#I had a surprisingly hard time emulating the new style too even when I was tracing it!!!
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as soon as I saw this mid episode card I knew I wanted to draw it with my ocs, it’s so cute!! I kind of expected it to be easy since I planned to just trace the original but I ended up free handing a bunch of stuff so that made it a little more difficult…and so I cut out the deserts to make it a bit easier on myself ;w;
#tokyo mew mew new#tokyo mew mew#tmm ocs#fan mews#tm2#tokyo miracle#mira aoyama#persimmon#sapote#aqua shirogane#cara#oc#ocs#magical girl ocs#it’s been too long since I’ve drawn them aaa#I have a rly hard time doing very clean lineart and cell shading ngl I prefer more textured lineart lately lol#I had a surprisingly hard time emulating the new style too even when I was tracing it!!!#it’s something abt the eyes I think 😭#I’d kinda love to see other ppl redraw this with their own tmm ocs too like it’s SO cute. da puppets….
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Everything Was White: Part 10
Part [1] / [9]
Read on [ffn] [ao3]
---
Click.
“Danny Fenton Phantom was spotted today exiting from the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle at the Kaufman Health Center, a recovery center specializing in adolescent mental health and trauma—”
Click.
“—what I want to know is what the hell happened here? Okay? Because in this video I see a kid who can’t walk, who’s looking around like he’s terrified someone’s going to come get him, and you’re sitting here telling me that this is Danny Phantom? This kid? So what happened inside—”
Click.
“—was released from his inpatient stay at the Amity Park Psychiatric Center just this week. Though it is unclear at this time if we’ll see him soaring through the skies again anytime soon, sources say he is recovering quickly—”
Click.
“—no, Dave, I agree that something’s not right here. If you ask me, he’s gotta be a ticking time bomb—”
Click.
“—a ghost or a human? That’s the question we’ll be discussing tonight—”
Click.
“—while what happened during his time within the government’s hold is still unknown, one thing is for certain: Danny Phantom has a long way to go if he wants to get back to his former glory.”
Click.
The screen went black.
“You shouldn’t be watching stuff like that,” Jazz said from behind him.
Danny stared blankly at his lap, not even bothering to turn around and face Jazz’s disappointed gaze. His therapist had told him—had told his parents—that Danny should avoid the news for a while. In her office, Danny found it too easy to comply because he was only just beginning to jigsaw together the broken pieces of his life, so why the hell should he care about the news?
But now it was different. It was unavoidable. The media had been tipped off that Danny Phantom had returned to modern society—somewhat—and that he was attending a PHP program, and now any brief semblance of anonymity he had was gone.
Just like that.
“Twitter’s worse,” he muttered.
Jazz sighed and came around the sofa, sinking into the cushions next to Danny. Her hair was up in a messy bun with strands sticking out like gravity didn’t exist. She pulled the sleeves down on her oversized hoodie and wrapped her arms around her legs.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Danny prepared himself for a Jazz-style lecture about teenage psychology and how he needed to listen to his therapist because she was the expert here, not him, but instead all she gave was a small “I know.”
His stomach turned, and in a moment of vulnerability, he uttered, “I think the worst part is...they’re right.”
“Danny—”
“No. They...I...I used to get this stuff all the time. When I was just Phantom.” He paused, waiting for Jazz to butt in, but she didn’t. “It was so much—so much easier to ignore. Back then. Because they were wrong. I—I knew they were wrong. I wasn’t...a ghost. I was a halfa. They were...they were looking at me like a full ghost, you know? And...the theories were wrong. They didn’t know…”
“Some of the things they said were pretty ridiculous, I remember that.”
“Right?” Danny twisted around to face Jazz. “It was obvious to us, but they didn’t know! They sounded crazy!”
Jazz looked at him with an uncertain gaze. “You realize that they still sound crazy, right? All the people talking about you?”
“No...you don’t get it. The theories are updated, and they know—they know I’m Phantom. Don’t you get it? Everything they’re saying...it’s all based in truth.”
Her expression turned pained. “Danny, stop.”
“But I’m right.”
“Danny just—come on, think about it for a second! The public hasn’t seen you in months, everything they’re going off of is based on rumors!”
“They saw me this morning, didn’t they?” Danny gestured at the television.
Jazz scoffed. “And you’re really going to take their word over mine? Because of a five-second video of you going into a building?”
A headache was building in his skull. Jazz was trying to guilt him, wasn’t she? But he knew the truth.
The public didn’t need much more than the short video of him going from the GAV to the building, because there wasn’t much else to the legendary Danny Phantom anymore. Everything in that video...that’s all he was now.
Just a traumatized teen going to a health center.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Danny—”
“No, I’m—I’m...” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’m tired.”
“Me too.”
Her voice was so quiet, so defeated . Danny couldn’t remember a time where Jazz ever sounded like this.
He was selfish, wasn’t he? He had spent all this time so caught up in his problems and his anxieties that he never thought about what Jazz was going through. They had talked, but not really.
A wave of guilt swept through Danny because he was such a selfish and awful brother who didn’t ever think to check in with his sister despite everything she had done for him and she deserved so much better than him.
His throat felt tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, cut it out,” she said, slapping his arm playfully.
He tensed and immediately felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He kept his eyes trained down to his lap, not wanting to see if Jazz noticed his reaction.
“It’s not your fault, Danny.”
Danny didn’t know what she was referring to. Even so, she was probably wrong. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“With what, spending quality time with my little brother?”
“Sure.”
“Well...” She yawned. “See? I’m too tired to do any more homework. Guess I’m forced to chill here on the couch with you. Woe is me and all.”
He rolled his eyes. “The horror.”
“I know, you should pity me.”
“Maybe you should take a nap.”
“Why do that when they’re showing reruns of ‘The Bachelor’ on TV right now?” Jazz plucked the remote from Danny’s fingers.
“Oh god.” A grin began to creep on Danny’s lips. “I get back from—from being abducted by the government...and you want to torture me with trash television?”
“Yup!”
“Unbelievable.”
Jazz shot him a playful smile. “Well, your options are either ‘The Bachelor’ or you could always find Dad and let him blather on about ghosts for three hours. Choice is yours!”
“And become the victim of his—his latest invention? You drive a hard bargain.”
The depressive fog was beginning to lift in the room, and it was as if Danny could see clearly for the first time. Here he was, joking around on the couch with Jazz, just like before. There was nothing holding him down. He didn’t need to stand up and walk anywhere, his chest was surprisingly calm for once, and his brain felt clear and calm.
This was what he’d always wanted, right? To sit here with his sister, watching mindless television and joking about whatever was on their minds.
This was what he’d dreamt of nearly every night in the Guys in White compound.
He was safe.
Right?
“Ugh, I don’t know why she got so far into the season,” Jazz said, her eyes glued onto the screen. “She was awful.”
Danny watched as a brunette on the screen threw her purse at another girl and stormed out of the scene cursing. “The producers probably...they made her stay.”
“Oh yeah, no doubt. She was crazy. There’s no way Kevin actually liked her.”
“I mean, it is reality TV. It’s not—not actually real.”
Kind of like how this isn’t real, huh, Fentino?
Danny gripped his shirt. No, his brain needed to shut up right now. This was real. He was safe and the government was nowhere near him and they couldn’t touch him because the courts had made sure of it.
“Well, she was annoying either way. I know they like to keep someone on there every season to make drama but ugh, she was just the worst. Like, look!”
“This whole show is the worst though. I can’t...believe you’re make—making me watch this.”
“Well, there’s always those packets Lancer left you!” Jazz said in a singsong voice.
Danny couldn’t hide his disgust. He flopped back against the cushions. “Ugh, don’t even joke about that.”
She took one look at him and laughed, her voice light like a stone skipping over a pond. It was a bright and cheerful sound, one that reminded him of the time he tried to attempt duplication in front of Jazz, resulting in an extra arm sticking out of his torso.
Danny stared mesmerized at his sister, watching as her smile widened across her face and her eyes squeezed shut, crinkling at the corners. He tried to recall if she’d laughed like this at all since his release from the government, but came up blank.
Sure, they’d had moments of sibling bonding since his release, but they were all held back by something. Whether it be the watchful eyes of nurses or Danny’s body perpetually in recovery mode, there was never a moment where they could truly relax and enjoy each other’s company.
But now he was safe.
Well…
His brain drifted back to the leaked video, and his mood instantly soured. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he resisted the temptation to take it out and scroll through Twitter.
He couldn’t even imagine what people were saying.
He was probably a joke to them now, wasn’t he? Amity Park’s hero, reduced to nothing more than a shell of his former self. To go from a confident teen who would soar through the skies, protecting citizens from all sorts of unsavory characters to a traumatized, disabled teen who couldn’t get through a day without hours of therapy and needed his mom’s help to get inside of a building was...well, if that didn’t make him a joke, what would?
Jazz’s attention was now back on the TV screen, and Danny tried to emulate her. After all, he was safe and comfortable and with his sister and there was nothing else to this moment, that was all there was to think about.
But then something flashed in the corner of his vision, and for a moment he hoped that his eyes betrayed him because it looked like a white van but that was...it couldn’t be…
No…
But it was.
He glanced over to Jazz, but she was too transfixed on the screen to notice him, and he wouldn’t know how to get her attention anyway because his voice wasn’t working and he couldn’t even breathe now and he was going to die, wasn’t he? He was going to die.
They were coming back for him.
He was going to die.
The van slowed to a crawl, and he desperately tried to see inside of the tinted windows but he couldn’t and they wouldn’t roll down their windows either so who was in the van? Was it...was it…
But it had to be him, right? Who else would come back for him?
He tried to suck in a breath but couldn’t. His chest wasn’t working anymore.
