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spacedace · 1 year

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Dannys graduation class is especially liminal thanks to the portal and frequent ghost encounters/ Their overshadowing. Which means, that they subconsciously prefer places with high ecto ambience.

Gotham University already had their fair share of students from amity park, one of the only people outside from Gotham who would actually stay for the duration of their studies (thanks to them being used to ghost shenanigans). But this year its more than usual + even for Gothamites these Amity Parkers seem to be rather unhinged.

(I just need more liminal!Amity Parker shenanigans :D and thanks to WE Gotham has great scholarships available)

I had a lot of fun with this one! Thank you for the prompt!

Robert’s hands shook as he brought the chalk to the blackboard, letter’s jagged and words illegible as he attempted to write the day’s lesson down.

Behind him was a silence beyond what the human mind was ready to comprehend. A room full of people, the sense of others in the room, and yet utter stillness. No soft scratch of pencils on paper, gentle taps of nails upon keyboards, no shifting of bodies or crinkling of snacks or soft murmur of voices of those at the back of the lecture hall whispering to each other.

It was something Professor Robert Herne hadn’t truly noticed before this semester. How much noise humans made even when they were sitting very quietly. Little things the brain filtered out so terribly noticeable until it was gone. The almost imperceptible hush of breaths. The absent hum of a chorus of heartbeats. Things you didn’t realize you were used to hearing until they were suddenly, horribly gone.

The chalk broke beneath his hand.

The students sat in impossible, unbearable stillness, watching him.

They were always watching him.

Unblinking eyes, fathomless and deep and knowing knowing knowing. They looked at him and saw. Empty voids that threatened to swallow him whole if he made the mistake of meeting their terrible, all consuming gazes.

His hand shook harder, the broken chalk in his hold crumbling to fine dust. His breathing came harder, heart pounding. Behind him figures stretched long, twisting and unnatural, more and more unblinking eyes opening to stare at him, mouths stretching, faces warping, skin mottling to impossible shades, sharp teeth and pointed ears. Still as death, unmoving, he could feel the weight of them pressing down upon him from all sides and, and, and -

He screamed.

Miriam Schuster, Dean of Gotham University, sat with her head in her hands at her desk. Outside on the quad yet another of the school’s professors was being carried away on a stretcher, screaming and frantic as his class of students all milled about worried for him at a distance.

Herne was the third one in the past month.

Amity kids, she swore, they got weirder and weirder every year. And unlike some members of the University staff, she was qualified to say that. She was an Amity Park kid once upon a time, she knew her home town was weird. Even before the ghost stuff started happening they had a reputation for being odd. She’d certainly creeped out more than a few of her own professors over the years as a student, and still put some people on edge whenever she forgot to make an active effort to appear more…for lack of a better word, normal.

This year’s batch was weird even by her standards though. Far more ecto-contaminated than the students that had joined the university in previous years and it showed. The entire non-Amity half of several courses had dropped in the first week of the semester. They’d had more dorm-room transfer requests than they’d ever seen before. TAs were refusing to work in classes that had Amity Parkers in them. And the professors…

Herne gave another scream of terror outside, shrieking about silence and eyes and being watched. Miriam sighed again.

The professors were not able to cope with the freshmen class at all.

Scrubbing her face in her hands, Miriam leaned back in her seat and looked down at the papers spread out before her. Transfer paperwork to group all the new batch of Amity kids into the same classes so that they weren’t quite so spread around. Keep them contained, as much as it was possible to do so. The problem with having them all in one place though was that the effect of them being so…well, Amity, was far more intense. Which left her with the question of just who she was going to be able to get to teach these classes.

Gotham was more up to Amity Parker strangeness than just about anywhere else - outside of Amity itself of course - and even the Gothamites where having trouble keeping up. It was going to take a special kind of person to be able to handle them.

Miriam glanced out her window again to where the ambulance was trundling away with Herne aboard to Arkham. The civilian mental facilities hadn’t been up to the kind of psychosis caused by direct contact with this year’s batch of Amity Parkers.

Hmm, she considered. That might be an idea.

She’d have to make some phone calls.

“Alright settle down! I know you’re all a rowdy bunch, but I’m gonna need yous to sit pretty for me for the next hour so we can go over the new syllabus.”

To anyone else, there wouldn’t have been any kind of perceptible difference to the utter stillness of the room. The rows of seated students were as still and motionless as they’d ever been, not even their chests seeming to move as they sat and stared, unblinking.

The new professor smiled widely. “Thank you! And hear I heard yous were all a bunch of troublemakers, ha!” A deft hand snatched up a piece of chalk, drawing large looping letters on the board with plenty of flourishes. “Welcome to Psych 101! You can all call me Professor Quinzel!”

Harley spun to face her class, smiling brightly at the eager gleam in the eyes of her new students.

The class, with eyes a little too bright and teeth a little too sharp and shapes a little too wrong when viewed from the corner of the eye all smiled back brightly. It was such a relief to finally have a professor that actually had her shit together.

#spaced asks and ace answers #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #harley quinn #danny phantom #batman #amity parkers are weird #liminal amity parkers #love a class full of Amity Parker weirdos looking at Harley Quinn and being like: oh thank god someone normal #Harley is having the best time being a professor #the batfam are very nervous about the next generation of psychologists and psychiatrists to come out of Gotham U

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usafphantom2 · 5 months

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Bob Pardo, Vietnam War pilot famous for Pardo’s Push maneuver, dies at 89

Jonathan Snyder

Retired Air Force Lt. Col. Robert Pardo is known for carrying out an unorthodox aviation maneuver, later coined the Pardo Push, to save the lives of his wingmen during a bombing mission over Vietnam on March 10, 1967.

Bob Pardo, who left his mark in Air Force history for using an unorthodox maneuver, Pardo’s Push, to save his wingmen’s lives during a bombing mission over Vietnam, died Dec. 5. He was 89.

On March 10, 1967, Pardo and weapons officer 1st Lt. Steve Wayne were on a bombing run on an enemy steel mill north of Hanoi in an F-4C Phantom, flying alongside Capt. Earl Aman and 1st Lt. Robert Houghton.

