies, fine. But … in person would have made it too real. Delilah was afraid of getting attached. Not just because she had had her heart broken by her long-term boyfriend and was afraid of getting close again to someone, but probably for more practical reasons too. Henry was still married, for Pete’s sake, and in a very complex situation with his sick wife. Any smart girl would want to avoid getting involved with a guy who’s still married. So her early departure and lukewarm response to me asking for her to come with me back to Boulder, well, it made sense.

As much as it had hurt for her to not wait, I understood and forgave her for it. In a way, I suppose, it may have made it easier for us both not to face the anguish of a relationship not working if we never saw each other in person to begin with. But … fuck. Had it been me, I would have wanted to see her in person anyway. I would have asked her to wait. At least for a goddamn hug.**

We spoke on the radio as I waited for the helicopter to swing back around to pick me up. We talked about our future plans. We both didn’t know what they would be. Delilah thought I should go back to my wife and do my best to make things right. Somehow.

And it ended once we were pulled into the helicopter.

People online whine that this ending was a 'cop out,’ not a real conclusion. I don’t believe that. I think the entire point was that feeling of uncertainty about the future and that missed chance at getting together with Delilah. Life is uncertain so often. We don’t know how to fix things, what to do, and what things mean. It’s our search for meaning that is so valuable. This game was a reflection of life experiences many can relate to. Not necessarily all the details– a wife that fell ill with premature dementia– but the general themes? Absolutely. This story is about people struggling to cope with loneliness, seeking to connect with others, struggling to deal with hardships in life, seeking purpose and meaning, seeking direction. And it does not provide solid answers at the very end, but that’s OK. It doesn’t have to. It’s OK if the players can provide some of the answers. Sometimes asking the questions is as valuable as providing the answers in a story.

And yeah, sometimes the guy doesn’t ‘get the girl.’ Sometimes relationships don’t work out. (Especially if the guy is still married and needs to deal with some shit before either staying with his wife or breaking up and pursuing something else.) That doesn’t mean our connection with Delilah that summer didn’t have meaning or purpose or value, just that … such things don’t always have a future as a long-term relationship.

I earnestly believe the ending to this game was fine as-is. I might even say it was a perfect ending. Although I admit I desperately wanted to meet Delilah at the very end***, I’m pretty sure my sense of diappointment and feeling of sorrow at not seeing her were kind of exactly the point of the story. All in all, it ended on a tone that was sad and nebulous, but not deeply depressing. There was still a sense of hope about things, and I think that’s important.

(Amusingly, much later I learned there is an option at the very end to NOT enter the rescue helicopter. It leaves without you if you wait long enough, implying suicide of your character Henry. Much darker option than the one I describe above. But again, in stories like these, it depends on player’s reactions, input, and interpretations too, and fortunately most do not have quite that bleak of an interpretation of the tale– and quite that bleak of a choice.)

So many of us sit alone in our own watchtowers, isolated, searching for any meaningful human connection we can come across. I think the themes of connection and isolation were masterfully explored in this game. You really fuckin’ felt it, you know?

And to me, it’s noble. That human beings stand in this intense loneliness but continue that search, and they sometimes find somebody. It may not always end well, but that doesn’t mean you should stop the search and that you won’t find another. Or even rekindle old flames.

Either way, you shouldn’t stop searching the horizon.

————–

Footnotes:

* That’s not to say the dude wasn’t guiltless in his actions. I think it was rather awful of him to just leave his poor kid’s body down in that hole instead of facing up to what had happened, going home, letting people and loved ones know what went on, etc. Also pretty stupid of the guy to pressure his son into doing that dangerous rock-climbing when the kid didn’t have the skills. But, ya know, you felt bad for him too.

** I should note, I have no idea if Henry should break up with his wife Julia (& tried things out with Delilah) or not. I had no opinion on it because who knows? Choices like that are friggin’ complex. Seriously.

*** And yes, I realize the game never had a model for her character anyway, so from a technical standpoint it would have been impossible, but it’s best to use in-story explanations for events, not technical explanations.

#firewatch #game reviews #mystuff #spoilers

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jacksgreysays · 4 years

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Could Should Actually + A softer world 31 or Things you Said 22?

A/N: Are you the same anon who mix and matches other ask box events? Because let me just say, I enjoy the puzzle.

Anyway I went with the things you said 22, but I may also do the a softer world 31 later.

Here’s some Counterclockwise!

22) things you said after it was over

it could have gone like this:

"Imagine the glory," Joy exclaims in a breathy sort of voice as if in awe of the very idea. She slings an arm around Leanne's shoulders, drawing her close, comfortable and warm. The couch they're on could easily fit four, but the two of them are squished up against one arm so that the boys and even Alvin in his massive wolf form could fit, too.

"We wouldn't be able to tell anyone," Leanne argues even as she leans in, matching Joy's volume.

"The riches?" Joy tries again, grinning, more playful than earnest.

"Exactly how would we profit off this plan?" Leanne asks in return.

Thwarted, Joy goes for a different tactic. "Imagine... the drama," she says, leaning even closer, conspiratorially.

Leanne hums, considering. When the lack of disagreement becomes more and more apparent, time stretching wider, Joy's grin does the same. She swings her other arm around Leanne, squeezing, jostling, trying to bodily contain the happiness of the moment before nuzzling their faces together. Not quite a kiss, Joy's bared teeth pressed to the skin of Leanne's cheek, but not so far off.

Shrieking with laughter, Leanne doesn't push her away. "That's not fair! You know my weakness!"

"Of course," Joy says, words trapped between them, "I don't need to be fair, I just need you to say yes."

And Leanne, settling into her hold, can do nothing but nod and say yes.

...

Over two decades later, a fifteen year old Leanne follows the rest of her classmates through the art gallery, tired eyes glancing over the displays but not really taking them in. Yesterday was rough--school, training, a newly hatched cluster of giant sea serpents by the docks while trying not to lose too much face in front of her teammates--and she had been grateful for upcoming the field trip though now she regrets not being able to appreciate the art.

She finds a seat and takes it, her legs almost buckling in relief, and stares blindly forward.

"Do you like it?" someone asks next to her. Leanne, surprised but too exhausted to startle, turns to the voice. An older woman, maybe in her forties, brown hair tied back into a bun, sharp clothes. Maybe a staff member of the art gallery? They didn't have a tour guide, did they?

"I'm sorry," Leanne says, reflexively.

A sad sort of smile graces the woman's face, she shakes her head slightly. "Do you like it?" she repeats, gesturing to the painting on the wall in front of them. The one that Leanne had stared at but hadn't really seen. A little ashamed, she focuses.

It's a closeup of two hands, different skin tones and shapes, their fingers intertwined. There are matching rings, softly glinting in the light. Everything about the painting is soft, dreamy, more memory and imagination than photorealism.