He blinked and the backs of his eyelids were green. Just like his cell floor and the splatters along his wall and his rib when he awoke to it in front of his face and oh god he was going to die, he was going to die, they were coming back for the rest of his core and his ectoplasm and he wasn’t going to survive another round of the compound he knew it he would rather die than do that but his core wouldn’t let him because it needed to protect him his stupid Obsession was going to force him to endure whatever they threw at him in order to protect him.
Unless they ended him first.
Which they were probably here to do.
He was shaking. He was distinctly aware that he was shaking and he hoped that Jazz hadn’t noticed him but she probably would have said something, wouldn’t she?
Oh god. She was going to have to go through it all again too. No...he couldn’t let her...he couldn’t let that happen.
He needed a plan.
But...there was no plan. He couldn’t do anything. The only thing he was capable of was sitting here like some helpless dog watching the van slowly drive by his house. All he could do was wait for it to stop at his driveway, for the agents to jump out of the doors and surround his house, for Operative O to step out with that signature smirk on his face as he held up the inhibitors in one hand and the fucking red bag in the other hand and say with his deep, arrogant tone, “You ready for round two, dog?”
But then, just when the van looked like it would stop, it sped up and turned the corner of their block.
Danny blinked, staring at the empty spot where the van was just seconds ago.
Had it really...left?
He let out a shaky breath. And then another.
It left.
But it had been so close to stopping.
Oh god. Oh no. Oh no no no.
“Danny?”
The room was spinning. He needed air. The lights were so bright. When he looked up, the ceiling was white and he kept trying to tell himself that it was a wooden ceiling but the room was spinning and he couldn’t see correctly and the lights were too bright.
It was too late. His cover was blown. His hands flew up to his hair and he felt a comforting tug on his scalp.
Get a grip, get a grip…
“Oh my god, Danny! Hey, look at me!”
Danny shook his head. Or, he tried to. He didn’t know if he was able to or not, because he definitely couldn’t look at Jazz right now because he was going to be sick—
“Danny, what do you need?”
“I—”
What?
He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think. Everything was frozen. He felt something wet on his face but he didn’t know what it was or where it came from and his chest was sparking to life and his ears were ringing and he didn’t know what to do.
“Try to breathe.”
Right, he needed air.
He tried to push himself up but only succeeded in falling back onto the couch.
“Hey, what are you—”
Hands invaded his vision, touching his arm, and he swatted them away.
He needed to get out. Escape.
Something grabbed his wrist, and he yanked his arm back to his chest, his eyes snapping onto Jazz’s face.
“Danny—”
“Van!” he gasped.
Jazz stilled. “Huh?”
“There was…” Danny looked back out the window, half expecting to see the white van back outside their house.
But there was nothing.
“...a van.”
Why had it left? What did they come here for in the first place if not to take him back to the compound?
It didn’t make sense.
“What are you talking about?”
“I…” He hugged his chest, looking desperately at Jazz’s confused face for even an ounce of understanding.
Why did the van leave?
“Do you need me to get Mom?”
“No!” He was breathless. He couldn’t explain what was going on because he didn’t even know what was happening. Why the Guys in White decided to patrol around their street. Why they decided to slow down in front of their house.
Jazz tracked his gaze to the window where a black APC News van was stopping to park across the street. “Danny, I know there are lots of news vans around here now, and I know it’s really stressful. But Mom and Dad tinted all the windows so they can’t see inside of the house, okay?”
Danny gritted his teeth. He wanted to yell out that it wasn’t the news, it was the Guys in White, but his voice wasn’t working and even if it was, Jazz would just call him paranoid and insist that the government wasn’t there to get him again, that he was safe, even though he knew that was a lie.
So instead, all he could force out was a tense “sorry.”
“I know this is hard, but we can get through this together, alright?”
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see her bright, trusting eyes. And, with a final shuddering breath, he felt the last of his adrenaline rush out of him.
Because maybe Jazz was right. After all, this was Jazz. She was always the smart sibling, the one who everyone could trust. She must have been right. It had to have been just a news van.
Maybe he really was unstable.
“Sorry. I’m fine.”
He was suddenly hyper aware of where he was, sitting on the living room couch with his sister, who was looking at him like he was a ticking time bomb—and maybe he was. Maybe that was all he was destined to be from now on.
Either way, it was embarrassing.
“Sorry, I—I’m gonna go lie down for a bit.”
Jazz’s face almost looked relieved. Danny couldn’t blame her.
“Sure, Danny. Do you need help getting upstairs?”
“No.” Danny glanced over to the stairlift, grimacing. He really couldn’t get his core back quick enough.
He began the arduous task of getting up to his bedroom, trying to remember the stupid grounding techniques that the PHP therapists were making them practice. “When you feel your brain trying to pull you into your trauma, remember your senses. Try to think of one thing for each of your five senses to bring you back to the present.”
It was stupid. He didn’t need grounding techniques because he wouldn’t even be in this situation if not for the Guys in White trying to ruin his life again.
One, touch. He could feel the loose ectoplasm beneath his fingers, the way his hands were sticky against the damp tile, the burning electricity they would use to punish him, the cold metal straps chaining him down to the examination table, the ecto-inhibitors weighing down on his neck, the way Operative O’s fingers trailed his chest just before the scalpel sliced through his skin, his flesh tearing off of his body all while he lay there, silently screaming, waiting for the pain to take him because he couldn’t do it anymore.
No, that’s wrong. You’re doing this wrong.
But how could he come back to the present when the past refused to leave him alone?
Think, Fenturd.
He closed his eyes and felt...his sweatpants. And…
Two, hearing. He could hear Operative O’s deep voice—
No.
—and the way it would echo around the tiled rooms, the sounds of nice black shoes hitting the pristine floors, the squeaking of Phantom’s damp hero suit as the operatives dragged him across the floor, the—
Stop.
—machines whirring to life as they prepared to drain him of more ectoplasm every day, the scraping of tools against a metal table, the metal straps clicking into place each day, the slight squeak of the IV drop they would have to wheel into the experimentation room after Danny stopped being able to eat—
STOP.
His hand slammed the emergency brake, and the stairlift lurched to a halt. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he sat there at the top of the stairs, focusing on breathing if only to prevent hurling all over his dad’s stairlift.
He needed to calm down. Ground himself. Be present in the moment. Do what the therapist told him to do.
He could hear his heartbeat. The TV Jazz was watching. The crickets outside.
He flipped the stairlift back on and continued forward.
Three, sight. He could see the controls for the lift. The red emergency brake. His hands. His human skin.
He ascended the last few stairs and, like a robot, rolled off the platform and pushed himself to his bedroom.
He could see his door. It was a wooden door, not like the metal door in the Guys in White facility. The metal door smeared with green ectoplasm—he got punished for that one—with a sickening pool of ectoplasm right in front of it from Danny’s attempts at eating the meals they would bring to him every evening. He could see the cameras in the corners of his cell, always pointing down towards him as a constant reminder that he was always being watched. He could see the granola bars on the other side of his cell mocking him, the tube Operative O would show off before he would shove it down Danny’s throat—for being an insolent, disrespectful creature, of course—the scalpel glistening under the bright lights, ectoplasm speckled on it like jewels.
He could see his bed. His window. His rug.
His nightstand, which he knew if he opened the drawers he would see pens, batteries, his phone charger, and a bottle of oxycodone.
Danny pulled himself onto his bed, pointedly turning his head to face his wall. He could see all the cracks in the wall. When he first got out of the hospital, he used to spend hours tracing the cracks. It was the only thing that would help distract him from all the pain.
He ran a hand along the rough surface, but to his disappointment, the magical distracting aura of the wall had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a broken surface.
Four, smell. Ectoplasm. Nothing but ectoplasm. Burnt battery acid with a hint of lime. Disgusting, revolting, inhuman. On his skin, in his hair, under his nails, everywhere.
The smell of Clorox in the hallway, the distinct rotting of his cell, the red bag…
He covered his face with his hands. He was doing this exercise all wrong, he knew he was, but for some reason he needed to do it this way. He wanted to forget, but there was another part of him that almost needed to relive what happened as if to punish him for existing. It was an ugly, revolting part of him that he loathed right down to his core but it just wouldn’t shut up.
He glanced over to his nightstand.
He needed to make a decision, didn’t he?
Five, taste.
---
“So, Danny. Your mom’s been worried about you,” the therapist said, scanning her clipboard.
Danny prodded at the stress ball in his lap. The one in the hospital had been blue, but this one was green. It could have looked like a ball of ectoplasm if it weren’t so dull.
“Oh?” He feigned surprise.
“She said you’ve been having trouble eating again.”
He hummed, neither confirming nor denying her statement. There was no point in really responding anyway. This was his personal therapist, the nice blonde lady he saw three times a week. She knew him better than anyone at this point. If he even thought about lying, she would call him out.
She tapped her clipboard with her pen. “She told me your father made hot dogs last night. Do you remember?”
Danny stared down at the white carpet. It was so clean, so fresh. If it weren’t for the small grey diamonds patterning the material, it would have looked nearly identical to the government floors.
This office was much brighter than the one she used in inpatient. Much cleaner, and the sofa was more comfortable too. Yet Danny couldn’t help but have a sudden urge to walk straight out the door.
If only he could.
“Danny?” she asked, her voice softening.
He sighed, jabbing a finger into the stress ball. “My dad made hot dogs.”
“Right, and do you remember what happened after he made hot dogs?”
He wanted to forget.
It was bad enough before, with the nurses and his parents constantly going over his meal plan and the stupid protein shakes. But now that everyone was at least vaguely aware that Danny may have had some stupid experience around food and that he may have accidentally brought that home with him and he might be failing to hide it from everyone close to him?
He did not want to get put on a meal plan again.
Maybe he could convince Tucker to pick up some Nasty Burger for them. If he ate it in front of his parents, surely that would get them off his back. That was a normal teen thing, right? He did that before everything changed. That sounded like a good plan.