The target — North Vietnam’s only steel mill dedicated to war materiel — was heavily guarded by anti-aircraft guns and artillery.

During the mission, ground fire damaged both Pardo’s and Aman’s Phantoms, causing both to lose fuel. However, Aman lost too much to return safely to base, and Pardo knew he had to act quickly, according to a 2007 recounting of the mission by Gen. T. Michael Mosely, then the chief of staff of the Air Force.

“I knew if I didn’t do anything, they would have to eject over North Vietnam into enemy territory, and that would have resulted in their capture for sure,” Pardo said in a 2015 interview for the Air Force Veterans in Blue program. “At that time, if you were captured by civilians, you were probably going to be murdered on the spot.”

Pardo decided to push Aman’s plane using the nose of his aircraft against Aman’s tailhook, a retractable hook on the underside of the plane used for arrested landings.

He managed to decrease the rate of descent of Aman’s jet by 1,500 feet per minute, and they successfully reached friendly territory. Both air crews safely ejected over the Laotian border and were rescued by friendly forces.

Retired Air Force Lt. Col. Robert Pardo died Dec. 5 at 89. (David Cooper/U.S. Air Force)

The Air Force at first reprimanded Pardo for further damaging his aircraft. Twenty years later, he received the Silver Star for his actions in the aerial rescue.

Pardo was born in 1934 in Herne, Texas, and began his Air Force career in 1954 at age 19. After flight school, he flew the Phantom during the Vietnam War, logging 132 flying missions.

He retired as a lieutenant colonel in 1974. In addition to the Silver Star, his awards include the Distinguished Flying Cross with Oak Leaf Cluster, Purple Heart, Air Medal with twelve Oak Leaf Clusters and the Meritorious Service Medal.

Pardo is survived by his wife, Kathryn, whom he married on March 7, 1992, five children and 10 grandchildren.

@AviationHistGal via X

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thatpodcastkid · 2 days

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Magnus Archives Relisten, MAG 13 Alone

If a ghost tells you to turn left in a forest, and no one's around to hear it, do you still get hit by a car? My apologies to Ms.Herne for the tasteless and offensive humor. MAG 13 analysis, spoilers ahead!

Facts: Statement of Naomi Herne regarding the funeral of her fiancé Evan Lukas. Statement given January 13, 2016.

Statement Notes: RIP Evan Lukas. RIP king. You would have loved Bo Burnham's Inside.

It's so exciting to have our first live statement. The beginning of the episode stands out because it establishes that the digital recorders not only fail frequently, but at specific times. It is likely that by this point Jon understands the tape recorders must be used for the "real" statements.

Naomi's behavior at the beginning of the episode is also a bit strange. For one, she states that a paranormal investigator laughed at her for suggesting the Magnus Institute. I've always found it odd that investigators like Melanie mock the institute or find it illegitimate because they are an academic institution. They do extensive research, have significant funding, and even though they don't actively interfere in paranormal occurrences, they appear to be conducting and publishing legitimate studies. Why are they disregarded so often?

Naomi also appears actively antagonistic towards Jon. She needs his help, yet still ices him out. This is exemplative of her unconcious commitment to remain alone. Even when she asks him to stay while she gives the statement, she doesn't form any connection with him.

The religious aspects of this episode are so profound. Herne had found solace in religion her whole life. The only person she aside from Lukas and her mother that she could form a connection with was her priest. Yet, in her moment of desperation and fear, when she seeks shelter in the church, the door is locked. Her priest had advised Naomi to bond with others, and while she does get close with Evan, she doesn't actually make more friends and instead depends on religion to give her a sense of connection. But religion alone couldn't help her when everything fell apart.

The idea of being locked out from your religion is also particularly powerful. Being metaphorically and literally locked out of her religion amplified Naomi's loneliness and drove her further into misery.

Lukas' death, while not necessarily supernatural, has this particularly stinging bit of symbolism. A man from a strongly connected yet chronically isolated dies of a genetic broken heart.

The "turn left" line is frightening because I can't pinpoint where it came from. There seems to be a few possibilities:

A) It actually was the dead Evan Lukas. His ghost was using the car crash to jar her out of the Lonely and save her. This insinuates that he wasn't killed by an illness, but by his family or at least some aspect of the Lonely which absorbed him.

B) Evan Lukas had been killed/absorbed by the Lonely, but he wasn't the one warning Naomi. The Lonely had taken and brainwashed him, compelling him to force Naomi towards the car in an attempt to kill her.

C) Evan Lukas' ghost was stuck in the Lonely, and in an uncontrolled spiritual state, thought killing Naomi could reunite them and free him from loneliness.

C) It wasn't Evan Lukas or his spirit, but a manipulation of his voice by the Lonely/the Lukas family to kill Naomi for invading their space and taking one of them away.

Entity Alignment: Pretty much in the title. Great introduction to the Lonely, really gets to both the heart of the fear and the methods it uses.

Some people have mentioned the elements of the Buried in this episode because of the open coffins, and while I do think it's present, these coffins are more so an extension of the Lonely. In the cemetery, Naomi is not afraid of being buried alive or of dying, but of dying alone. Hence the gravestone she carries out with her reading "Forgotten."

I also noticed Jon's Eye abilities beginning to develop in this episode. While he certainly isn't compelling Naomi to speak, he is certainly leading her. Naomi is mad at him, she doesn't want to speak, but his mention of the stone and attempt to diffuse the situation with a joke urge her to give the statement.

Character Notes: This introduction to the Lukases is very frightening. Very classic "isolated rich family" horror, but taken to another level because the isolation is the fear, not just a storytelling device.

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misshoneyimhome · 2 months

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Better In Time - The Fourth Time I Frederik Andersen 🌺

Requested? sort of / No

Summary; It's been seven years since your last visit to Freddie in Toronto. However, now, with this unexpected encounter in your hometown during the off-season, the course of both your lives could be on the verge of a significant shift.

Author's notes; A few weeks ago, a kind anon sweetly reminded me that I never continued this Freddie series 🌺 Truth be told, I've been itching to write this chapter for a while now, since in fact, this was the entire premise behind the story! 🙈 And finally, it's here 🤍 (and yes, there's a next chapter...)