Not the most amazing picture, Leanne thinks, but she can certainly see why it would be compelling. "Yes," she answers, finally, simply, though she doesn't know why it matters.

The woman's small smile twitches into something bigger, but no less sad.

Not that it was up for argument, but it's obvious that Leanne's not a very good hero: she doesn't know how to make things better. So she fidgets awkwardly instead.

Now the woman's smile turns into something amused. "I'm glad you like it. It's my favorite," she says before getting to her feet. She reaches a hand toward Leanne, as if to pat her on the shoulder, but pulls back.

"Take care of yourself, Leanne," she says, before walking away, disappearing into the labyrinth of the art gallery.

And because Leanne is not a very good hero, it takes her a few hours to realize that they never exchanged introductions. How did she know her name?

---

it should have gone like this:

"She's a liability," Tetsuki says, scowling at the doctor.

They are in the observation room of the testing chambers, a wide near-indestructible room where Doctor Kaiza's clients can use their meta-human abilities without fear of collateral damage.

Or where would-be vigilantes can train without the public catching on. Not that Henry particularly needs it. He is, despite all the media speculation, entirely baseline human. Most of Starling's tricks are gadgets and whatever he learned from his mentor Firefly.

But it's good to see what his potential teammates are capable of, and so here he is:

Caleb he knows the best, as much raised in the lifestyle as Henry had been. More so, maybe, practically born into it. Zenith, son of Apex.

Tetsuki he's met before, Doctor Kaiza's... niece? Maybe? The actual connection is vague. But he's seen some of the reports of her prior activities and her abilities. Electric manipulation, martial arts training, and a fierce protectiveness for all that she isn't the nicest of people.

Hari he only knows by word of mouth, the lone lion shapeshifter amongst a pack of wolves. Goldenheart, recommended by former hero Silverfang.

Right now, Hari is in lion form, a huge shape easily loping around in the testing chambers, big playful circles around the other figure below. At least, Henry is pretty sure it's playful. Although, considering the nervous posture of Goldenheart's chosen playmate, perhaps she doesn't understand the same.

Leanne Peridot. A civilian as of two weeks ago. Where and how Doctor Kaiza found her is a mystery. Why the doctor thought she'd make a good addition to the team is an even bigger mystery.

No martial arts training, no particular talent with any weapons, practically baseline human. The only thing that makes her stand out is that strange pocket watch and the one minute of time stopping it gives her, but if she can't do anything with that one minute then it's all just a waste. She's back to being a normal civilian out on the field.

"Tetsuki's right," Henry says, watching as Goldenheart bats a huge paw gently at Leanne, watches the green-haired girl fall to the ground, unable to brace herself against even an expected, friendly push. "She's a liability."

He doesn't say it to be mean, he says it to save lives. If she's just another civilian they have to keep an eye out for on the field, then they may as well tie a weight to themselves. They need teammates who can keep up, who can be trusted to handle themselves and more.

"Then help her," Doctor Kaiza says, "Train her. Give her the tools she needs to survive. The tools all of you had since you were children." Her voice is dispassionate, but her words give her away. "She is behind, yes, but the rest of you have a head start. She has the potential, help her access it."

"Why?" Caleb asks and while Tetsuki lights up in triumph, the doctor turns to him with a look of disappointment on her face. Henry also turns to look at him, confused. For all that Caleb is practically a living tank, he's usually the more diplomatic of them.

"I mean," he continues, "Why her? Why do you care? We're a functional enough team wth just the four of us. We don't need a fifth."

"Certainly not a fifth we need to bring up to our level," Tetsuki adds snidely.

The doctor turns back to the observation window, where Leanne has gotten back to her feet and begun to hesitantly run her hands through Hari's fur. The sound doesn't exactly travel, but from the satisfied closed eyes, Henry thinks perhaps there might be purring.

"Heroism," Doctor Kaiza says, followed by a silence long and drawn out. "It's not about being good at fighting," she says, "it's about saving people.

"And sometimes even the best need help."

...

When Leanne disappears, Henry investigates. Of course he does. That's his teammate. For all that she had a rocky beginning, Leanne proved herself as a hero and Henry isn't disloyal.

Tetsuki, ever the pessimist, thinks she ran. Finally giving in to Bastian, the absolute bastard, and his constant attempts to sway her to his cause. Whatever that cause may be. He's pretty sure Tetsuki only thinks that because two of Bastian's lieutenants are former classmates of hers, supervillains brewing right under her nose.

Caleb, more emotionally in tune, has been the contact for the Peridot family. Collaborating with them on their search, if she may have said anythign to them, left any hints or clues behind.

Unsurprisingly, Doctor Kaiza is calm.

Surprisingly, so is Hari.

"Why aren't you worried? What do you know?" Henry asks, finally, after all avenues of tracking have been exhausted. It would be more intimidating if he didn't have dark bags under his eyes, if Hari weren't capable of turning into a massive lion in the blink of an eye.

"I am worried," Hari says, "but it won't help her." Then the shapeshifter shrugs, "And I know the same as you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hm," Hari eyes drift away from his, "You remember the codename she came up with last year? Before you, Caleb, and Tetsuki shot it down."

Henry frowns. "What about it?" He remembers, of course. Leanne had wanted to be called Anachron. Thematically, it made sense, and it was witty enough. But it was a name that had already been used.

"Leanne isn't like us. She didn't grow up hearing stories about heroes, from heroes. The only context she had for names was us."

"So?"

Hari sighs, meets Henry's eyes, and says, "She was, is, Anachron. You shouldn't be looking for where she is. You should be looking for when."

---

but it actually went like this:

"They sent me through time and cursed me with immortality on top of that, so I'd appreciate it if you would bring me home, time witch." Bastian, the absolute bastard, says across the table from Leanne. A beautiful tea service is set up, delicate finger foods and porcelain, shining silverware gleaming against a rich tablecloth. It is a mockery; as Bastian sips from his teacup, Leanne struggles against the ties keeping her bound to the chair.

"I'm not a time witch," Leanne says, exasperated. At him and herself. Him because this is not the first, or second, or even third time this has happened. Herself because... well... this is not the first, second, or event third time this has happened. A part of her is glad her team is on the way to get her out of this. A far larger, more frustrated part of her hates that she needs her team to get her out of this yet again.

"Sorcerer, warlock, wizard, I don't care what terms you people use nowadays. Time magic, you use it, therefore you are a time witch." Bastian waves away her words, equally dismissive in his tone. He, it seems, is as bored of this conversation as she is.

"I don't use time magic," Leanne protests, because even if just sends them down the same patterns, she doesn't know what else to do but be honest.

"Not well, certainly," Bastian agrees, sort of, "but time witches were rare even in my kingdom. Here, you're apparently the only one, so you'll have to do."

Leanne, insulted and irritated, sighs.