Danny glanced up at the therapist, the suggestion ready to leave his lips, but faltered. She was looking at him expectantly. She’d asked him a question about dinner, hadn’t she?
“Uh…” Danny squinted at the stress ball, trying to remember the question.
A part of his mind tried to recall what the Nasty Burger tasted like, but he couldn’t remember. It was good, he knew that much. He used to eat there all the time, but now he couldn’t remember.
What if he didn’t like their food anymore? What if it smelled wrong and he couldn’t eat it? The Nasty Burger was a normal teen thing, so if he couldn’t eat it then that would make him abnormal which was the exact thing he was trying to avoid with this plan.
This was a disaster. He knew he was going to fail at eating the Nasty Burger. Why did he think he could do this? He was too much of a mess of a person to even think of eating a burger.
Not a person, remember? You’re just a—
“I’m not,” Danny whispered. “Shut up.”
“Yeah?”
Danny dropped the stress ball into his lap. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, trying to fight off whatever game his brain was about to play, before groaning and burying his head into his hands.
“Take your time, Danny. Deep breaths.”
Right, he needed to breathe.
In...and out…
In...and out…
He was fine.
“Are you alright?”
Danny nodded, rocking back and forth in his chair ever so slightly. He was fine. He was fine.
He allowed the silence in the therapist’s office to stretch a bit further, focusing on calming his racing heart and embracing the dark, silent parts of his mind. They were his safe havens, the parts of his brain that he could lock himself into to escape the ugly memories of the government facility.
His brain felt like swimming in a hurricane with no land in sight. But every once in a while, he managed to spot the eye in the storm, and sometimes he could even fight the riptides just long enough to swim to safety.
He was fine.
“It’s stupid anyway.”
“What is?”
“This. Me. Everything...dinner.”
“Why do you think it’s stupid?”
He shook his head. “The whole thing...it’s so dumb. I don’t…”
The therapist didn’t say anything. Vaguely, Danny could hear the click of her pen, but he couldn’t hear the familiar scratching of the pen on the clipboard.
She must have been waiting for something, Danny realized.
This was the perfect opportunity. Dinner last night had been a complete and utter disaster. He had already been on edge courtesy of the white van—which now he was almost positive he was such a paranoid idiot because it was probably just a news van—and then the next thing he knew he was curled up in the bathroom trying to fight off the smell of processed meat that was attacking his home.
He could have told the therapist right then and there. She knew about the dissection, about the night he tried to escape, about the nights he’d spent locked in his dark, damp cell, shivering, desperately trying to cling to the memories of his family and friends because he knew—or he thought—that those memories were all he’d have left of them.
And suddenly, he wanted so badly to tell her because what was worse than being ripped open and torn apart? What could possibly be worse than being electrocuted and dragged away from his family? What could be worse than hearing gunshots and not knowing for weeks after if the Guys in White had actually shot and killed his family?
It was all so screwed up. He was so tired of the panic, of the pain, of the lapses in his memory and the freaking therapies and the chest pain that never seemed to go away. This was his life now and he was exhausted.
This was the only part of his captivity that he hadn’t told her. He could end all this secrecy right now. She could help him.
He looked up at her, and there she sat with her blonde, curly hair clipped back, revealing a patient smile paired with her signature soft, grey eyes. Her legs were crossed, and in her hands, she held her clipboard and pen. She was here, radiating kindness and a judgment-free environment where Danny was sure he could reveal exactly what the hell was going on without worrying about seeing that horrified face he saw from his mother or Jazz during family therapy.
She could help him. He just had to say it.
“I…” He took a shuddering breath, dropping his eyes back to his lap where the green stress ball still rested. “Um…”
Say it.
“I…”
Say it.
“In the...in the…”
SAY IT.
“...”
Why couldn’t he say it?
He glanced up again and she was still sitting as patient as before. She was waiting for him, because she trusted him to tell her what was wrong, and he wouldn’t say it.
Because he couldn’t.
Because he was weak.
Because Operative O did train him, just like he had promised he would.
And worst of all, Danny had let him. He knew exactly what Operative O was trying to do, and he’d let it happen. He hadn’t tried to fight him off at all, and he hadn’t eaten the granola bars when asked. He could have easily avoided all of this, but he didn’t. Because he knew, and Operative O knew, that Danny deserved it.
“I don’t know.”
The therapist hummed in response. “Food can be just as powerful of a weapon as a knife. It can be used against us as a means for control. And then sometimes, we may take that trauma home with us. Do you feel like the Guys in White used food to control you?”
“Of course they did,” Danny snapped. What did she think the entire meal plan was for?
“Can you think of a time where they did this? It can be any time that jumps out to you.”
Danny frowned, rolling the stress ball around in his lap. If he outright refused to answer, then she would tell his parents and they would start crying again and would threaten to send him back to inpatient. And after yesterday, he was already on thin ice.
So he would have to give an answer, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.
“They were mad that I had to use IVs,” he started. “So they tried to force feed me.”
“That must have been really scary.”
“Yeah…” His throat tightened, and his eyes started to burn.
“Can you tell me about it a little?”
No.
“Uhh…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “By that point, everything just hurt so much. I don’t really...I can’t…”
“What was hurting?”
He hugged his torso. “My back, mostly. My arm too. Ribs. That was before...before when they—with my chest, you know. I didn’t have that then. There was time in between my back and that.”
“Right.”
“Yeah.” He was starting to feel hazy. Things were blurring together, and he didn’t know if the tingles in his chest were a sign of his pain medication wearing off or if they were just a part of a distant memory.
“Did the smell of the hot dogs bring you back to that place?”
“Kinda. I don’t know. It shouldn’t have.”
“Why do you think that?”
Danny pressed a hand to his chest. The tingles were starting to get worse, and Danny tried to remember if he had taken his medication that morning.
He had to have taken it. His mother controlled his medication, per doctor orders, and she always made him take it with breakfast.
But the tingles in his chest were starting to feel like fire licking at his skin, and even when he tried to smother the fire with his fingers, it only seemed to grow worse.
It didn’t matter, he would get more medication soon. He just had to grit his teeth and bear it until then.
He was fine.
“Danny, what’s on your mind?”
Danny flinched, and once again, he was made aware that he was still sitting across from his therapist who seemed to have an unlimited supply of patience for his bullshit.
He glanced up at the clock. They still had a half hour left of this session.
“Yeah.”
What were they talking about again?
---
The phone lit up, illuminating the dark room.
Danny wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on his bed, staring out the window at the stars speckled against the sky. It was a clear night, a full moon. It would have been perfect for a flight if he could. If he didn’t have this chip in his neck.
He ignored the phone. Whoever was trying to contact him would have to wait. The night was too perfect, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gazed out at the stars.
It was so serene. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was outside, floating face up towards the Milky Way. But he wasn’t going to close his eyes and imagine that, because it wasn’t real. And he didn’t know when he would even get that opportunity again, if ever.
And besides, if he closed his eyes, how would he look up at the stars?
His phone went dim, leaving him once again submerged in the darkness of the night.
The stars were too far away. Maybe if he tried, he might be able to at least drag himself onto his roof.
But what if he couldn’t? Did he even want to try, knowing he was likely to fail? Would he be able to handle that kind of defeat?
It was no use. He would just have to ask his parents to take the chip out in the morning. Surely they had safety-proofed the lab by now, hadn’t they? If they were so worried about Danny being hurt? It must have been a top priority for them.
But then why hadn’t they done that during the two months Danny had been in and out of the hospitals? Why wait?
Unless…
Stop it.
It was preposterous to think that his parents would lie to him about this. After all, what was the point of keeping Phantom locked up? They knew it was hurting him to be separated from his ghost core for so long. Surely they were going to take the chip out as soon as possible.
Right?
The phone lit up again, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. Whoever was trying to contact him this late could certainly wait till morning. If Danny hadn’t picked up the first time, then what made them think he was going to answer now?
He snatched the stupid device off his nightstand, fully intending on shutting the damn thing off, but froze. There, displayed perfectly on the caller ID, was the name of someone he hadn’t thought about in months:
Vlad Masters
His blood ran cold. Vlad? Why him? Why now? As far as Danny knew, he’d kept his distance since the court case. Of course, Danny had known that he was the one financing the entire lawsuit—Danny wasn’t an idiot—but he assumed it was either Vlad’s attempt at either reconciling his own stupid guilt or, the more likely scenario, that it was Vlad’s way of making sure the Guys in White couldn’t keep their grimy little hands on Danny’s halfa biology.
Either way, Danny assumed that Vlad would have enough tact to know to stay the hell away from him.
But Vlad was never one to uphold unspoken boundaries, now was he?
Danny’s finger lingered over the end call button just a moment too long.
Although his stay with the government had changed him, his poor decision-making skills and teenage impulsiveness had unfortunately survived these past few months.
Danny jabbed the answer button and whipped the phone up to his ear.
“What do you want, Plasmius?”
---
As always thank you so much to @imekitty for beta-ing this fic. If you like this fic, check out her fics on ffn, they are very angsty and brilliantly written!
Thanks for reading!
---
<previous / next>
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— BASICS.
▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ?
Pearl stands at 5′10″ (178 cm) which renders her rather tall whenever compared to most women/humans in general. However, compared to most Gems she seems of average height. After all, she is easily dwarfed by Gems that stand higher in Homeworld’s hierarchy such as quartzes, jaspers, agates, bismuth, or, most strikingly diamonds. There are some exceptions, however. Pearl (i.e) towers over most peridots, lapis, sapphires, larimar and rubies.
▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ?
She is not necessarily bothered by it but isn’t too fond of it either. Pearl is rather self-conscious about her appearance, given how much of it is linked to her status as former servant. The underlying discomfort notwithstanding; similar to her age, her height is but a number to her.
▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ?
Predominantly peach in colour, it can be considered orange from time to time [you may call her a ginger]. It’s relatively short & cut in a pixie cut at the front while styled up in the back. It reaches slightly beneath chin-length when wet but usually keeps its form due to well, Gem magic. Pearl used to wear a messier version of her standard hairstyle in her “youth”; indeed, during the war, she proudly donned a more “wild” look to complement her status as a renegade, whereas her hairstyle during her days spent in servitude featured a ‘rosebud’ kind of cut. Shortly after Rose’s death & Steven’s birth, Pearl eventually donned a very tidy & clean-cut look [for reasons that I will elude on further below]; no hair is allowed to pop out of its place. -- her hair itself is surprisingly soft & fluffy to the touch.
▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ?
Sadly, yes. She does not need to tend to her form per se but does so anyway in order to keep up a flawless & orderly appearance at any given time. -- however, ever since CYM, Pearl has gradually become more laid-back again & thus donned a messier hairstyle more reminiscent of the one worn during the war.
▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ?
Absolutely, yes. While she will never admit it, Pearl is very, very self-conscious out of various reasons (one being her abysmal self-esteem). Never one to bring up physical attributes (why, in theory, she does not necessarily believe that she has much to offer in that regard. Her body is a hardlight projection & she perceives it as such), she is nonetheless hyperaware of what exactly her appearance entails. Pearls are designed to look "pretty” & are EASILY recognized based on their lanky & delicate built (i.e their noses, slim & rather ‘androgynous’ physique, posture, voice, & even more ‘individual’ traits such as hairstyle or the colour of their clothes). Needless to say, the fact that she possesses the physical traits of a pearl will always mark her as something or someone ‘special’ in a negative sense; more an object than a person, to be exact. Due to that, she has been changing her form quite often in the past, always trying her utmost to go against any classically pearl-esque trait.
— PREFERENCES.
▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? both
▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? sunshine, though she is fascinated by Earth’s weather in general.
▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? again, both even though she has a preference for the beach due to basically having lived right next to one for approx. 5000 years.
▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? ... hm. Swords.
▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? flowers by a long shot.
▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? personality; though admittedly, she developed quite the type regarding appearance. It is canon that most of her ‘flings’ resembled Rose.
▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? being in a crowd; she feels at unease in both cases but loneliness is something she is absolutely terrified of (she is prone to self-isolation during or after a breakdown, however: partially out of the desire to punish herself); Pearl is someone who needs people around her, preferably two. She may retreat to her room rather often or like to sit outside on her own but she only feels truly at ease whenever Garnet, Rose / Steven & Amethyst are in her proximity.
▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? order, without a doubt. Her younger self was certainly more fond of anarchy, however. It is also important to state that she sometimes WISHES she could simply solve her problems in a duel again; after all, to her, as a fan of logic, fighting is less stressful than dealing with her emotions.
▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? white lies., without a doubt. Pearl is an excellent liar; not necessarily by choice but... well. She is fairly good at twisting words.
▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? science.
▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? another quite difficult choice; while she fights for peace, conflict is where she thrives. It is one of those ironic cases in which a person defines or rather defined herself by participating in a war & for Pearl the war was ... well, detrimental to her identity. She romanticizes it to NO END.
▸ NIGHT OR DAY ? both; it does not make much of a difference to her in the end. She might prefer night time simply because she loves to stargaze but well. She is fond of the sun too.
▸ DUSK OR DAWN ? dawn; Pearl loves watching the sun rise.
▸ WARMTH OR COLD ? again, it makes no difference. Pearl cannot feel either.
▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ? few close friends; as I stated earlier, she needs people around her because she cannot really be alone. That urge notwithstanding, Pearl is a very introverted person who struggles with social norms; in fact, she often forces herself to socialize to a ridiculous degree. In SU:Future, she is constantly trying to meet new people that are capable of a) giving her the validation she requires, b) still fill the hole that Rose left & c) to distract herself from whatever uncomfortable thoughts are on her mind post-CYM. Her prime focus remains the Crystal Gems, but it is safe to say that she is lowkey trying to emulate an environment she revelled in during war times; she likes to be admired by people since it gives her confidence & stability. -- there is a reason why she calls her human acquaintances “her fanclub”.
▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ? reading; she loves games that include strategic thinking or logic in general, however. Or anything that allows her to ramble on & on about topics of interest.
— QUESTIONNAIRE.
▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ?
She is a nervous wreck; a mess. Pearl’s biggest issue is her inability to let go of the past or deal with her emotions in a healthy way. Her tons of personal growth notwithstanding, she is fond of white lies & emotional self-destruction. While she is usually selfless by nature, most of her rather reckless actions have proven to be quite damaging to those around her (i.e. Garnet, Amethyst, Steven & even herself). Pearl is furthermore emotionally unstable & spins out of control hard & fast, is prone to extreme jealousy, possessiveness & obsession may it be with Rose or details/symmetry, what if’s & cleanliness as such. Pearl is quick to judge, over-protective, terribly patronizing at times (even though she does not mean to be), incredibly controlling & just “does too much” whenever pushed. She is also fond of blaming herself in quite the fatal way & lives “inside her head” way too much. Low-self esteem & lack of confidence leads to her lashing out rather than handling situations in a calm manner; while appearing steady & being quite the strategist, she can turn into a bundle of nerves within a second, usually yielding to hysteria & knee-jerk reactions that do more harm than good. -- she means well & she is a very loving/caring person who has her heart in the right place but sometimes she just... messes up. After all, she never truly had the time to deal with her own myriad of trauma & it shows.
▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?
Yes, her partner/lover Rose Quartz. It is a loss that is still haunting her 16 years after the other’s death; needless to say, she did not handle it well at all. While she knew that Rose would die to give birth to Steven (mainly due to her having been told in advance / her suspecting so after Rose fell in love with Greg), Pearl held on to the thought of her ‘changing her mind’ until the very end. When the time came, Pearl utterly collapsed. She spent the first few months in utter self-isolation (either sitting next to Rose’s statue at the fountain or in her room, laying on her back & staring at the wall / ceiling or knees to her chest), barely speaking to anyone; the very mention of Rose or Steven made her burst into tears. It went so far that she... basically tried to shatter herself after around six months. Pearl was, however, stopped by Garnet who showed herl a future in which Steven would come to grow & live alongside them, just how Rose had wanted it to be. Pearl still poofed herself but emerged later with a changed form, apologizing for her behaviour & swearing to never try something that selfish ever again.
Her newfound hope notwithstanding; coercing herself to function normally (after just a year) despite her looming agony put a serious strain on her & most of her already damaged relationships to the other two remaining Crystal Gems. She stopped confiding in Garnet, & her relationship to Amethyst broke apart; she was moody, screamed at the others, ran away, lost focus during missions which eventually endangered the life of her comrades & her own. She got poofed several times & as a consequence took longer to regenerate up until the point were she got more & more lethargic, volatile & eventually depressed with no drive, trying her utmost to function via hyperfixating on Steven. Additionally, she (i.e) developed a neurosis & a serious obsession with cleanliness & details as a consequence, busying herself with her role as Steven’s caretaker & housekeeping duties, with Garnet serving as her rock in her weakest & most volatile moments. -- she eventually managed to make the conscious decision to move on around Steven’s 15th birthday & has been working on herself ever since. Needless to say, it is a slow progress.
▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?
Most of Pearl’s happy memories pivot around pretty much everything that happened during the Gem War, with a heavy focus on whatever Rose & her did together. -- one of the most striking experiences she told Steven about was the discovery of the Lunar Blossom Grove that ended with her & Rose “dancing all night” in a pause between several battles, or the time she sat on top of a cliff above Strawberry Fields, where Rose & her made the promise to stay on Earth & spend their future together. Other happy memories include heroic battles alongside Garnet & Bismuth, fusions between her & Rose or discovering Earth’s beauty. She has thousands of memories that go into the same direction which she will fondly talk about whenever asked.
▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ?
Yes. She is a veteran who fought in a thousand-year war for Earth’s independence. She shattered & poofed various Gems; efficient, precise & took no risks.
▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?
Oh, it’s ugly. She gets very emotional (hysterical, almost); a lot of tears, a lot of balled fists & screaming. In the worst cases, she gets aggressive, vocal, & even physical from time to time. She will punch walls, shatter objects, run her hands through her hair. She will lash out, say things that HURT & won’t apologize either. Most part of the time, Pearl runs off whenever it is too much. When alone, she will usually collapse & cry until she can’t no more. After that follows a period of her staying silent for hours. -- sometimes she calms down & pretends nothing ever happened or tries to make up for her actions by doing favours for those she has hurt.
▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ?
Partially yes, partially no. Pearl does not value her life as much as she should. The only person she ever blindly trusted was Rose & even that came around to bite her in the end. She trusts Garnet to always have her back & watch over her, while she herself considers Steven & Amethyst people she ought to protect. -- however, Pearl is the type to willingly throw herself off a cliff almost immediately if it will spare someone she loves from an untimely end.
▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ?
Pearl is an extremely romantic person; usually very physical & devoted, she will go miles for her s.o (imagine every romance movie cliche ever & you may get a good idea of how she will behave). Rather old fashioned, she is the kind of person that writes love letters or poetry; the kind that takes her s.o. to secluded places to spend the night with dancing under the stars, bring flowers or wine & simply take the time to make her s.o. feel loved. She is passionate through & through; her love is the yearning kind, extremely loyal, thoughtful, and all-consuming. Why, if Pearl falls for someone, she falls very, very hard.
tagged by : @foxcharmed, expect a letter from my lawyer soon. This meme came for me.
tagging : @reantte, @huntershowl, @kissafist, @ndeavor, @spiraledheart, @spnel, @carvedbones, @handspoken, & @enshijou.