No warnings;

Word counts; 2.7K

Better in Time - [Prologue;] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

・✶ ｡ﾟ

July 2023

The memories of that summer in Toronto stuck with you, a mix of sweet and bitter, reminding you of the connection you once had with Freddie. You'd jetted across the sea to see him, excited to catch up and experience his new Canadian life.

But as time passed, and Freddie's whirlwind rise in the NHL took over, you felt a sense of change looming. Despite efforts to keep in touch through messages and the odd call, Freddie's budding fame and your own career back in Copenhagen pulled you apart. With each month, your conversations became fewer and farther between, fading into faint reminders of your once-strong friendship.

And though you missed Freddie deeply, you hesitated to intrude on his newfound success. He was finally getting the recognition he deserved, and you didn't want to disrupt his momentum.

So, as you settled into life in Copenhagen, throwing yourself into work and embracing the city's culture, Freddie's presence drifted further away. What was once regular communication dwindled to occasional glimpses on social media. Amidst the responsibilities of adulthood, your bond slowly faded into sporadic likes and comments.

It had been seven years since you’d last stood face to face with Freddie at Toronto Pearson Airport. Yet, as you casually turned around to head to the register, his fiery red hair was unmistakable. His imposing figure stood out among the customers nearby, and when he suddenly looked your way, his gentle smile warmed you inside. Despite the years apart, seeing him still sparked a sense of familiarity deep within you. And as you wandered through the grocery store aisles in Herning, lost in your thoughts, encountering him wasn't exactly what you had expected on a random summer afternoon.

But there he was, just a few meters away, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of surprise and recognition. You froze in place, feeling the tension in the air as you locked eyes with Freddie. Time seemed to slow down as you took in the sight of him, memories flooding back in a rush.

Your heart skipped a beat as his lips curved into a soft smile, breaking the heavy silence between you. It was a tentative gesture, acknowledging the years that had passed and the distance that had grown. Yet, underneath it all, there was a spark of something familiar, a connection refusing to fade despite time.

With a gasp, you found your voice, a faint tremor betraying the emotions swirling within you. "Freddie," you whispered, the sound barely audible over the bustling noise of the grocery store.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as he took several steps closer, slowly closing the distance between you. "Hey, y/n," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with warmth.

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as you both stood there, caught in a moment frozen in time. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world around you had faded away, leaving only the two of you connected by the invisible bonds of shared history and unspoken sentiments.

"Hey Freddie, didn’t expect to bump into you here like this," you responded, managing a friendly smile despite the nervous knot tightening in your stomach. Holding onto the handle of your basket a little tighter, you couldn't shake off the slight unease that washed over you at the unexpected reunion.

But Freddie simply chuckled at your teasing remark, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Perhaps, just perhaps, you could navigate this encounter without revealing the truth that had been weighing on you for years.

"Yeah, it's the off-season, so I thought I'd better spend some time with my folks," he replied with a wry grin, his relaxed manner easing some of your nerves.

However, the brief moment of silence was broken by the sweet sound of a child's voice, bringing you both back to reality. "Mum, can we have pancakes for dinner?" The young boy bounded into your embrace; his wide smile infectious as he looked up at you eagerly.

Chuckling softly, you affectionately ruffled his strawberry blonde hair. "You really want pancakes for dinner? But Grandpa's firing up the grill, so you can have all the spareribs you want," you teased, returning his smile with one of your own.

"I love spareribs!" he exclaimed excitedly; his enthusiasm contagious.

"I know you do, love," you replied, a tender warmth spreading through your chest as you gently stroked his hair, pulling him in closer for a hug.

And as your son then turned his eyes to Freddie, a puzzled expression crossed the goaltender's face, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Mum?" he inquired softly, his gaze shifting between you and the young boy.

With a nod, you confirmed his unspoken question, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, a lot has happened in the past few years," you murmured, the weight of your secret hanging heavy in the air between you.

"Oh wow… that’s – well… congratulations," Freddie responded, his attempt at a smile tinged with a hint of confusion and a genuine sense of happiness for you. The unexpected revelation left him feeling a little off balance, but he pushed aside his own emotions to focus on your news.

"Thanks…" you replied, the weight of the unspoken truth still lingering between you.

“Mum, who is this?” your son piped up with a question, diverting the conversation. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you answered, "Oh sweetheart, this is Freddie, one of Mum’s good childhood friends," you explained, gesturing towards Freddie with a fond smile. "Freddie, this is my son, Henry."

Freddie's gaze softened as he looked down at Henry, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of the young boy. "Hey there, Henry," he greeted warmly, extending a hand towards the curious child. "It's nice to meet you."

Fortunately, the tension that had gripped the air began to loosen its hold, like a knot slowly unravelling. Freddie's introduction to Henry brought a warm glow to the atmosphere, softening the edges of uncertainty that had lingered between you.

And as a few more minutes slipped by, it seemed as though the awkwardness was fading, replaced by a tentative sense of ease. Yet, just as you were about to bid Freddie farewell and continue with your day, he halted you with a question that tumbled from his lips before he had even fully formed it.

"How about dinner tonight?” His words hung in the air, carrying with them a mix of spontaneity and curiosity. “I mean, what are the chances to run into each other like this..."

The unexpected proposition caught you off guard, your mind racing to find a response. "Oh, uhm… sorry Freddie, but we've sort of got plans…" you stammered softly, the words tumbling out. Despite the relief that washed over you at the thought of escaping the situation, a pang of disappointment also tugged at your heart.

Freddie's expression flickered briefly, a shadow passing over his features before he offered a resigned nod. "Right… the spareribs, yeah, sorry," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

Then another brief moment of silence stretched between you, until Henry's sweet voice broke the silence.

"Why don't you just come and eat with us?" His suggestion was simple yet sincere, his green eyes bright with excitement as he looked up at the goaltender, oblivious to the complexities of the situation. The unexpected invitation from Henry caught both you and Freddie off guard, momentarily breaking the tension that lingered between you.

Freddie's brows furrowed in surprise as he glanced between you and Henry, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh, uh, I wouldn't want to intrude," he replied, his tone hesitant yet touched by the genuine warmth of the offer.