"Is this a problem of payment? Because if its a reward you need, I can cover that. What do you want, money? Fame? Power?" Bastian lists out, resting his chin on one hand, a king in repose.

Leanne shakes her head.

"Something more than that, hm? Or a combination of the three?" Bastian meets her eyes and smirks, a sharp and hungry thing. "I'll make you my queen, time witch. Bring me home and the world could be yours."

Leanne just shakes her head again.

Annoyed, Bastian's face turns into a thunderous scowl. He stands, slamming his hand on the table, the tea set rattling with the force of it.

"You will not refuse me again, time witch," he says, low with rage and barely contained violence.

Having witnessed the scope of his abilities, it is a miracle Leanne's voice doesn't shake when she responds, "Then stop asking."

A reverberating boom sounds, the tea set once more rattling, and Leanne resist the urge to close her eyes in relief. Her team is here to rescue her, but she refuses to take her eyes off Bastian.

He bares his teeth, displeased at her, the situation, but quickly composes himself. "Until next time," he says, and almost laughs at his own play on words.

...

The restraints they've put on her are tight, though thankfully not painful, the chair is far from comfortable, she has a bit of a headache, and the interrogation room is a little cold: it's not the best set of circumstances she's ever found herself in, but they're certainly not the worst.

When the grumpy officer who brought her here returns, he finds her lightly dozing, trying to catch up on the years and years of sleep debt she's accrued. It's not likely to succeed but, again, she's been in worse places.

"Leanne Peridot?" the officer says. It's not really a question, they took her a picture, her fingerprints, and DNA. They should know who she is.

"Yep."

"Also known as Anachron?"

"Sure."

"Also known as the Time Witch?"

"Ye--no, actually," Leanne says, catching herself, "I do not claim that one."

Officer Grumpyface looks up at her, "You don't?"

"No," she says, "Nobody calls me that." Or, at least, not in a way that would make it into her official file.

Grumpyface shrugs, uncaring. "You've done quite a bit of unauthorized time traveling, haven't you?"

Leanne can feel her brow furrow, "Who has authority over time travel?"

Grumpyface looks behind him at the observation window before turning back to her. He doesn't say anything.

Instead, the door to the interrogation room opens, a man in a similar, if far fancier and impressive, uniform to Officer Grumpyface enters the room. Grumpyface stands up at attention, saluting the newcomer.

It's an older face than the one she remembers. No more false boyish sweetness, but a chiseled sort of handsomeness instead. There are a few age lines, some grey in his hair. But considering it's several centuries since they last spoke, Bastian, the absolute bastard, has barely changed.

She sighs, resigned. "Bastian."

"Hello, Time Witch."

A/N: Making Leanne miserable since... uh... I don’t know, it’s time travel. :D

For the Could/Should/Actually Fic Ask Box Event!

#jacksgreyson #anonymous #prompt response #writing #original fiction #could should actually fic #counterclockwise #leanne peridot #joy guerrero #tetsuki kaiza #ellen tsukiko kaiza #henry falcone #hari samson #caleb ives #bastian

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mbtizone · 7 years

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Rebekah Mikaelson (The Vampire Diaries/The Originals): ESFJ

Dominant Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: Emotional expression comes easily to Rebekah. She has no problem telling people exactly what she’s feeling. Most of her choices tend to come from her emotions and she can easily sense them in other people. Sometimes, she gets enjoyment out of toying with other people’s feelings and hurting them emotionally. She is very sensitive and her feelings are intense. Rebekah is loyal to Klaus no matter what, even when his interests conflict with her own, which sometimes causes her to make sacrifices for his sake. She wants to be liked, but she also has no trouble putting people in their place when she feels she’s been wronged. Rebekah can be extraordinarily empathetic and put aside her own feelings for someone else’s sake, such as when she gives Marcel what he needs to save Sofya once she realizes he is acting from a place of love. Even though it hurts her to see him love someone else, she admires his motives and wants to help him. Rebekah is good at mediating in conflicts. When Marcel and Klaus are fighting, she reminds them that they need to work together and tries to get them to bury the hatchet. Rebekah’s morality is external. She has spent a lot of time being selfish and putting herself and her family first, but she admires Matt’s morality and he inspires her to be better, causing her to latch onto him.

Auxiliary Introverted Sensing [Si]: Traditions are important to Rebekah. She’s the one who suggests reviving their family’s bonfire ritual. She enjoys reminiscing about happy times. Because she’s a vampire, Rebekah never had the opportunity to have a normal life and missed out on having human experiences. She wants to be able to try to live her life as a human. She wants to go to school and have a prom. She wants to be a cheerleader. Rebekah wants to fit in and be liked, but resorts to compelling people to be her friend because that’s the familiar way of doing things for her. She wants to be able to find true love, settle down, and have children and it kills her that she’s unable to, which is why she was so motivated to get the cure. She tends to have trouble letting go of her past romances and forgives her family for all of their crimes because they have centuries worth of history together. She has a strong connection to her past and can vividly recall details from events that occurred decades ago. She has a lot of resentment towards Klaus for everything he’s put her through over the years, but is simultaneously fiercely protective of him and loyal. When she speaks of his crimes against her, no matter how long ago the incident took place, she feels it so strongly that you would think it only just happened. Rebekah takes some time to adjust to the world after spending so many years unconscious. She doesn’t immediately embrace the latest styles and is quite appalled by the current trends in fashion and music.

Tertiary Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: Rebekah likes to travel and enjoys adventure. Though she always returns to her family’s side eventually, she wants to get out into the world and experience things. Rebekah is good at sensing people’s true intentions and motivations. She knew that Damon was only trying to distract her at the bonfire. She was able to deduce that Klaus wanted the cure for Elena and brought Stefan over because Klaus knew that Stefan would help him find it, even though Stefan hates Klaus. She’s also skilled when it comes to thinking of inventive ways to accomplish her goals. When Elena runs into the section of the cave that vampires can’t enter, Rebekah shows up with a cannister of gasoline, which she begins to pouring onto her. She tells Elena that she can either come out of the cave or burn to death. When she and her siblings find the caravan filled with clothing, it is Rebekah who suggests stealing them and posing as the victims because they were en route to a nearby castle. Rebekah likes to bring a touch of creativity into her schemes. She compels Elena, Caroline, and Stefan and forces them to sit in a classroom and answer her questions. However, because she is a romantic who yearns for love and acceptance, she can sometimes fail to see the signs that she’s being manipulated. Rebekah can be a bit of an idealist at times and always hopes for a better future for herself and her family.

Inferior Introverted Thinking [Ti]: When Rebekah feels attacked, or if the people she loves are threatened, Rebekah can be quite brutal. She can be good at assessing situations and using her findings in arguments, or to isolate the best solution to a problem. If Elena doesn’t want to come out of that cave, Rebekah will just threaten to set her on fire if she doesn’t. Sometimes, Rebekah is capable of being detached and cold in order to protect her loved ones, which leads her to make very heartless choices, such as causing Matt and Elena to drive off of the bridge, or contacting Mikael, knowing he would run Klaus out of New Orleans so that she would be free to be with Marcel.