#[[ hoooo boy this got long#it also took me a month I believe fwuhgezfwg EITHER WAY#I could go into even more detail but I just wanted to finish this thing eventually. This contains a LOT of my own headcanons ofc based#on canon lore. No I do not take criticism wefhwezfg NOPE ]]#vii. 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲.#tw // long text#tw // very long text#honestly I am sorry hhh
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Best of tags #06
A compilation of my favorite reactions to this blog.
@buckettkun on Aoyama and Tokoyami coordinating their costumes: (Link)
#they know the importance of Aesthetic
The reason I ship these two is that they’re surprisingly compatible. Both of them are socially maladjusted dweebs far too invested into their subculture. Hell, Aoyama wouldn’t have to try very hard to match Tokoyami in terms of costume: renaissance knight and classic goth? Lots of overlap there. The main difference between them is that Aoyama pretends to be cheery and hides his dark secret pains, while Tokoyami pretends to have a grim backstory but lowkey doesn’t have one.
That being said Tokoyami’s characterization still confuses me. He’s obivously based on a chuunibyou archetype but at the same time he’s the type of fictional character which chuunibyous try to emulate. He’s obviously pretending to be scary and dangerous and cool, but Dark Shadow kind of lives up to the hype. Tokoyami acts like he has something to prove even though he has nothing to prove. It’s a mystery.
@pearlkeratin on Class 1-A’s insecurities: (Link)
#do mina or tsuyu have any insecurities?
I didn’t include every student in that post because some of them don’t have very noteworthy insecurities (so far in the story).
I’d argue that Mina is actually TOO easygoing. She admits that the reason she’s so far behind in terms of grades is because she slacks off. Her optimism and general overconfidence tend to turn against her.
As to Tsuyu, yeah, she’s definitely one of the most mature and well-adjusted kids in the class. Her teachers point out that she’s an extremely well-rounded hero. When they designed the mid-term exam, they really didn’t have any weakness to exploit, she just happens to be above average in every single aspect.
@zestyperiwinkle on Kaminari being considered clever in middle school: (Link)
#the idea of kaminari being considered clever#his middle school classmates must have put no effort into anything
I can imagine Kaminari’s old classmates singing this :
No one's bright as Denki
No one's smart as Denki
No one's brain's as incredibly big as Denki
For there's no man in town half as witty
Perfect, a pure mastermind
You can ask any Oda or Toshi
And they'll tell you there's no one bester they can find
@my-minds-cabinet on Kirishima’s fashion sense: (Link)
#is this why hes a fashion disaster?#lol jk i love kirishima#bnha
I don’t know, Kirishima has a good sense of style because he’s canonically the person who picked the disguises for Bakugou’s rescue mission. And these outfits were killer, including his. We also see in the “Two Heroes” movie that he chose decent clothing for him and Bakugou. So clearly he knows his fashion and deliberately CHOOSES to dress badly outside of these rare occasions.
My guess is that Kirishima is actually a fashion savant and that we’re too dense to see the logic behind his choices. His crocs are actually avant-garde and we’re too basic to see their brillance.
@todorokilovers on Iida being hot: (Link)
i mean, he looks hot without his glasses but with them he’s a soft boy
There are only two genders: soft and hot.
@taghashromer on All Might being intimated by Bakugou’s parents: (Link)
#this is so funny because all mights easily the most famous and accomplished person there#bnha
All Might wishes he could go back in time and punch his teenage self in the face for wanting to become a public figure. He clearly has issues with showing vulnerability.
@kaminaris-quirk on Momo talking about utensils: (Link)
what’s ustensil?????
Utensils are those little lumps of flesh at the back of the threat which can become inflammated. God, Kaminari, you’re so stupid!
@toshinoriigay-imean-yagi on Kirishima wearing crocs: (Link)
That's not how Crocs work. They're so beautiful that their beauty gets absorbed into your skin and makes you beautiful. It doesn't work on me tho:')
We bow to your sartorial expertise, o bold philosopher of the written word. Clearly you’re too beautiful a person for the crocs to have any discernable effect.
@bnhanerd on Iida enabling harmful beauty hypersexualizarion of teenagers: (Link)
Iida let us dowN sndjenjd
Iida is a nerd/jock hybrid. Sometimes the jock genes just take over and he disappoints people.
@evilkitten3 on Bakugou and Todoroki not deserving to win the Sports Festival: (Link)
i mean... bakugou was probably more against getting that medal than anyone else, in all fairness
Yes, Bakugou is often right but he undermines his own argument by conveying it in the most obnoxious way possible. Bakugou wanted to win the Sports Festival to prove he’s so strongest, but his victory is meaningless in that regard because his two strongest adversaries either were going through a mental breakdown or injured by their self-harming quirk. In a way, yes, Bakugou probably deserved to fight Todoroki and Midoriya at their full potential and strength rather than profiting from sheer dumb luck. It’s pretty clear the writers agree with him, too. Very little time was devoted to the semi-finals and finals compared to the Todoroki/Midoriya fight because the writers knew no one would really care. This is actually something that happens in real-life competitions. Sometimes the finals are boring because the most interesting opponents went out too soon.
That being said, Bakugou’s behavior during the award ceremony is still unacceptable. It’s offensive to the other competitors who tried their damn best to get a medal. A big theme of the Sports tournament arc is the importance of respect in competition, both to yourself and to other contestants. In the eyes of Shinsou, Iida, Uraraka and countless others who went though great hardships and didn’t even make it to the finals, Bakugou was being a brat. Sometimes your victory is bitter and it’s just something you have to accept growing up.
Bakugou is spectaculary ill-adjusted in terms of social skills, which does lead me to wonder if some of the things he says are misinterpreted. Take his infamous “if you want to become a hero, you’re better off jumping off a roof and being reborn with a quirk in your new life”. Had he said “the superhero system is entirely based on genetics so your ambition is a fruitless endeavor”, people would probably agree with him. But of course he had to convey that in the most horrific way possible... which is a shame, because Bakugou was technically right. As far as Bakugou and Midoriya were aware, there was no example of a quirk being acquired rather than inherited at birth. Discouraging Midoriya from embracing a superhero career made a lot of sense.
#mha#my hero academia#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha midoriya#bnha aoyama#bnha tokoyami#bnha todoroki#bnha iida#bnha bakugou#bnha kaminari#bnha all might#bnha kirishima#bnha ashido#bnha asui#bnha dark shadow#best of tags
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Review: Logic - Confessions of a Dangerous Mind
On his fourth album, Logic proves himself to a rapper but fails to be an artist.
Confessions isn't as conceptual as Logic's previous two efforts and that isn't necessarily a bad thing because Logic's concepts don't tend to be fully fleshed out anyway. The Incredible True Story features skits that don't tie into the songs at all and Everybody attempts to be more topical but fails because Logic only really knows how to rap about himself or how he's biracial or something to that effect. It's hard to understand the creative decisions that led to Logic making Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and why it's so disappointing without some context first so let's get that out of the way now...
Let me be clear: Logic is an incredible rapper. He's technically proficient, his vocals are easy on the ears, he's likable, charismatic, and expressive. He can sing (unlike most rappers who believe they can sing). He has always shown incredible potential but, in the years since the release of his debut, Under Pressure, he's failed to capitalize on that potential artistically. He borrows his style from his contemporaries, namely Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Kanye West, and Eminem. This is fine on it's face. It's okay to have influences but Logic tended to take this a little far. Under Pressure saw Logic wearing his influences on his sleeve to the point where I half expected to hear Kendrick's 'Sing About Me' refrain on the title track. Still though, I was optimistic about where Logic's career would take him, especially since he was so great at emulating other artists so early on.
The Incredible True Story brought us more of the same but also carried with it some of the best beats Logic would ever rap on in my opinion. Not only this but the album also brought with it a space theme that completely failed to tie into what Logic was even rapping about. Overall it was fine but it wasn't Logic's masterpiece yet. He still needed to develop into his own voice, sharpen his focus, and deliver a unique perspective on more topical things. I could sense a masterpiece in him. All of the pieces were there, this just wasn't the right time yet.
Then we had Everybody, another concept album and another failure to quite hit the mark. This album brought with it Logic's signature 1-800 Suicide Prevention song, a track with a solid message that would be dumb to argue against. Aside from that however most of the tracklist is loaded with duds and the messaging is inconsistent. This wasn't the masterpiece fans had been clambering for quite yet.
This finally brings us back around to the subject of this review, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, and why it's such a failure overall.
First off, after listening to this thing I struggle to understand why this album is titled "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" because Logic isn't confessing to anything, he isn't dangerous, nor is the album thought out well enough to have a 'mind' behind it at all. The project's title is irrelevant to the content of the record and was seemingly just tacked on because it sounded interesting or something. The Incredible True Story suffered from the same problem too as the Story it tells wasn't Incredible nor was it true.
Titles aside though, Logic's Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is terrible from start to finish. Individually the tracks aren't so bad but, when listened to all at once, I struggle to see how anyone could believe they'd made a cohesive album.
The title track kicks us off and carries little weight. Logic occasionally reaches to make a point but never does. He talks about things and makes observations that are fairly rudimentary about himself, his culture, and caring for one's self. And that's it. The track just leads to nothing substantial and continues to the next track. The dissatisfaction is overwhelming.
Homicide with Eminem is a major highlight for me, even if it's an isolated one. Eminem handles himself surprisingly well considering his abysmal output as of late too. The track introduces itself with Logic's father joking that his son is the greatest alive because he came out of his balls. Not only is this not funny but it doesn't connect to anything else in the song at all. Over the course of the song nothing notable in particular is said. This circles back to one of my core problems with Logic as a performer. He raps well but overwhelmingly finds himself without anything to talk about. He struggles to stay on topic for longer than two or three bars before changing the subject or providing a throw away line that carries no weight. Every word is low impact because each line is just filler to fill time until the next track where you could responsibly expect more filler.