But before you could interject, Henry's eager voice filled the air once more. "Please, Freddie! It would be so much fun to have you join us," he spoke oh so sweetly and polite, his eyes wide with excitement.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to maintain the boundaries you had carefully set and the longing for a sense of familiarity and connection that Freddie's presence offered.

And sensing your indecision, Freddie offered a tentative smile. "Only if it's not too much trouble, I'd love to join you for dinner," he said, his voice soft yet earnest.

Then with a sigh, you relented, the weight of your secret momentarily forgotten in the face of Henry's innocent enthusiasm. "Alright then, dinner it is," you replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you glanced at Freddie.

"Why… why did I invite him for dinner?" you remarked rhetorically, a note of frustration creeping into your voice as you set the table outside, your father by your side at his house.

“Well, technically it was Henry who invited Freddie for dinner,” your father chuckled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he turned the ribs on the grill.

"It’s not funny, paps…" you trailed off, your mind still grappling with the whirlwind of emotions that had been stirred up by Freddie's unexpected appearance.

“Oh, come on y/n… you and Freddie have been close friends ever since you were children – it’s only natural for you to want to spend some time with each other since you’re both finally at the same place at the same time,” your father offered, his voice filled with gentle encouragement as he turned to face you with a reassuring smile.

You shook your head, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you met his gaze with a troubled expression. "You know that’s not what I’m talking about…" you replied softly.

Despite the understanding look in your father's eyes, he faced you with arms crossed and a sigh. “Maybe this is a sign that you need to tell him…” His words hung in the air, a gentle yet firm reminder of the truth you had been avoiding for far too long.

“I don’t know… isn’t it weird now that it’s been so long?” you furrowed your brows, the uncertainty evident in your voice.

“And whose fault is that?” your father cocked a brow.

“Well, it’s kind of Tom’s since he’s the one who convinced me I might risk ruining Freddie’s career by telling him, because we all know he’d be a stand-up guy, torn between choosing his career and the responsibilities of… an accident…” you explained, words blurring out and frustration lacing your tone.

“Hey, don’t call my only grandson an accident… just because the two of you were irresponsible…” your father mocked playfully, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Dad… besides, this was my choice, not Freddie’s…” you sighed, the weight of your decisions weighing heavily on your shoulders.

“Well, maybe you should just tell him anyway… y/n/n, he deserves to know, and it’s not like you expect anything from him…” your father replied with a comforting expression.

But before you could respond to your father's advice, Henry's enthusiastic voice cut through the air as he darted from the living room to the hallway, eager to greet your guest, ringing the doorbell.

"I’ll get it!" Henry shouted; his excitement palpable as he welcomed Freddie into his grandfather's home with open arms.

And as always, Freddie was the epitome of kindness and thoughtfulness. Flashing a wide smile, he presented you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers and a six-pack of your father's preferred summer beers.

"It’s good to see you again, Freddie," your dad greeted him warmly, pulling him into a masculine hug.

It wasn't a secret that your father had always held a special fondness for Freddie. Despite the age difference and the fact that he saw Freddie more as a son figure than a potential romantic interest for you, he had been nothing but supportive when you had confided in him about Henry's true father.

And as you all then settled in for a lovely summer night dinner, the conversation flowed effortlessly, buoyed by laughter and shared memories. Henry, in particular, couldn't contain his excitement, regaling Freddie with tales of his Ninjago LEGO collection and his dreams of one day becoming a pro hockey player, just like his idol.

"So, what position are you playing?" Freddie asked with a playful smile, genuinely interested in fostering Henry's love for the sport.

"Right now, we don’t really have positions… I mean, I’m sort of great at scoring goals… but I also really want to become a goalie one day," Henry explained with a sweet smile, his eyes shining with determination. “But Grandpa sort of doesn’t want me to be that right now.”

Freddie chuckled warmly, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, don’t worry, my parents told me the same! How old are you, Henry?"

"I’m six!" Henry exclaimed proudly, holding up six fingers to illustrate his point.

"Well, then you still have some years before you have to choose your final position," Freddie reassured him, his tone gentle and encouraging. "And who knows, maybe I can help convince these two here," he added with a wink, gesturing towards you and your father.

Henry's eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect. "That would be awesome, Freddie!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious as he eagerly awaited what the future might hold. "Mum! Can I show Freddie my hockey cards?" he exclaimed; his enthusiasm infectious as he bounced in his seat.

Despite the tiny gulp in your throat, sensing Freddie was slowly catching on, you couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at Henry's eagerness. "Of course, sweetheart," you replied with a nod, your heart heavy with the weight of the truth you were about to reveal.

Swiftly, Henry jumped out of his chair and dashed to his room to retrieve his small collection of NHL hockey cards. Meanwhile, Freddie couldn’t contain his smile either, simply admiring the little boy you’d created and raised with such love and care.

"He’s a sweet boy," Freddie remarked, his voice filled with genuine warmth as he turned to you, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

You returned his smile with a nod and a soft gaze. But as the conversation took a more serious turn, the smile faded from your lips, replaced by a sense of apprehension.

"No dad in the picture?" Freddie carefully inquired; his tone gentle yet probing.

Your heart clenched at the question, knowing that the time had come to finally reveal the truth that had been weighing on you for years. Letting out a deep sigh, you tried to gather your thoughts, your mind racing as you struggled to find the right words.

“I think I’ll go and help Henry,” your father announced gently, sensing the need for privacy between you and your old friend.

Alone with Freddie, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. “Um… Freddie… I, um…” you began, your words faltering as you fumbled with your hands, the weight of the truth pressing down on you.

But before you could continue, Freddie's puzzled expression interrupted you. His brows furrowed in confusion as the pieces slowly began to fall into place. “Wait… he’s six?” he asked, his smile fading as realisation dawned upon him.

With a heavy heart, you nodded silently, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes… he was born in May, 2017… After… I was in Toronto… visiting you.”

Time seemed to stretch on indefinitely as Freddie processed the weight of your revelation, his expression unreadable as he grappled with the magnitude of what you had just disclosed. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited anxiously for his response.