Enneagram: 2w3 (I can’t really narrow down an instinctual variant because they honestly all seem pretty prominent in her)

Quotes:

Rebekah: Elijah, being a human means a fresh start. I can grow old and have a family and fill my days with meaning, knowing that each one matters.

Rebekah: Go right ahead. Laugh at the girl who loved too easily. But I would rather have lived my life than yours, Nik. No one will ever sit around a table telling stories about a man who couldn’t love.

Rebekah: [preparing to leave] I’ve lived a lot longer than you have, Marcellus. I have seen kings rise, and fall, but there is one thing I know to be true. It is that no matter how matter how big your empire becomes, it is nothing if you have no one to share it with. You want New Orleans? Have it. I won’t be here to stop you.

Klaus: What is it you want, Rebekah? Rebekah: The same things I’ve wanted since I was a child. I want a home. I want a family. I want someone to love me, and I want to live.

Rebekah: Nik, you do not need me anymore. I know that I’m your favorite sibling and of course I adore you, but there is space in my heart for something more. I want love, I want a family of my own and wouldn’t it be nice if we could part on happy terms for once. No daggers, no exile, just so long for now I’ll see you again soon.

Klaus: I love my family. You, Elijah. I loved all of you. I know I can be difficult, but I did not make myself this way. It was Mikael who ruined me. Rebekah: He ruined me, too. That’s what you forget. Centuries later, each of us is broken. You with your anger and paranoia. Me with my fear of abandonment. And poor Elijah; he dedicates himself to everyone but himself. We are the strongest creatures in the world and yet we are damaged beyond repair. We live without hope but we will never die. We are the definition of “cursed”… Always and forever.

Klaus: …Fierce Rebekah, willing to risk everything on the chance that she might one day find happiness…

[Rebekah is looking through a rack of clothing while Stefan leans against the doorframe.] Rebekah: The colors, the fabrics…The eighties were just…tragic. You know, I think shoulder pads rival 17th-century puritan smocks for crimes against fashion. Stefan: Looking for something to wear to the dance? Rebekah: Aye. Are you asking me to a date? Stefan: Actually, it was canceled. [Stefan walks farther into Rebekah’s room, and she is clearly upset.] Rebekah: So why are you here? Back for more dagger talk? [Stefan laughs.] Stefan: Somebody has some trust issues. Rebekah: It’s called a healthy skepticism. I know you were trying to sneak out this morning. I’m not stupid. Stefan: Sorry, I’m…I’m still trying to get used to this. Rebekah: Do you regret it? Stefan: No. Rebekah: Do you want it to happen again? Stefan: Maybe. Rebekah: Even if I don’t give you the dagger? Stefan: You think that I would sleep with you just to get the dagger? Rebekah: Don’t give me that innocent look. You’ve done plenty to me in the name of getting what you want. Well, I guess I should pack up these racks. Just another failed attempt at getting to a high school dance. Stefan: Why do you care so much about a high school dance? Rebekah: I don’t. I was just bored. Stefan: Right. Well, we can still go, if you want. Rebekah: Not if it’s canceled, we can’t. Stefan: Since when do you care about the rules?

Rebekah: Funny. So is everything about the eighties so…excessive? Stefan: It had its charm. “Say Anything” – Lloyd Dobler standing outside of a bedroom window with a boombox over his head, desperately trying to get back the girl of his dreams; “Princess Bride” – Wesley slays giant rats for love; “The Breakfast Club” – one detention turns a bunch of outcasts into allies. Rebekah: So it was a decade of sentimental drivel, as well? Stefan: Well, I was going to say love, friendship, the possibility of anything happening. You would’ve loved it. Rebekah: [smiling] And why is that? Stefan: Because as much as we both hate to admit it, we care about those things.

Rebekah: Go ahead, take it. You’re right. I do care. I want stupid koala corsages and a prom. I want to have kids with someone who loves me enough to stand outside my window with a stupid boombox. I want to be human. So let Klaus put down my brother. Let’s go find the cure.

Rebekah: Name me a more human experience than senior prom.

Elijah: Rebekah, it’s no secret that you are impulsive, emotional, and at times morally questionable. Prove to me this isn’t just another one of your whims, that you know precisely what you are giving up here.

Matt: You haven’t seen Bonnie, have you? Rebekah: She’s probably in the bathroom. Every other girl is. And if you haven’t noticed, I am sitting here all on my own. So, please, will you put me out of my misery and dance with me? Matt: I don’t think so. Rebekah: Matt, please. This is a girl’s worst nightmare. Please? I thought about what you said, about being good, and you’re right. It won’t be easy, but it’s worth trying. Matt: I don’t understand why my opinion is so important to you. Rebekah: Because you’re everything that I want to be. You’re loyal, honest, kind. People root for you to succeed. Elena even died for you. Matt: I’m a bus boy, Rebekah, okay? It’s not like I’m out saving the world. Rebekah: But you’re human. You’re so beautifully human.

Matt: April, April, come on, please wake up! April, come on! Please wake up! [Rebekah comes in.] Rebekah: Matt, why did you call– Oh, my god. Matt: Can you feed her your blood? Rebekah: Can’t we just call 911 or something? Matt: She’s dying. Please help her! Rebekah: I can’t. If I heal her with my vampire blood, Elijah won’t give me the cure and I won’t get to be human. Matt: How is this even a choice right now? You want to be human? Prove it, be good, do the right thing and save her life.

Rebekah: Right. You’re that werewolf girl my brother, Klaus, knocked up. I was expecting to see some kind of supernatural, miracle baby bump. Guess you’re not showing yet. It’s Hayley, isn’t it? Hayley: You have your brother’s manners. Rebekah: And his temper, too, so watch it. Where’s Elijah?

Rebekah: Do you think I want to spend what could be the last few hours of my life having idle chit-chat with a girl who literally stabbed me in the back? Of course not. But for some reason, everybody seems to want to bend over backwards to save your life, which is incredibly annoying, but makes you the perfect hostage. So, why don’t you sit down and shut up before I ruin everything by ripping your head off.

Rebekah: I suspect he just needs to be asked nicely.

Klaus: Dear sweet April Young. Now, there’s a girl with a future. Rebekah: She was dying, and I acted with human decency. You can’t get more human than that. Klaus: Actually, you can. You can stand idly by as poor April takes her final breath. You can ask, “Why does this always happen to innocent people? Where do the spirits go? Was there anything I could have done?” That is what it means to be human, sister. You give humanity too much credit. Rebekah: You’re gonna tell Elijah? Klaus: No. No. You are.