On the off hand, however, when Logic does manage to say something consequential, the line usually borders on questionable to downright inappropriate. Take for instance the track 'Pardon My Ego' where Logic wishes he could have bipolar disorder so he could make an album as genius as Kanye's Ye. I could rant about this line forever. This is ridiculous on it's face and Logic's intention with the statement is unclear. He should understand having bipolar disorder won't help him to make better music but says the line anyway. He's weirdly complimenting Kanye but gives credit to his disorder for the success of the album. The two aren't necessarily related. Sure, Ye is, in part, about kanye's struggle with mental illness and how these experiences helped to form him into the man he is today. Though it's important to point out that Ye is more about Kanye prevailing despite the illness and not about how his mental illness helps him to make great albums. This point seems totally lost on Logic who seems to believe that mental illnesses are somehow like the real life equivalent to superpowers and that, if you're just mentally fucked up enough, you too could be a creative genius. This is a huge misconception.
This segways nicely into another thing that rubs me the wrong way about Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. It's an amalgamation of several ongoing tropes in hip-hop right now:
- Illusions to being different, being politically conscious, or woke.
- rapping about bitches, money, drugs, or being better than everyone else.
- Society being bad or expecting you to act a certain way.
- Social Media is addictive and is something you should ignore.
- Logic is 'killin' the game. He's a 'game changer'. He's a self-proclaimed Genius. He's biracial. He's this. He's that.
It's all just noise at this point and, truthfully, I no longer believe that Logic has the same potential to create the masterpiece I once believed he would. His latest album isn't about anything in particular. The tracklist could be ordered in any way and carry the same weight, which is next to none.
On the upside, the beats are well-produced and Logic is a proficient rapper. He sounds great over these instrumentals but this is about all the credit I can give the album before checking out completely. Nothing of substance ever happens on Confessions. Logic never has a topic and seems to just spit whatever he wants to in that moment. The best line he manages on this album is: "Scarecrow Flow, I'm outstanding in my field". It's a stroke of brilliance that never manifests itself again on Confessions.
Overall, the more I listen to the album, the more I struggle to find it's appeal outside of just being background music. The whole album is filler, loaded with Hip-hop's most rudimentary tropes and tracks that take up space rather than generate interest. There's no artistic vision to be found here, no plan, no surprises, no concept. The whole album just feels empty, without tension, conflict, purpose, a driving force behind it's creation, or anything to provide appeal or intrigue at all. Logic lacks depth of character and has nothing interesting to say. No new perspective or anything even remotely noteworthy to tell his listeners. Why was this album made? The answer to that question still eludes me and, for that reason, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is one of the worst, most uneventful hip-hop albums I've ever heard. I definitely recommend you sit this one out even if you kind of liked Logic's music up until this point. His charm is just non-existent on this project.
Highs: Homicide, Mama/Show Love
Lows: Pardon My Ego, The Title Track, Commando, Icy, BOBBY
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RWBY Recaps: The Shining Beacon Pt. 1
This is a reposting from October 4th, 2017 in an effort to get all my recaps onto tumblr. Thanks!
Welcome back, welcome back. We're starting off this recap exactly where we left off--with Ruby, Yang, and Jaune approaching Beacon--which gives the first two episodes a cohesive feeling, like they're just one episode sliced in half. RWBY gets better at this as the volumes go on, but Volume 1 in particular reads less like distinct stories and more like one story that was divided up, if only because our expectations regarding form demand it. I'd love to see a supercut of Volume 1 with the credits removed to see how well it all actually flows together.
After getting another shot of Beacon we're treated to a scene of Jaune rushing off the airship and vomiting copiously into a very convenient trashcan. It's a bold way to introduce a character, especially since we've already had four trailers displaying the girls' skills, an episode all about Ruby's moral compass, and a decent amount of time showcasing Yang's sisterly devotion. Making Jaune into "vomit boy" is comparatively cruel--which is largely the point. Though he'll get his character development soon enough (a bit in this episode, actually) RWBY is making sure we're clear about where their loyalties lie, so to speak. Though they're working with a very large cast, they're much more concerned with emulating magical girl storylines (Sailor Moon, Powerpuff Girls, Puella Magi Madoka Magic) than they are the lone, male shounen hero (Naruto, Fullmetal Alchemist, Dragonball Z). By taking the blonde-haired knight stereotype and reimagining him as the fool, RWBY ensures that we know who the "real" heroes of the story are. Jaune absolutely becomes a hero too as RWBY continues, but his status as "vomit boy" reassures us that he's not going to dominate the narrative.
Instead Ruby and Yang leave him behind as they exit the airship, surrounded by more hilarious silhouette people. I'd actually love it if RWBY came up with an in-universe explanation for this (beyond the great RWBY Chibi skit). Maybe there really is a whole species of people out there made entirely of shadows!
Hell, stranger things have happened in this show.
As they reach Beacon's courtyard Ruby becomes so excited by everyones' weaponry that she turns into a chibi version of herself, another technique that touches on RWBY's anime roots and that will eventually be left behind. As the series gets darker we see fewer of these non-diegetic details, like Ruby spinning with swirly eyes or Jaune geeking out over detective badges with literal stars spouting up around him. Though these techniques do an excellent job of conveying emotion to the viewer, they have a kiddie feel to them that becomes out of place post "Beginning of the End."
For now though Ruby is enthralled. At Yang's insistence that they're "just weapons" Ruby exclaims, "Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves. They're a part of us!"
(Art by Eunnieverse)
This is a fantastic bit of world building. As we learn later in the episode, Ruby (like all Signal students, and presumably most Huntsmen) built her own weapon, designing and crafting it over who knows how many years, suggesting that, yes, in this universe weapons really are an extension of the self. We can thus read characterization in each person's choice. Roman, who uses manners as his decoy, keeps a dapper cane with a hidden pistol inside. Glynda embodies order to contrast Ozpin's more free spirit, so she directs all of her power through a riding crop. Meanwhile Ruby is the "adorable girl" who will continually defy expectations. Thus, she wields a scythe that's taller than she is and that's also a "high impact sniper rifle,” the exact opposite of what we’d expect a cute teen to carry. Despite her sister's teasing that Ruby needs to make some real friends, she's right that in Remnant meeting new weapons is a lot like meeting new people.
Speaking of friends, Yang ditches Ruby for hers... who are promptly never mentioned again. They're clearly just a plot device to get Ruby on her own, but like our silhouette people (of which Yang's group is a part) I'd love an explanation for how she got in good with this Beacon group before ever setting foot on campus. Or whether they’re all Signal graduates who then, presumably, should all be pretty close...
Regardless, poor Ruby is left floundering, wondering where she's supposed to go or what she's supposed to do. I feel ya. She ends up collapsing into a massive pile of luggage.
Ruby: "I don't know what I'm doing."
"What are you doing?"
Nice parallel there! Enter Weiss, the owner of said luggage, who is literally framed as the bossy, dominant personality as she towers over Ruby.
We get more world building/exposition as Weiss yells about what dust is and what it can do. Her anger is, surprisingly, not just stemming from a rich girl having her stuff messed with, but because Ruby is knocking into cases chock-full of an explosive substance. Were any of these cases to break they might set off a rather violent reaction--as we see when Ruby sneezes into a cloud of dust and lightning erupts. The irony is that this only happens because Weiss is shaking the bottle of dust erratically in Ruby's face. I love these little moments that highlight how these girls are still kids in many respects, capable of doing stupid things even as they play at being mature.
Still disgusted with Ruby's behavior, Weiss asks, "Aren't you a little young to be attending Beacon?" which tells us that, yeah, Ruby does look young. It's hard to tell with Rooster Teeth's art style, but here we're explicitly told that Ruby looks like a child compared to the other students. Her age is recognizable. That will impact how others relate to and (in some cases) underestimate her.
We learn that Beacon isn't your "ordinary combat school" (what does that mean exactly? Are there other upper-level schools where the students train but don't fight live Grimm?) and Ruby finally looses her patience with all the lecturing.
Ruby: "I said I was sorry, Princess."
"It's Heiress, actually."
Enter Blake. For a millisecond Weiss is thrilled that someone is showing her the respect she thinks she deserves, until Blake follows that little correction up with a list of critiques, including the Schnee's "controversial labor forces and questionable business partners"--more on that as it develops. Ruby cracks up, clearly more interested in Weiss getting her just desserts than thinking through the implications of Blake's words. She then wanders off before Ruby can introduce herself.
The team is now technically complete, even if the girls don't know it yet. Again, RWBY is rather blunt when it comes to many narrative devices. With the exception of Jaune we know exactly who our protagonists are by order of who the show has bothered to introduce to us.
Ruby is still at a loss though. She hilariously collapses in the courtyard and lies there until "vomit boy" gets his real introduction.
I honestly don't understand why so much of the fandom hates on Jaune (except logically I do: it stems from a dual worry that Jaune will sideline our female cast and that he’s become a full-fledged Gary Stu BUT). He's just a nice guy here, and I do mean literally nice, not a Nice Guy with a capital 'N' and 'G.' Yes, we see his misogynistic views that he'll heap on Weiss with, "Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it” and his inappropriate insistence thatt she date him, but Jaune deliberately comes across as someone emulating bad advice about how to make friends/find a date. From the start we’re meant to understand that his perception is inaccurate and he will (as seen) grow out of it. To say nothing of the fact that the narrative undermines his views twice with Ruby's "Do they?" and his more genuine belief that "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet." That's the real Jaune Arc.
He and Ruby wander off together and it's here that we get our first glimpse at Pumpkin Pete under Jaune's armor. I'm honestly impressed that Rooster Teeth had that detail in right from the start.