Breaking the thick silence, Freddie finally spoke, his voice quiet yet filled with emotion. “So, that means…” he trailed off, his words heavy with unspoken implications.

You met his gaze with a gentle nod, your own emotions swirling as you confirmed what he had hinted at. “Yes… Freddie, he’s your son…” you admitted softly.

It was a moment of both relief and apprehension as you finally revealed the secret you had been holding onto for so long. Yet, Freddie's reaction was difficult to decipher, his expression a mask of conflicting emotions that left you on edge.

And as you sat across from each other, the reality of your shared past settling between you, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

But before the tension could stretch any further, Henry's excited voice broke through the silence once more, drawing your attention away from the weighty conversation at hand. “Look, Freddie, Look!” he exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement as he proudly displayed his beloved hockey cards.

#queued #freddie andersen imagine #frederik andersen imagine #freddie andersen #frederik andersen #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey imagine #carolina hurricanes imagine

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firenati0n · 3 months

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wip wednesday <3 :)

hello :) i completely forgot to post i am so sorry asjdflajsljfd thank you to @bigassbowlingballhead @priincebutt @anincompletelist @tintagel-or-cockleshells @itsmaybitheway @tailsbeth-writes @captainjunglegym @wordsofhoneydew @gayrootvegetable @theprinceandagcd @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @myheartalivewrites @sophie1973 @littlemisskittentoes @suseagull04 @zwiazdziarka @onthewaytosomewhere @tinyarmedtrex for the tags!!

here's a graphic AND a snip from crack fic #3 Herny Mountana (title pending adjfklajsldk something from a hannah montana song most likely). hope you enjoy. or don't. herny lives on either way.

graphic from the illustrious @anincompletelist my queen my icon my love my everything

snip:

Henry looks at Pez and Shaan in alarm—a break? He’s never taken a break before. He doesn’t even know what that would look like. Popstars don’t take breaks—they tour and record and film and strut until either their heart or their feet give out. Shaan nods encouragingly. “I agree, and have cleared your schedule for a two-week retreat in Montana. Maybe some fresh air and mountains will do you good, Henry. Bring back the Fox, retire the Mountana for a bit. Hang up the wig. Herny Mountana takes Montana.” Something’s sticking in the back of Henry’s mind, making it hard for him to focus. He turns to the doctor. “How did you know about my world tour and schedule?” The doctor unbuttons his jacket, revealing a FEEL THE HERN tour shirt underneath. “My daughter and I are fans, I was actually at the concert tonight. You were radiant, as usual.” Henry gestures to Shaan, making a writing motion in the air. Shaan hands him a Sharpie and a poster. “Here, for you and your daughter.” Henry signs the poster, adding a little note at the bottom that says, thank you for saving my life <3 my hero! “So your daughter will know who’s the real legend in the house.” There are tears shining in the doctor’s eyes.

xoxo roop

open tag bc it's late as hell but i love y'all and herny loves you too <3 xx

#fic: herny #roop writes #my post #rwrb fic #rwrb #god this is so fucking stupid LMFAOOOOOOOO #i love it dearly

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caffeinated-and-annoying-bard · 1 month

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i've been thinking of writing a stardew valley au of the magnus archives with martin as the farmer and jon as some misanthrope researcher living maybe on a flat above the library instead of gunther (perhaps he's researching the strange monsters that appear in the mines and you don't see nearly anywhere else in the world...)

if i were to write it, i think it would be fun to replace canon sdv characters with tma characters, wouldn't it? maybe sasha as maru, perhaps renting a room in the house in the mountains from robin (assuming i don't change her for, say, gertrude? eric and gerry could be there as well. perhaps the house is gertrude's but eric is her assistant– or her son and gerry her actual grandson– and has taken over some of the manual work with her aging, and gerry as sebastian?)

perhaps helen and michael could be there instead of emily and haley? trevor and daisy (julia is in a band now. good for her.) could run the adventurer's guild and daisy could be in shane's place (see: recovering from addiction/unhealthy habits as a parallel to the hunt) perhaps she'd be physically disabled in some way, that would be an explanation as to why the mines are not purged from monsters overnight (can you tell i love daisy)?? basira could be in marnie's place and helping daisy recover while she recovers herself? :)

tim and danny as sam and vincent, with danny as an older vincent but younger than canon danny, perhaps?? waiting for their father or mother or both to return from the war with the gotoro empire? (maybe he had always lived there, moved to a bigger city for a while and returned when the war started. maybe he, sasha and jon are working for the same long-term monster researching project. wouldn't it be nice if martin just came bumbling around one day and drastically started indirectly improving their research productivity with his sdv farmer endeavors?? the four of them engaging in shenanigans?? think about it.)

georgie could be kind of like sandy/visit from time to time from the city, make it a jon heart event first and then a melanie one. melanie could be an aggressive version of leah ("youtuber lives in charming yet spooky town in a cabin in the woods, has a successful channel and a podcast girlfriend. good for her.")

there would be different heart events suiting more the canon characters (maybe sasha's 8-heart could be her venting about how she moved to pelican town because someone tried to kill her and steal her identity, tim's about how a circus kidnapped his little brother as a kid like in that one statement, etc. and i'm vibrating like i'll break glass jusr by thinking of what to do with jon.)

at some point jon is sent by elias to the "my ex-husband took the furniture" quest and martin tags along for the fun of it.

i don't know what to do with harvey because he's my husband and i love him and i don't want him gone but i'll think about it. after all, i'm still missing caroline, pierre and abigail (although they could pretty well be mikaele salesa running the store with annabelle working and living there.) perhaps naomi herne should suit the harvey role?? she's peaceful enough to not make me angry for not getting to have my dearest harvey right there. she'd be a doctor, obviously, and perhaps michael could work with her as a part-time nurse? she's waiting for her husband to return from the war (evan herne was sent to the army by his family for abandoning the lukas jojamart family business and marrying naomi, but he'll come back, fear not.)

diego molina and agnes montague as pam and penny doesn't sound bad, and i'm seriously considering having elias be both lewis and the wizard. for the fun of it? perhaps everyone but jon (and later martin) wonders who the wizard is- he calls himself the wizard j. magnus because he's a pretentious bastard. (jon has been set in a position where if he reveals this he gets turned into a plant or something) and he's also the mayor of the town (his legal name is very much elias bouchard.) also, instead of the affair with marnie he has an affair with morris the jojamart guy (peter lukas.)