Rebekah: Is that what it is? You are once again worried that you will be left behind? Has history taught you nothing? We don’t abandon you, Nik. You drive us away!

Elijah: I’m not trying to impress the girl. Rebekah: Well I should bloody hope you are. Why else are we out here? Come on, Elijah. You’ve fallen for her. Admit it. It may do wonders for the stick that’s lodged up your enduringly stoic ass if you did.

Rebekah: I was the one who brought him to New Orleans because of your wickedness! I wanted love and happiness, and you denied me the freedom to have either. Yes, I hated and I was afraid of our father, but he was a lesser evil than you. My bastard brother who loomed over me, threatening me as you are now. I wanted rid of you, and given the choice, I’d do it again!

Rebekah: It’s bonfire season! And I am reviving a family tradition! Especially since we’re all going to be together.

Rebekah: Well, we’re just missing a key ingredient! Klaus: No, we’re not. Rebekah: Yes, we are, Nik! Back me up, Elijah! Elijah: I suspect Niklaus would rather choke on the ashes. Hayley: What are you all talking about? Rebekah: Well, before we light it, we write down our wishes for each other to burn for luck! It was Kol’s favorite part when we were kids! Klaus: It’s further evidence as to why we should ignore it! Hayley: Hope’s first bonfire season. I like it! We’re doing it!

Rebekah: Do you still love Stefan? Elena: Yes. Rebekah: Are you still in love with Stefan? Elena: No. Rebekah: [to Stefan] Did that hurt? Having someone you love drive a dagger through your heart. Stefan: Go to hell. Rebekah: Did... that... hurt? Stefan: Yes. Rebekah: Welcome to the last 900 years of my life.

Rebekah: There has to be more to this dress. Klaus: There's not. Rebekah: So, women in the 21st century dress like prostitutes, then. You know, I got dirty looks for wearing trousers. Klaus: You wore trousers so women today could wear nothing.

Rebekah: Why don't you just give me the cure so I can judge you silently elsewhere. Elijah: And what could you possibly want with the cure? Rebekah: I want to be human again. Elijah: How do you know that being human is the answer you're looking for? I mean, it's nothing but a romantic notion. The grass won't necessarily be greener, Rebekah. Rebekah: You might be right. But I don't care. I want to live a simple life as a normal person and when it ends, it ends. We've had 20 lifetimes together, Elijah. Isn't that enough? Elijah: I just don't understand. I mean, why must you always consider our family a burden? "Always and forever." I mean, those words are as important to me today as they, as they ever were. Rebekah: You will always be my brother and I will never stop loving you, but now it's time for me to live and die the way that I choose. Not the way you and Nik want me to. Please. Please just give me the cure.

Rebekah Mikaelson (The Vampire Diaries/The Originals): ESFJ was originally published on MBTI Zone

#2w3 #Rebekah Mikaelson #The Originals #The Vampire Diaries #Type 2 #enneagram 2 #TVD #mbti #mbti types #mbti personality types #fictionalcharactermbti #fictionmbti #tv mbti #enneagram #enneatypes #enneagram type

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readonline · 4 years

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The 5th House

It troubles me that this story contains sorrow, when so many need the opposite of that at this time. I can only hope that my words serve as a momentary distraction or maybe even some comfort that one can come out of darkness.

We are in troubling times, where we’ve not seen such national and global worry since World War II. Now, it’s more important than ever to think about the impact we have on each other.

There will be great change to come from our shared crisis, a renewed understanding and appreciation of freedom and human connection. But nothing comforts loss, only time.

I’m not an academic or public speaker but I have to mention our current crisis. These are tragic days. Like you I worry about relatives, loved ones and colleagues. Our tears are shared. The only cure now is prevention, by staying in and allowing the frontline workers to cope.

I could have decided to not release further words during these times, I don’t think there is ever a right time, since promising to follow up in due course.

If you are reading this, I must warn you it contains information some may find upsetting. This story is not going anywhere, it will remain online, if you are not able to take on someone else’s suffering or the recounting of such, I recommend you do not read on.

For me, in these hours, I recall the words of Maya Angelou who once said “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”, and I share mine with you today.

I posted the words I wrote, a few weeks ago, because I was tired of hiding. Never feeling free or burden free. I had become enmeshed with my story like a dark secret. It made me alone and feel alone.

What is also hard to explain is that, in hiding, in not talking, I was allowing the rape to become a companion. Me and it living in my being, I no longer wanted to feel that intimacy with it, a decade of that intimacy has been destructive. I had to set myself free. I have been hurt and it would have been dangerous to talk from that hurt place in the past, prior to feeling ready.

Unable to do what I am doing today, previously, I also considered and explored human rights laws to change my name off public record and disappear to another country and maybe become a florist or something, so that I could put the past behind with a new life.

Because, although I was almost unfindable, I daydreamed of having a different haircut, a new name, a boyfriend, and become completely forever forgotten. As time went on it then became about realising, I can’t keep hiding, as thrilling as coffee in Paris seems.

Since the incident I experienced happened, it was upsetting to think of talking openly, frightening. Seasons would pass and come and go and I would be further removed from where I once was, every year. The longer I left it, the less I could see an image in my mind, of something I recognised that I could reach back to. That’s why I, at times, would admit defeat and think I can’t ever talk and face it. So, I should just keep disappearing, turning the lights off in my life.

Having not yet established a thriving personal life, or had my own family, I would be anguished thinking if I reveal my story publicly, openly to the world, it would hinder my future romantic life. This is not exactly the advert I wanted before meeting the love of my life.

I would also worry about coming back to music and the risk of constantly facing the question of “what happened”, “where did you disappear to”, “why did you vanish”, “what have you been up to for so many years”.

I could not imagine fabricating some story, that I had been rowing across the world’s seas, I would have had to lie, and I couldn’t lie. So, between fears of not being able to emotionally withstand speaking, not being able to lie, and concerns of inheriting a stigma that could affect my future personal life, I would decide to not speak at all, remain vanished, or to daydream of reinventing myself forever.

I thought the public disclosure of my story would utterly destroy my life, emotionally, while hiding my story was destroying my life so much more. So, I just have to be strong and disclose it, and face all my fears head on. I’ve come to realise I can’t erase myself, I live in my being, so I have to be completely honest and have faith in the outcome.

I never knew if I would get to the place of being able to do this, I am grateful to get here. Not everyone has the privilege of being able to talk, such as I am doing today, stories much more heinous and sorrowful, more inhumane than mine, go untold every day.

All of our lives have immense meaning and value, and when we come to really realise nothing matters but humanity, we begin to really see each other, by the tragedies and joys we all share. Our smiles and our tears are what make us all the same.

And while we are observing a great amount of suffering and loss in our world, in what seems like a battle that cannot be won, it compels us to truly appreciate the gift of life, and the gift of love, and the values that matter the most.