They talk weaponry, with Ruby showing off Crescent Rose--"It's also a gun"--and Jaune getting self-conscious about his hand-me-downs. Besides him staring up at Beacon's statue in the opening credits, this is our first hint that Jaune comes from a long line of prestigious Huntsmen. It also provides a contrast between what fighting Grimm once was and what it has now become. Jaune's weapons are a simple sword and a shield whose only 'upgrade' is that it gets smaller so you can put it on your belt, but of course it still weighs the same. Ruby, meanwhile, has three forms of Crescent Rose: storage, sniper rifle, and scythe, and she can use all three in a variety of ways. In short, fighting Grimm has become incredibly high-tech, suggesting that the fight itself is always getting harder. Swords and shields just don't cut it anymore even if they, like Jaune, are "classic."
They keep wandering, realizing too late that each was following the other and they still have no idea where they're heading. Like Yang's vomit panic last episode, "The Shining Beacon" ends on a lighthearted note with Jaune wondering if there's a foodcourt nearby.
There is and you're both going to help destroy it in the most epic food fight imaginable.
But that's a whole Volume off.
Until next time~
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Spooksville #1: The Secret Path
Pocket Books, 1995
129 pages, 18 chapters + epilogue
ISBN 0-671-53725-3
LOC: CPB Box no. 277 vol. 14
OCLC: 33152776
Released October 1, 1995 (per B&N)
All the kids in town know the creepy truth about Springville, to the point where nobody calls it anything but Spooksville. Adam Freeman, who has just moved to town, doesn’t believe it — at first. But then he finds himself and his two new friends in another dimension, on another side of the town, and he has no choice but to believe.
As grumpy as I was with the end of Pike’s Archway output, I need to take a step back from that in considering Spooksville. This is, after all, a jump back in time, to when Pike was maybe at his strongest and most relevant (in terms of sales, anyway). It also strikes on the heels of Goosebumps, the highly successful kids’ horror series by R.L. Stine, which was often imitated and emulated (and even parodied) through the decade. Naturally, most of these series didn’t last, as the whole industry got turned upside down by an English kid who slept in a closet. However, if you wanted to argue that Goosebumps marked the death of juvenile literature as we once knew it, I wouldn’t stop you — even though it’s apparently still around.
The major difference between Goosebumps and Spooksville is continuity. All of the original Goosebumps books (I mean, as far as I know; I read like one and a half and quit in exasperation, unable to get behind Jovial Bob’s new direction) have different characters, different settings, and different problems or spooky moments driving the narrative. Spooksville, on the other hand, is the central location for all the events that occur throughout this series, and there are a set of characters who are involved in all the trials and travails we see (again, as far as I know from Wikipedia).
Let me state up front: I acknowledge that these books are not and were not for me. There’s a strong case to be made that this style of juvenile horror book marks the real definition line between Generation X and Millennials, regardless of how old you actually are. Even so: by the time Pike started publishing this series, I was already in college. I did not read them, I had no use for them, I was frankly annoyed that Pike was pouring his energy into this series and then giving us older kids dreck like The Hollow Skull. I felt abandoned by this author that I so respected. And I already alluded to my distaste for Goosebumps, which my brother loved, but even he was too old for Spooksville.
So maybe it’s better that I’ve given myself this distance from the series before I read and discuss it. It might also help that I have kids of my own who are just about the age of the target audience — this could help me better appreciate what Spooksville is trying to do.
(And this is probably all the metadiscourse I’ll give to Spooksville, too, not having a connection to the series outside of it having been written by my childhood favorite author. Save you some reading!)
Let’s dive right in to The Secret Path. Right off the bat: there’s not really a lot of story in this story. It serves more as an origin story, as letting us know that hey, here’s this creepy place where a bunch of weird shit is about to happen, and these are the kids you’re gonna get to know while it happens. The type is set HUGE when you compare it to Pike’s typical YA books ... even though the pages are bigger, there’s maybe only half as much text on each one. So at half the length of his longest YA by page count, The Secret Path probably only has a quarter of the exposition.
We open up with Adam, a twelve-year-old who’s just moved with his family to Springville, a secluded town somewhere on the unspecified Left Coast. Based on geography, this could be just about anywhere north of Santa Barbara: the town is surrounded by hills, with taller mountains to the east, and comes right up against the ocean. He’s buying sodas for himself and his dad when he meets Sally Wilcox, a talkative and imaginative local who is immediately drawn to Adam. Like, one of the first things she asks is whether he left a girlfriend behind. She also warns him about the town’s reputation and its idiosyncrasies, and the fact that only kids can see these and adults will never believe them, and it’s all so unbelievable that he ... well, doesn’t. But he’s glad to have made an acquaintance, and agrees to hang out and get the tour of the town.
This, for once, does seem like an actually little town, if it can be traversed by middle-school pedestrians. As they’re exploring, Adam spies a runaway grocery cart heading for a fancy car and stops it before it can crash. This serves as his introduction to Ann Templeton, the beautiful and knowledgeable descendant of the town founder, who lives in, apparently, a castle next to the town park. Sally calls this place “the witch’s castle” — and so Ann probably is one, just like her great-great-great-great-grandmother. They’re at odds here: Sally is warning Adam not to get sucked in, but Ann seems so nice that it’s hard for him to step away. She does have a little oddness to her demeanor, though ... like she knows things she shouldn’t, like she’s dangerous. After all, Ann is the only adult who calls the town Spooksville.
But she drives off, and then the kids meet Watch. Literally, this is all the name we get for this dude, because he’s wearing four watches. He says it’s to keep track of his scattered family and what time it is where they are, so we immediately both feel sorry for Watch and want to know more of his story. We aren’t going to get it yet, though: Watch is determined to figure out how to access the Secret Path, a way to get to hidden or alternate dimensions right here in town. Bum knows the way, he says — literally, a bum who lives on the beach and has supposedly been cursed by the witch. Watch is on the way to take him food right now, in fact, and learn the secret.
Bum’s guidance for finding the secret path is simple and yet opaque: they must follow the witch’s path through the town, and remember that they bury witches upside-down. The witch, they presume, is Ann Templeton’s great-etc.-grandmother, who was born here and after whom nothing was the same. So they travel along the trail of her important experiences and life events, eventually ending up at the cemetery with no idea of how to go in there upside-down. So Adam and Sally sit down to think while Watch is looking at the tombstone, but also neither of them is particularly keen to travel through a cemetery to an alternate dimension. But when they look up, apparently a long time later judging by the darkness, Watch is gone, and his glasses are on the ground.
Sally is convinced he’s gone to the other side, and so she and Adam set about puzzling out the last part of the riddle. What if upside-down just means backwards, they decide? So they start at the cemetery gate and walk backward to the tombstone. But instead of bumping into it, they fall into nothing and land in another cemetery, this time under a red and lightening sky. And the bodies are climbing out of their graves. They run for it, deciding to try their houses, because of course that’s what a scared kid would do is try to go home even if they’re obviously not actually home. But Sally’s house is flattened by a giant tree, and Adam’s house is full of nothing but spiderwebs and corpses. While they’re looking, the front door is kicked in all of a sudden, and they have no choice but to try to escape out the bedroom window.
Sally makes it, but Adam is seized by a knight in black armor who knocks him out and takes him to the castle dungeon, where Watch is also being held. The room is also full of clocks, which for some reason run backward. The witch herself enters not long after Adam wakes up — surprise, surprise, she looks just like Ann Templeton, but with red hair instead of black. She’s carting a couple other kids, who are all inexplicably missing parts of their faces. Apparently the witch seamlessly removes them and puts them into her collection of dolls. And if they don’t tell her where Sally is hiding, they’re up next. Obviously they don’t know, so she drags them to the surgery room or whatever, where there’s also a massive hourglass, filled with sparkling dust that flows from the bottom to the top. Surprisingly, fear doesn’t make these kids know an answer they never had, so the witch goes to prepare the boiling bath that will cleanse these filthy children before she takes their eyes.
Of course, as soon as she leaves the room, Sally shows up to save the day. She can’t break the cuffs on the boys’ wrists, but she can break the hourglass, which they figure is the witch’s most prized possession. And then everything goes apeshit. In the craziness, the post that holds the boys’ cuffs breaks, and they’re able to escape, back down to the dungeons to let the other kids out. Only the doors are all open and the other kids are already gone, apparently down a long passage that leads the group back to the cemetery. While they’re trying to figure out how to get back to their own dimension, the witch shows up and grabs Adam by the neck, ready to get her eyeballs one way or another. Fortunately, Adam is holding a handful of sand out of the broken hourglass, and he throws it into the witch’s eyes. She shrieks and falls, and the dead bodies in the cemetery reach up out of the ground and pull her under with them.
But still: how do they get the hell out of this creepy backward monster dimension? It’s so obvious if you think about it: walk at the tombstone FORWARD. They get back some six hours BEFORE they left ... you know, time running backward on the other side. And so Watch goes to talk to Bum some more about what happened, and Adam and Sally go home, with the promise of more adventures to come.
And that’s the end of The Secret Path! So now we’re on the not-so-secret path to where this series is going. Titles in this genre are somewhat more on the nose than we’ve seen from Pike before, and so just looking at the list can give us an idea of what to expect. Still, I’m going to try to stay open and acceptant of what these stories might tell us, while at the same time not expecting anything too meaningful. And who knows, maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised.
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All writing asks!
Oh daaaamn! Thanks, bro!! @brynhildr13 !!!!
In response to this post!
1. What is your preferred place to write (notebook, laptop, cellphone, etc.)?
~Normally I try to do everything on my laptop in Zoho’s Notebook app. I seriously love the app, and there’s a desktop and mobile version that will sync so if you’re on the go you can still edit your notes! If I’m ever stuck I’ll hand write in a paper notebook and that usually works really well for me.