george, evelyn and alex could be replaced by julia and trevor– they could be softer, less hunt but still recovering from the same thing as daisy– and julia could have a petty feud with jon because, before she knew she was a lesbian, she fancied gerry and gerry used jon as an escape tactic. nothing came of it between gerry and jon but the incident stayed and it was very funny to everyone else.

jude perry could fit clint (and keep on her incel pining over agnes, have a petty feud with jon, because she burned his hand "accidentally" and also because jon is very good at creating petty feuds with people. martin and i both love that man), and krobus and the dwarf could stay like that, etc. and perhaps jas could be daisy's goddaughter that she's struggling to raise (it could be an event, her realising that she needs to pull herself together and stop letting basira raise her alone, just paying half the bills won't cut it– maybe they weren't even together before this and a year or two after her starting the path towards recovery they get together??)

perhaps for willy we could put oliver banks and mike crew there?? local lightning-scarred man is entranced by the vastness of the sea (+his goth not-yet-partner). local hot goth fisherman is so done with everything and just wants peace with the dead quiet of the sea (he rants about death to martin as a heart event, fight me). they should also be a little bit older, to balance the age range of people in town and also because yes.

also jojamart. i think it shoudl stay jojamart because i need someone to make a jmart pun somewhere.

if i should set elias as the wizard/lewis, peter lukas as morris jojamart, who could simon fairchild be?gus, maybe? god knows he's funny enough to be the owner of a saloon. it's funny to imagine his banter with helen while working busy nights there (helen i love you why does the fandom only care about michael.)

i don't know who else i could switch off but if anyone has any ideas both the comment section and my ask box are open :)

#val ramblings #the magnus archives #stardew valley #the town would be full of young-ish adults oh god #there's still peter (before he gets banished by the power of martin hating capitalism) and mikaele and gertrude and elias and oliver???also #basira and daisy should be a bit older i think. let them age together. also mike. mike could be a little younger than oliver but still!!!!!#and well. helen.#michael could be her younger brother and that's that #also simon #and uhhhhhh diego molina #and everyone thinks jon is like 10 years older than he is so #martin will be DELIGHTED once he discovers the truth #ah i'd forgotten eric #now that i think about it it'd be pretty well-balanced if i play my cards right #ah!! trevor as well

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transgenderboobs · 5 months

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id love to hear ur thoughts on using red to represent jon and the eye if the christmas parade can stfu for five minutes

hehe ok so

my reasoning for this is a little bit pretentious former art student and a little bit sappy gay losercore of me

so ok. the lonely to me is blue (a desaturated gray/blue but blue nonetheless. which i think comes from naomi herne's description of it in mag13) and ik jon says the eye and the lonely are close to each other, and like i get what he's saying and i don't inherently disagree, esp since the fears are amorphous and bleed together and cannot be separated so the eye and the lonely ARE inherently intertwined. but to Me the true antithesis of being alone is being truly and deeply seen and known. to have someone you are so at home around you can let them truly see and know every part of you, even the parts that made u feel apart and othered from people in the past

SAURRRR since the lonely is blue i picked complementary/contrasting warm colors to represent the eye, to juxtapose the colors of the lonely. so jon and martin have. diametric but complementary palettes in my brain ! and ik orange is the true complement to blue, but red is the Vibe i get from jon when i listen to the podcast so in my heart. the eye is red

#answers #snailboygirlrat #i tried green eye fanart i really did....it always hit wrong #so now i am living my truth

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justforbooks · 2 months

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In 2015 James Rebanks published the bestselling The Shepherd’s Life, a seasonal account of a year in the life of a small-scale sheep farmer in Cumbria. He wanted, he said, to put “the working-class nobodies – our people – back into the books”. In one of the most unforgettable sections, he recalls the epidemic of foot-and-mouth disease that ravaged the UK in 2001. A “contiguous cull” required all sheep within three kilometres of a known outbreak to be slaughtered. Rebanks watched as the animals he had bred and raised were shot, one after the other. “When the last wagon had gone, I went into the barn … sat down in the shadows, held my head in my hands and sobbed.”

Foot-and-mouth devastated Cumbria, wiping out the livestock and livelihoods of nearly 900 farms. That devastation sits at the heart of The Borrowed Hills, Scott Preston’s blistering debut novel. Preston was a boy when the epidemic hit. Like Rebanks, he grew up in the Lake District, where his father was a dry stone waller. He too was frustrated that nothing he read told the story of the land and the people he grew up with in a way he recognised. The Borrowed Hills is an explosive bid to right that wrong.

Steve Elliman is the son of a tenant farmer in a fictional fold of the fells called Curdale Valley. When his father falls ill he chucks in his job as a lorry driver and goes home to help. The smallholding is “scarce a thumbprint” on the valley and rapidly falling into disrepair. Their flock of just 200 sheep live wild on the open fells 1,000 feet up, “higher than where the flycatchers and doves roosted in cragfolds, and higher than where falcons nested watching their dinner below”. When rumours of foot-and-mouth start to spread, Steve isolates the sheep but he cannot save them. The sickness has taken hold at a neighbouring farm and orders are clear. Every animal must be eliminated.

The massacre that follows is unsparing in its matter-of-fact violence. Steve’s first-person narrative is written in his distinctive Cumbrian voice, a vernacular stripped to its bones that encompasses stark prose and sudden startling flashes of poetry. Rifle muzzles are “placed between [the sheep’s] ears and the bullets lined along their backs so each bang stayed inside their heads”. The sheep panic. The squaddies sent to dispatch them panic in their turn. The result is half Tarantino and half pitch-black northern realism, an absurdist horror that slides under the skin and lodges deep.