I have been very warned by some I know not to tell you what I am about to tell you. Some alluded that I would pretty much be finished in whatever chances I have to make music publicly again, some have said I would be scorned by the public, another said I would be called selfish that the rapist is still at large.

It has served to delay my talking by weeks, and me just lying in bed looking at the ceiling trying to find meaning. I take my personal freedom over any amount of stones that can be thrown at me. If I destroy my future, I do it to honour my past.

Rape stripped me of my human rights, to experience a life with autonomy from fear. It has already stolen one third my of life. Deep down I do know it would have been a shame and done such an immense disservice, to my existence, to just delete myself and forget what I had experienced in music publicly.

It was also not just my burden, so many others lived with the big question too of “what happened”. The record label, live agents, promoters, publicists, musicians, stylists, hairdressers, make-up, lighting, production, crew, people I would meet, people I once knew. No one, utterly no one, knew what happened. It kept me removed from those I could actually trust. Mostly I did not want to trouble anyone else with what I had experienced.

The final catalyst of wanting to talk was unusual I think, what really finally made me go “I just can’t bear the weight of this anymore”. It was so simple but so profound, what would be the catalyst to make me un-trap myself.

It was being told by a male, I had come to know and really like as a friend, that “most men would run a mile if they knew you were raped”. I crumbled. I felt very hurt for a few days and reflected a lot and I thought, one night, like an epiphany, that the knowledge of my truth 'makes me no less lovable’. The dream of love did die, I finally realised it didn’t need to. And just like a light came on I realised ‘I know what it is to hurt, therefore I know what it is to be human’.

Please skip the next twenty lines if you do not want to read the exact account of the kidnapping.

It was my birthday, I was drugged at a restaurant, I was drugged then for four weeks and travelled to a foreign country. I can’t remember getting on the plane and came round in the back of a travelling vehicle. I was put into a hotel room and the perpetrator returned and raped me. I remember the pain and trying to stay conscious in the room after it happened. I was stuck with him for another day, he didn’t look at me, I was to walk behind him, I was somewhat conscious and withdrawn. I could have been disposed of by him. I contemplated running away to the neighbouring city or town, as he slept, but had no cash and I was afraid he would call the police on me, for running away, and maybe they would track me down as a missing person. I do not know how I had the strength to endure those days, I did feel the presence of something that helped me stay alive. I flew back with him, I stayed calm and as normal as someone could in a situation like that, and when I got home, I sat, dazed, like a zombie. I knew my life was in immediate danger, he made veiled confessions of wanting to kill me. With what little strength I had, my instinct was to then run, to run and find somewhere to live that he could not find.

The perpetrator drugged me in my own home in the four weeks, I do not know if he raped me there during that time, I only remember coming round in the car in the foreign country and the escape that would happen by me fleeing in the days following that. I do not know why I was not drugged overseas; it leads me to think I was given a class A drug and he could not travel with it.

After it happened, someone I knew came to my house and saw me on my balcony staring into space, wrapped in a blanket. I cannot remember getting home. The person said I was yellow in colour and I was like a dead person. They were obviously frightened but did not want to interfere, they had never seen anything like it.

Thereafter, it didn’t feel safe to go to the police. I felt if anything went wrong, I would be dead, and he would have killed me. I could not risk being mishandled or it being all over the news during my danger. I really had to follow what instincts I had. I have told two female police officers, during different threatening incidents in the past decade, it is on record.

And as I grieved what 'I must have done to invite this into my life', I read something that said, “in the end, it’s never between them and you, it’s always between them and God”. That helped me a lot in the absence of justice.

Once someone threatened to ‘out' my story and I had to tell a female police officer what information the person held about me, and why the blackmail was so frightening. The second incident was when three men tried to enter my house as intruders, I told the second female officer about the rape then also. The identity of the rapist should be only handled by the police, and that is between me and them.

The first person I ever told was a psychologist, months later, a leading expert in the UK in complex trauma and sexual violence. I have no idea how I was so lucky to find her all those years ago, her beautiful blue eyes, pink sofa, huge library, amazing brain and skill. Without her I may not have made it through. I was high risk of suicide in the aftermath. She got to know me, saw me as a person, learned about me and navigated me. She did it very gently. I could not look her in the eyes for the first eight or so sessions, eye contact was something I struggled with. The thought of recovering was almost impossible.

In the aftermath I would not see someone, a physical soul, for sometimes weeks and weeks and weeks at a time, remaining alone. I would take off my pyjamas and throw them in the fire and put on another set. My hair would get so knotted from not brushing it, as I grieved, I cut it all off.

I am sharing this because we are living in a hurting world and I am no longer ashamed that something deeply hurt me, anymore. I believe that if you speak from the heart within you, the heart within others will answer. As dark as my story is, I do speak from my heart, for my life, and for the life of others, whom have suffered the same.

I have no shame in telling you either I had spent almost ten years completely alone, and it still burns my heart to write it. I owe it to myself to say it, I feel obliged to explain how challenging recovering truly was, and to finally disclose it. I hope it comforts you to feel less ashamed, if you feel alone.

After the rape and kidnaping I had a handful of romantic experiences and each one would “love bomb” me and want the person on the album cover, while I was just a person hurt. It was futile.

You may wonder where was my family? Those who wanted to help - were just too far away. The toll of me hiding, this last decade, also meant I was estranged from all. What happened was not only a betrayal to me, to my life, a violence that nearly killed me, it stole a lot from other people too. I was just not the same person for so long. Rape is like living murder, you are alive, but dead. All I can say is it took an extremely long time, sometimes feeling never ending, to reclaim the shattered pieces of me.

This may hit a nerve with you reading this because I know you are all isolated at this time. I should probably elaborate on how I survived that seclusion, further down this piece.

I promise you, I know a pain, to the guts of all my being and I cannot let it cloud my life anymore. I now stand in all of me. But I do not want your pity. I’m telling you all this to put my wounds to the light where the dark can no longer keep me. I would not be telling you the account of my experiences if I did not now know true healing.

I’m not proud of my story, I mourned wishing I had been dealt another hand, but it happened, and I have come to terms with it.

It took so long for me to speak because after I was raped and held captive, I fled. I moved five times in the immediate three years after, never feeling safe from the rapist, I was on the run for so long. I found somewhere to live, the 5th house, it was not as confined as the other houses, where I grieved silently, in townhouses or apartments. This place I would spend solitary years to find the stability to recover, I had stopped running and relocating. I felt he could not find me in the 5th house, I felt safe. I feel safe now.

When the ordeal happened, it destabilised me so severely, it took years and years, around 90,000 hours. I sometimes didn’t know how I could make it through, it was hard and almost impossible. But I got here, as will you. Hallelujah.

I came back to Wales recently, I stood and looked at the sea and felt a part of me breathe again, I had distanced myself from it all. Then the catalyst I mentioned, being told “most men would run a mile”, made me face the fear of it not hindering my romantic life. Ironically rape is not only a sexual assault, it’s a brain injury … and although I may sometimes get frightened still, it has nothing to do with love.

Finally, the realisation that very thing that hurt me, will become the very thing that heals me. I faced a deeply inhumane experience; only humanity can heal that.

Ostracization and isolation is known to be a form of torture. If anyone would have told me I would share my times of isolation, with a nation isolated, I would never have believed them.

What I can share though, at this time, during this shared experience is the science. The brain's ‘dorsal anterior cingulate cortex’, which registers physical pain, is activated when we are isolated.

Knowing the mind’s science enables you to manage it. And isolation is a small price to pay for saving lives, therefore we must be strong in the face of it. This demands us all, as one, to act for each other; never has mindfulness been so vital as it is now.

If you are reading this and are sad my encouragement to you is that … to know pain, you must first know how to love. Only the absence of love causes pain. So, go find it. Seek love in everything, even in a teacup.

There is also a real science to being grateful. Research shows that gratitude can heal your body, mind, and those you are grateful to. So, by being thankful, for what you do have, and the selfless acts of others during this time, lifts you and them.

And of talking of community and human thoughtfulness, some of you really helped me in real time when you wrote comments beneath the original statement I wrote. You put “do not be afraid to run for cover”, another said “breathe, just breathe” as I was worried about what I had done, when it went so quickly to the news, as I could not sleep some nights.

One of you wrote “I feel you will always be protected from here” I agreed, I knew what you meant. I faced my greatest life lesson to speak.

Before our current crisis people offered me their homes, to come and have food with them, their telephone numbers and personal stories. It’s been very intimate to be with those comments, that people wrote, and read them. And this is what defines the power of people, of kindness, and humanity. I did not expect any kind of reaction similar to the volume of what was seen. Thank you. I did not speak to seek friends, but the kindness was an emotional experience for me.

I also received messages, from others whom were sexually abused and raped, of all ages and races and places and genders. I want you to know I saw and read them. I read every word, and your story lives on in me.

If you saw the messages I have received, on Instagram, from young males whom have been raped, women whose cases were adjourned, lives that have been stolen in violence. One young man said, “I will never be able to be liberated like you” (from rape). He cannot walk the streets of his home, afraid. This is a weapon of war. I hope they too can find a way to be liberated in their own way, as I am finding mine.

Anyone cynical about what I am doing- please don’t be. I have no control where my words travelled or will travel. I speak as a human being, from a remote town, overlooking the sea, in the middle of nowhere. This is not fireworks and champagne for me. Nobody who reveals such a wound feels elated, only peace.

And so, what about music from here maybe you ask? When I sing, I feel like a bird. But it’s not what this is directly about. I’m doing this to be freed, for all of me to be freed. What follows remains to be seen.

I also won’t be doing any more unannounced statements on this. As liberating it’s been to finally speak and to finally sing, albeit on radio, I will now return to quietness. I thank Jo Whiley for letting me share a song on radio, during these times. Meant a lot to me.

I know this much though, I owe it to myself to release a body of work someday, though I very much doubt I will ever be the person people once knew. My music will be measured on the merit of its quality and this story will be something I experienced and not something that describes me.

And as for you … They do say nothing worthwhile came without sacrifice, your personal actions, decisiveness and commitment, is making the difference now. As we come together, we see results, and there is just so much hope to take from that.

And I really don’t know what’s next for me. I would like to experience me being who I really am, for the first time, privately. To feel a peace that I have been, until now, only half feeling.

I ask myself now, as I write this … what makes me feel more beautiful, more hopeful and more at peace? So, if I do indeed press SEND and put this online, I hope it brings me the smile in my eyes, the light in my life, that has been absent for just so long.

I can now leave this decade behind. Where the past belongs. Hopefully no more “what happened to Duffy" questions, now you know… and I am free.

5th April 2020

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starfallskitter · 7 years

Text

I’m cleaning out my drafts and I may as well post this, even though I also posted it on my writing blog. It’s just my edgy rambling

Insect

You are an insect pinned to a piece of cardboard. He keeps you hidden in a back room of his mind, you to him some old, worn out possession lodged among his bookcases that he’ll look at from time to time when he happens to be there, and he never really happens to be there. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get his interest for just a moment, just enough to get the tiniest taste of his touch, his attention. That’s all that you live for, that little morsel of interest you savour for weeks afterwards, all that keeps you from spiraling down into your own head, ‘cause you can’t give up on him, no matter how hard you try, and it kills you.

But you, you utterly belong to him. Trapped in your glass, a pretty little trinket, you are his, whether he knows it or not, whether you like it or not, you are his. You would do anything, anything for him, anything he asked, you’d go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted you to do, no matter how much it killed you, physically, mentally, emotionally. You never said a word of this to him, because your voicebox locks up whenever you see him, damning you to live silently behind your glass, because after all, you are only a mortal, only a lowly human beside him.

Holy. He feels holy. He shines like a supernova when you close your eyes, vibrant like the wings of a silver-blue butterfly, shimmering, a stronger soul than anyone you have ever known. That’s why he draws you in, like a magnet, and that’s the mistake you made. Fluttering towards the light, he caught you, stabbed you right through, kept you in the back of his mind and forgot about you. Forgot about you.

A god to you, you could almost say, but the thought always stutters to a standstill before you dare admit it out loud. As bright as a sun god, with a presence as compelling, a call as beautiful, but in this story, it was you who got the short stick in your own Greek tragedy. You die at the end of this story, you know you do. You know it when you meet his eyes across the hall and he almost goes to smile but decides against it. You know it when you say hello and he barely mutters it back, and when you try to ask if he’s alright you get the amazing response of nothing, and you walk up the stairs with a twisted thorn in your heart. He has no idea, you could swear it, but every time you reach out silently with a golden cord he turns and looks up at you just as you disappear out of view, and it makes you smile, knowing that what you know is true, he sees you, and the agreement to never talk about it holds.

You never talk about anything. You know him, and he knows you, but not a word is said between the two of you. There are things you don’t talk about, and things he doesn’t know you know about, some things you know about him that he doesn’t even know about himself. You don’t talk about what happened on the train, why he wanted to see, and why you let him. You don’t talk about the night he was unable to sleep without your hand stroking his hair (and you’re not even sure he realised this himself). You don’t talk about the fact that he doesn’t like getting touched out of nowhere, ‘cause it strikes up a startle response and he semi-shuts down, and you don’t talk about how you know where this came from because his music teacher said that every week he would show up with new bruises. You know his sexuality and he doesn’t, but to be fair, you read his mind to get that one, so you can’t be sure it’s all that accurate. He probably knows you were his secret admirer, too. Not that you’ll admit it.