Later Steve fetches up on his neighbour William Herne’s farm, where the outbreak is rumoured to have started. The sheep that William tried to hide out in the fells have been seen from a police helicopter and gunned down from the sky. The fires incinerating the dead animals burn day and night for a week. “We had burned through everything, even what we’d no right to, rubbed out the stars and hid the moon, and if the night sky wasn’t already black we’d have had a good go at making it.” When the job is finished Steve leaves the valley and goes back to driving lorries, but something in him has changed. He can’t stay away. When he finally returns, William has a plan to get back on his feet, a plan that will push both men into a spiralling nightmare of violence and bloodshed.

Despite the wild beauty of the landscape, there is something claustrophobic about Preston’s novel: the tyranny of a place that demands relentless back-breaking labour and will never pay back what is given. Steve and William’s increasingly feverish venture is not a quest for new frontiers but a frantic struggle to claw back a life that was already falling apart. “That’s what I like about you farm lads,” a man tells Steve. “Know what it is to raise something to be killed.” But like the slaughter of foot-and-mouth, the violence that enmeshes the two men is not heroic. It is ugly and senseless and it destroys lives. It offers no redemption. The best one can hope for is the restoration of a precarious equilibrium, a return to the harsh hardscrabble of before.

This is a sucker-punch of a novel, a viscerally vivid portrait of desperation, edged with knife-sharp black humour and shot through with moments of startling beauty, but there is little hope in it. Angry as it was, Rebanks’s book was a love letter to Cumbria. The connection to the land goes just as deep here, but, bound to a place that demands so much in return for so little, it is a more dysfunctional relationship.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #The Borrowed Hills #Scott Preston #book review

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kbthebearcat · 9 months

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Soo this was something I had wanted to try and draw for a while. ;w; Basically symbolic, of how Donald was hurting with a broken heart ever since losing his father when he was younger. He was very close with him. When he met Herne though, his heart gradually started to heal, with Herne filling in a Herne-shaped hole in his heart he didn’t even know he had. He still misses his dad of course and has his moments, but he’s got some extra support now!

THERE’S LOTS OF FEELS HERE ;;w;:

EDIT: I can’t believe I forgot to mention here that Herne belongs to @oathborngt!! Oml…

#my ocs #my art #others ocs #Herne and Donald #Herne #Donald #g/t #gt community #gt #gt fluff #sfw g/t #g/t community #sfw gt #KB animates

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cirrus-grey · 2 years

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TMA Dracula AU idea:

(Mostly follows Dracula canon up until this past week or so of Dracula Daily, then diverges, for anyone worried about spoilers)

Peter Lukas is Dracula

Evan Lukas is Jonathan (Harker)

Naomi Herne is Mina

Evan is called to Transylvania as both a solicitor and a distant relative, to help his great-great-some-odd uncle however-many-times-removed buy a house in London

His story mostly follows Jonathan's, except instead of three ghostly Brides there's just Simon hanging around bugging the shit out of Peter and not going away

Martin is Lucy

Instead of being Naomi's old school friend, he's her favorite cousin

Since they're related, and she's engaged, no one raises any 18th century eyebrows at a young man and woman spending a lot of time together unchaperoned

They don't share a room when Naomi visits Martin in Whitby, but their rooms are adjacent and she's a light enough sleeper that she always wakes at the sound of footsteps next door and checks to see if he's sleepwalking

Jon (Sims) fills in for Arthur, Jack, and Quincy, in that he is Martin's only suitor

Except he's not really a suitor for period-typical homophobia reasons so they're just close friends who spend a lot of time together awkwardly avoiding talking about their feelings and blushing whenever they make eye contact

Jon pours his heart out in his journal whenever he gets home

Martin gushes to Naomi, who is both amused and sympathetic

Despite filling in for three people, Jon's story runs closest to Seward's in that he is an academic and a physician who works at the local asylum

He doesn't own the place, though: he's the assistant to Dr. Bouchard, head of the asylum

Their most fascinating patient is J. Magnus, filling the role of Renfield and desperately seeking immortality

Flash forward - Naomi has gone to meet Evan at the hospital; the Tundra, taking the place of the Demeter, has crashed at Whitby; Martin has traveled to London and is getting sicker

Jon volunteers to be the blood donor and stay up overnight watching him, and here is where the plot diverges because-

Where Lucy told Jack to get some sleep on the sofa in the next room, Jon says fuck that! I don't need sleep, I'm fine!

And Martin says well if you're not sleeping than neither am I!

And they both stay up the whole night getting increasingly loopy and giggly and just talking with each other

As dawn breaks they both, inexplicably, feel that it's safe to sleep now, so Jon goes and collapses in the other room while Martin just conks out where he is

And that would have been the end of it and Martin would have been left alone and vulnerable the next night except-

When they finally wake up both Jon and Martin realize that they just spent 8+ hours in each other's company, uninterrupted, and no one questioned it at all

They're still tired and vaguely low on blood but by god, neither of them has ever been in a better mood

Jon decrees it necessary for Martin's recovery that he's not left alone at night and brings a pack of cards with him when he returns so they can play go fish

They both basically become nocturnal, staying up all night hanging out and sleeping from dawn into the early afternoon

This goes on for a week or so and Martin is looking much better

Then, one night, there’s a storm

It's fierce. The wind howls and the windows shake in their frames as though something is trying to get in

Jon stands from his chair, facing the windows with his heart beating hard in his chest

"He is not yours," he says, though he hardly knows why. "You will not have him!"

There is a crash of thunder outside. Fog seems to be slipping in around the windowpanes

"Jon," Martin chokes out, behind him. He is pale in the candlelight, and he is holding one hand to his throat

Jon turns and dives into the bed with him, slipping under the covers to hold him close, to protect him with his own body

"He is not yours!" he screams again. "You are not welcome here!"

And... the fog begins to retreat. It pulls back, through the window and away, like footage played in reverse. The storm weakens and starts to die away, the crashing booms of thunder fading into distant rumbles

Jon and Martin, terrified, exhausted, still clutching each other as though they will never let go, fall asleep in each other's arms

Nothing disturbs their slumber

In the morning they wake face-to-face, pressed together as close as possible under the sheets. And they kiss, with a silent understanding of all they feel for each other

They both suspect that it is safe to sleep at night, now, though Jon still stays over, just in case

Naomi and Evan return, and oh no, now Naomi's getting sick???

Martin's immediately like. That's exactly what happened to me! And Evan, without hesitating, goes: so the cure is I have to give her some of my blood and then stay up with her every night and watch to make sure she's safe? Done, someone stick a tube in my arm, where's the coffee?

Except suddenly Trevor Herbert (he's Van Helsing btw) throws up his hands and is like Fuck. This. Shit. There's vampires afoot, and I'm not standing for it anymore! And he just starts shoving stakes and garlic at everyone and asks if they've seen anything else strange recently

And Jon's like. Well there's this one patient at the hospital who's obsessed with consuming lives to become immortal and also he keeps trying to break into the abandoned church next door and calling for his master, do you think that's related?

And Trevor is like why the fuck didn't you say so before???

They all load up on stakes and go to the asylum to try to find Peter, dreading what they're going to see, but instead of a horror show of blood and death it's...

Jonah Magnus, half-undressed, leaning out of his window as over-sexualized as any vampire's victim could hope to be, being homoerotically fed on by Peter

They're so distracted that Trevor stakes Peter without any trouble at all, and then does Jonah too for good measure

And they all go home

By this point Jon and Martin have had a chance to talk everything over and Jon moves into Martin's home. They're not publicly together, but, well, lots of confirmed bachelors choose to live together for the company these days...

And it turns out Peter really was Evan's uncle, so once all the paperwork gets sorted out he finds himself inheriting quite a hefty fortune and a castle in Transylvania

(He and Naomi sell it as soon as they possibly can. He is quite a good solicitor, after all)

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interact-if · 2 years

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Do you know any IFs where the MC could die/self sacrifice?

Hi Anon, sorry for deleting your ask by mistake, here is a long list of IFs that may fit what you’ve requested! If anyone knows of additional suggestions for this category, feel free to message us and we’ll update and add to this post.

Completed:

Blood Money by @hpowellsmith

Choice of Rebel: Uprising by Joel Havenstone

Fate of the Storm Gods [Steam] [Android] by Bendi Barrett

Heart of the House by Nissa Campbell

Mousetrap by @gamesbyalbie

Siege of Treboulain by Jed Herne

Spy Intrigue by Furkle

Totem Force by @parrotwatcher

Universal Hologram by @adz

Demos:

At Sixes and Sevens by @at-sixes-and-sevens-game

Closedloop by @if-closedloop

Event Horizon by @if-eventhorizon

Hollowed Minds by @shai-manahan

Lost Birds by @if-lostbirds

The Hunt: Demon Eyes by @thehunt-if

Throne of Ashes by @13leaguestories

When it Hungers by @roast-ifs

#interact if asks #if: rec list #selfless characters

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ladytanithia · 8 months

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Sometimes a Wild God

by Tom Hirons

So beautiful and evocative, I had to share with all my writing friends. I grew up pagan, so I think of Herne, but fellow Skyrim fans will also think of Hircine.

@dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

Words: Tom Hirons at Coyopa - Tom's book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other FINE examples of his wordsmithing is available via this link ---> http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god Please support artists & their work!

Art: Illustration by Janne Pitkanen & concept & photography by Harri Halme (from the album cover The Spirit of Ukko by Finnish band Kiuas)

#poetry #dark imagery #wild #god #pagan

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aronarchy · 5 months

Text

Emergent trust and responsibility: three examples

…

Deschooling and youth liberation

A third convivial current is deschooling and youth liberation, and the proliferation of alternatives to schooling that are led by kids and youth, including those who are in school. The Purple Thistle, co-created with youth in Vancouver, Canada, has been a vibrant example of this: it nurtured a space for youth not only to hang out, but to experiment and learn together without being controlled and supervised, to take collective responsibility for running the space, and to build strong bonds with each other.

The youth-run projects included a community garden, screenprinting, photography, graffiti, zine publishing, discussion groups, filmmaking, animation, film nights, a radical library, sound and music recording, graphic design, fiber and textile arts, and more. These initiatives were emergent, based on people’s desires and priorities. carla was the “director” of the Thistle from 2009 until it closed in spring 2015, but her job was basically to do the bulk of the paper work, support and mentor when asked, and to work as kind of matchmaker connecting youth to mentors and apprenticeships both formal and informal. Overall, carla’s role as director was to function as an anchor to support the fluid and flexible relationships at the heart of the Thistle. Other adults also supported the Thistle as anchors, co-directors, and mentors, but all day-to-day decisions were made by the youth-run collective and the various pods that sprang from it. As Matt Hern, Thistle co-founder and director before carla, said of the project,

I like to think of the Thistle as being really easy in the way that school is hard and really hard in the way that school is easy. So, you go to school for example, or you go to a workplace, or you go to many institutions, you know exactly what you have to do, you know what’s expected of you, you don’t really have to think a whole lot. And that’s nice sometimes; you just walk through it: essentially just follow orders and do what you’re told and you’ll be fine. So it’s really easy in lots of ways. It’s also very difficult because that’s really hard for most people, and because you fight against it and you resist, but the Thistle turns that on its ass in lots of ways. So it’s really easy because no one is telling you what to do, you can do whatever you like, you can come and go as you like, you can figure out how you can access it. So it’s very easy but it’s also very difficult, ‘cause that’s a tremendous kind of responsibility.

The Thistle can be understood as a counter-institution, a flexible container where the participants themselves shaped roles and responsibilities in an open, experimental way. Such counter-institutions can prefigure trust and conviviality, creating space where these ways of relating can be tried out, become patterns and habits, and eventually take hold in new communities and projects.

Many of these relationships ran outside the walls of the Thistle, but were nevertheless vital for creating webs of care and mutual aid. For example, when individuals or groups found themselves in dicey or difficult situations, folks could lean on each other rather than call the cops. Often this meant supporting someone to get the care they actually needed instead of being thrown into the criminal system. Other times it meant creating space for accountability to take hold. These forms of trust and responsibility never crystallized into a public website, handbook, or formal organization; they were relational and ad hoc. We think that people are doing this all the time. In fact, in order to keep it safer for many to engage in these ways, and to hold onto these values as common notions, institutionalization or publicity is often avoided.

#repost of someone else’s content #the anarchist library #carla bergman #youthlib

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