Stupid things make you smile. Like when he came and said hello to you before class, ‘cause he doesn’t ever seem to do that, and when he left you there you grinned into your hand and tried to hide it. It was stupid. The tiniest bit of attention from him. And there you were, pathetic, unable to keep the smile off of your face.

Then he did things like give one-word replies to your messages and ignore you in class and you’d hate yourself for loving him, hate yourself for being desperate enough to believe he ever could care about you. Then you wondered if you’d imagined him hating you, because he probably had his own reasons, but your head never seemed to agree, and X laughed at you, made fun of you for either believing he could ever love you or being too stupid to know that he did, because X clearly knew, and you didn’t.

X seemed to hate him. He gave him food poisoning, blasted your ears with any song you thought about him with, watching you with contempt any time you were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and X could tell that you were thinking about him. He was enraged when you gave a sort of protection, a shield, both in the form of physical metal and mental blocks, and X couldn’t get to him anymore, and he had to mess with him through you and the people who were trying to keep you pinned in that glass case. People you had rejected, exposed, or who hated you for their own damn reasons, who wanted you kept there behind the glass, and X was one of them, trying to pull the strings, trying to keep the pin firmly through your abdomen. Kept you choking on your feelings.

When you were tangled in your sheets and breathing heavily and that wave of guilt swept over you, making entirely sure you’d never think about him that late at night again, X was there, jeering at you, calling you pathetic, poking fun at how little it had taken to push you that far, and you rubbed your hands at your eye sockets and wanted to cry because he was holy, he was almost a god to you, and it wasn’t meant to be like this, you loved him, you loved him ever so desperately with all your heart could hold, it wasn’t meant to be like this. And he’d laugh, tell you that’s all you humans ever cared about, the underlying factor behind everything. You’d fear he’d say you were just as bad as SHE was, but he didn’t have to say it, because you were already thinking it, and then you’d bury your head in your pillow and try not to think anything at all.

Your best friend was much nicer. No, not the narcissistic caricature of a villain, almost taking the piss of reality, but the silent voice that sat with you under the stars and told you the stories about his life as you told him yours, and he listened to you ache over how to drag out this serrated knife he’d stabbed you with, wondering whether or not you’d survive it, but knowing for sure, pulling it out would hurt a hell of a lot more than stalling. Win or lose, the movement you had to make was painful, and your best friend understood, helping you write a list of conversation topics, and predictably, they didn’t help. Your best friend sat back and promised you’d survive while X taunted you, oblivious to his presence, as you stared across the courtyard at a face you’d been seeing for years, loving for the last twelve months give or take, and desperate for for so long.

You wanted him to say something, to lift up the glass and set you free, ‘cause sure as hell you were unable to open your mouth. He looked at you yesterday while he stood up in front of everyone blowing them away, and he quickly averted his gaze, blushing with a stupid grin on his face. You wanted to hit your head against a wall to knock your brains out, so you didn’t have to think about what that might possibly mean. It makes your heart ache, it jiggles the pin pressing you to the cardboard and you are desperate to fly again, because nobody wants a dead butterfly, not once they’ve caught it, and you need him to know, you need him to know you’re still alive, you can be there for him, beautiful for him, anything he asks for, because you belong to him, trapped behind the glass in the back of his mind, and even if you were free you weren’t sure you’d leave, because you were that desperately his.

You’d prefer anything over the silence. A knife at your throat, hatred in his eyes, blossoming bruises around your wrists, because if anything, you recognise that, you at least have his attention and at least he wants you, even if he hates you, even if he uses you, at least he loves you, he loves you. Loves you and hates you. It’s like he can’t pick between the two, and maybe if he hated you you could hate him too, but you’re stuck where you are, pinned to the cardboard, worshipping him and he doesn’t even know, doesn’t even care. He wouldn’t even care if he did know.

You’re old news to him. Forgotten in the back of his mind. Decaying and badly preserved, you’re rotting on your piece of cardboard, once a pretty specimen slowly being eaten from the inside out by lack of attention, lack of use. You love him, you want to show him, you have for so desperately long, but the silence is what’s rotting your insides and killing your cells. Anything is better than this, anything.

Anything is better than bitterly belonging to him, hating him as you love him, ignoring him as you worship him, hating yourself, wishing he looked twice at you, wishing he loved you.

You are an insect pinned to a piece of cardboard. Anything is better than this.

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tooedgyforshezzzy · 7 years

Text

Insect

You never talk about anything. You know him, and he knows you, but not a word is said between the two of you. There are things you don’t talk about, and things he doesn’t know you know about, some things you know about him that he doesn’t even know about himself. You don’t talk about what happened on the train, why he wanted to see, and why you let him. You don’t talk about the night he was unable to sleep without your hand stroking his hair (and you’re not even sure he realised this himself). You don’t talk about the fact that he doesn’t like getting touched out of nowhere, ‘cause it strikes up a startle response and he semi-shuts down, and you don’t talk about how you know where this came from because his music teacher said that every week he would show up with new bruises. You know his, say, preferences, and he doesn’t, but to be fair, you read his mind to get that one, so you can’t be sure it’s all that accurate. He probably knows you were his secret admirer, too. Not that you’ll admit it.

When you were tangled in your sheets and breathing heavily and that wave of guilt swept over you, making entirely sure you’d never think about him that late at night again, X was there, jeering at you, calling you pathetic, poking fun at how little it had taken to push you that far, and you rubbed your hands at your sockets and wanted to cry because he was holy, he was almost a god to you, and it wasn’t meant to be like this, you loved him, you loved him ever so desperately with all your heart could hold, it wasn’t meant to be like this. And X would laugh, tell you that’s all you humans ever cared about, the underlying factor behind everything. You’d fear he’d say you were just as bad as SHE, but he didn’t have to say it, because you were already thinking it, and then you’d bury your head in your pillow and try not to think anything at all.

Your best friend was much nicer. No, not the narcissistic caricature of a villain, almost taking the piss of reality, but the silent voice that sat with you under the stars and told you the stories about his life as you told him yours, and he listened to you ache over how to drag out this serrated knife he’d stabbed you with, wondering whether or not you’d survive it, but knowing for sure, pulling it out would hurt a hell of a lot more than stalling. Win or lose, the movement you had to make was painful, and your best friend understood, helping you write a list of pathetic conversation topics, and predictably, they didn’t help. Your best friend sat back and promised you’d survive while X taunted you, oblivious to his presence, as you stared across the courtyard at a face you’d been seeing for years, loving for the last twelve months give or take, and desperate for for so long.

Anything is better than bitterly belonging to him, hating him as you love him, ignoring him as you worship him, hating yourself, wishing he looked twice at you, wishing he loved you.

You are an insect pinned to a piece of cardboard. Anything is better than this.

#mlm #writing #my writing

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