2. When did you start writing?
~I started writing back in the third grade, when I wrote and illustrated a comic series called The Evil Substitute Teacher from Mars! Obviously it was of a third grade quality and I had no intentions of being a writer at that point, but it was the first time I seriously flexed my skills even though it was just for fun!
I started writing fanfiction in my freshman year of high school.
3. What is your favorite thing to write?
~I love to write stories that take characters through intense emotional journeys. I absolutely love quality character development when you can track it from beginning to end.
4. Fluff or angst?
~Angst. I have little to no interest in writing a love story or love encounters as the primary plot. It’s hard to emulate the kinds of emotions people feel during those encounters when I’ve had minimal experience.
5. How would you describe your style?
~Hmmm . . . I would say . . . healthily balanced between pragmatics and prose. I try to make things as literal as I can when there’s action happening, but when I describe character’s emotions I literally love to pour on the cheese.
6. Where do you usually find inspiration?
~In general, for overall fanfic concepts I’ll find it in the source material, in a detail that wasn’t well-expanded. For specific ideas within a story, and for specific language to describe something I’ll borrow from both the source material and other writers in canon-based fics.
7. Do you listen to music to help you write?
~Hell yes.
8. What’s the biggest “challenge” for you as a writer?
~I love to write and I mainly write for myself - meaning I write the stories that I would want to read. But it’s extremely easy to fall into the “Nobody else will want to read this/Nobody is reading this = it must be bad and I’m a terrible writer” mindset. Surprisingly, that hits me harder than comparing myself to other writers. I understand and embrace that my style is different and the way I tell stories is unique. I actually really love how I write in comparison. I also struggle with pacing.
9. Where do you usually go to write (bedroom, living room, etc.)?
~When I’m at home, my bedroom. However, occasional changes in scenery do wonders for my inspiration, so I also love public libraries. When it’s very late at night (and it usually is because I’m a night owl to begin with and I work two jobs), I love to go to Denny’s. The people at my local Denny’s know me by name and I have the same server almost every time. They let me sit there for hours and hours (and if I do stay, I always leave a gigantic tip).
10. Can you give us a sneak peek of your current WIP?
~We’re mid-fight scene and this is unedited (I’m just really self-conscious lmao). It’s from my Dissidia fanfic, A Petal Among Thorns:
“’Cosmos's assassins!’ the Emperor sneered. He laughed, calling his staff from its resting place next to the throne. "I'm glad you could make it!" Removing Cloud first would be the most important thing. That, and deflecting Terra's magic.
Cloud lifted his sword behind his head and slashed it down, and an arc of power careened off the blade towards him. The Emperor slammed the end of his staff into the ground and called a cluster of purple mines in its path. The Blade Beam collided with the mines and they detonated on contact in a cloud of smoke, the sound booming through Pandaemonium.”
11. How many stories have you written so far?
~18, though not all are complete.
12. What’s your favorite thing you ever wrote?
~In the first version of A Petal Among Thorns, I wrote a giant fight scene between a goddess and her warriors. It was intense and epic, and really maximized my skills at the time, and I loved every second of it.
13. How many chapters does your longest series have?
~Well, the new and improved version of A Petal Among Thorns has 45 posted chapters at 171k words, and I’m working on 46. The original Petal, which I finished, ended with 64 and had 108k words. Both are my longest so far. the most words, though, is Horrible Bosses with just under 200k.
14. What’s my favorite character/person to write for?
~This is so tough. But I think the Emperor for A Petal Among Thorns. He’s a classic kind of “Muahahaha” villain and I absolutely love getting into that evil headspace.
15. “OCs” or “Reader” inserts?
~If it’s an either/or question, then I say OCs. But nothing against Reader inserts. I love those, too. If it’s a do I read or write them question, then not really. I did one back when I was in high school. But I do read them and I support writers who do. There’s no such thing as cringe culture anymore so don’t let any elitists make you feel shitty for writing them.
16. Can you tell us anything about your current WIP?
~Sure. I’ve got four major ones:
1. A Petal Among Thorns (Dissidia Final Fantasy) - Cosmos just sent a group to take care of the Emperor since he’s been plaguing her and her warriors, but they’re caught unprepared when they realize he’s been secretly amassing power.
2. The Krypt (Mortal Kombat) - The group just found Master Hasashi and Kenshi, two out of the whole group they’ve been looking for. Their next order of business is to escape the spider caves, but it won’t be so easy.
3. Legends Yet (Final Fantasy XII) - Balthier and Fran are preparing to infiltrate the Archadian Palace to go after a special item. Little do they know the palace is more prepared than they thought.
4. This is My Punishment (Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus) - The Turks go looking for Vincent after he fails to report in. They confront Dr. Hojo about it, but he’s smug and disinterested.
17. How long was the longest fic you ever wrote?
~The longest COMPLETE story I ever wrote was the original A Petal Among Thorns with 64 chapters at 108k words. The longest INCOMPLETE story I have right now is the rewrite of A Petal Among Thorns with 46 chapters at 171k words. The most words I ever wrote was Horrible Bosses at just under 200k but with only 15 chapters.
18. What fandoms do you write for?
~Final Fantasy and Mortal Kombat and Hetalia are pretty much it right now, but a variety of FFs! I have written for Assassin’s Creed too, and Voltron, and I did one very self-indulgent Black Butler self-insert.
19. What is/are your favorite fandom author/authors?
~Poisonous Panda on AO3 (she used to have a tumblr but she deactivated for some reason), and Jaydee Grey on ff.net
20. Have you ever written an AU?
~No. All my stories take place in the actual world and parameters of canon. Although, I guess Petal could be considered one, since Rosa was never called to the cycles in any Dissidia game except Opera Omnia . . . ?
21. What’s your favorite AU trope?
~I don’t know if I have one. I read them but they’re not my go-to. I usually stick to canon stuff first.
22. A fanfiction cliché you can’t help but love?
~Hmmmm . . . I think descriptions of eyes. Not like, the word ‘orbs’ or anything, but the use of gemstones to describe color. I love the aesthetics associated with gemstones and their luster and how they shine, so if someone has “emerald green” eyes, or “amber” eyes, “crystalline blue”, etc. It makes me understand that their characters’ eyes are aglow with something, that they have character or passions or an ideas.
23. For how long have you been a fandom writer?
~I started my freshman year of high school, so . . . 10 years?
24. Have you ever had an idea for a story and forgot about it?
~No, I usually write stuff down right away. But as I develop my stories they rarely stay along the path enough to end up using the idea. Either the plot point is too out in left field now, or the characters are too far along in their journeys to make it work in-character.
25. What do you do to motivate yourself to write?
~Motivation? I don’t know her.
In all seriousness, I have ZERO self-control, so I can’t bribe myself. I mostly use my own desire to see my stories finished, plus nice comments and reviews from users on AO3 and ff.net. They’re so few and far between that a single one can make my entire day.
26. How did you find out you like to write?
~I’ve always enjoyed telling stories, from the third grade up! Making my own comics, and novelizing games I used to play, like Pac-Man World 2! I sort of never stopped, but WHAT I wrote matured as I grew older and joined fandom.
27. Are there any writers (fanfiction writers or not) that have inspired you to start writing?
~No, I was writing in general before I knew what fanfiction even was. But what inspired me to start writing fanfiction in particular was reading a Dissidia fic on ff.net by the name of Slash and Burn, that hasn’t updated since 2011. Reading that fic made me realize that the stories and scenarios I was coming up with surrounding these characters I loved could be transcribed and posted, and that other people were doing it too! I simply started writing down what I already was imagining for these characters outside of the events that happened in their games.
28. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?
~Final Fantasy, hands down!
29. Describe your style in three words.
1. Balanced
2. Introspective
3. Natural
30. What would you say is the most ‘famous’ fic you’ve ever written?
~Definitely The Krypt for Mortal Kombat on AO3. Writing for an active fandom is vastly, vastly different than writing for an older, stale one. The Krypt has the most comments and shares. On ff.net, it’s Horrible Bosses.
31. Blurbs or drabbles?
~Drabbles. Flesh it out more! I wanna be more immersed in whatever this is!
32. Have you ever written smut?
~I have written ONE SINGLE SHEEPISH scene in chapter 13 of Horrible Bosses. It was my very first attempt at smut and it is god-awful. Go check it out on AO3 if you want (and can withstand the second-hand embarrassment!)
33. How long does it usually take for you to write?
~LMAO that depends entirely on if I can get started for the day. If I can start and I can stay focused, I’ll easily write 3,000 words in one sitting. If I can start but I’m not focused I can usually still grind out anywhere between 100 - 500 or so words. But I’ll go days without touching Notebook if I can’t even get started.
34. What’s your favorite font to use when writing?
~I don’t put much stock in fonts but the one I’m using now on Notebook is Montserrat. I will change it every so often if I want something new though. Changes in scenery help my focus most times.
35. Which do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics?
~Longer definitely. Shorter fics are easier but I love the challenges associated with aligning plot points with character development, as well as pacing.
36. how do you keep yourself inspired?
~My love for the fandoms I’m writing for usually does it. I love these universes and characters so much that I want to spend more time with them and watch them grow and change in ways that are or aren’t necessarily spelled out in canon. That, and the idea that since I’m writing stories I would want to read, then I’m the only one who can tell this story in my own way, so it has to be me.
37. Have you ever written something you didn’t like but posted anyway?
~Hell yeah. It be like that sometimes. Sometimes you stare and stare at a chapter and you absolutely hate it but you can’t figure out why and eventually you get pissed and say, “Fuck it, i have to post this to move on,” and you do. Specific examples for me are a few chapters in the new Petal.
38. What is your “strong suit” as a writer?
~I pride myself on my characterizations, to be honest. I feel like I have a good sense of who these characters are based on canon, and I can translate their reactions well to situations that test them.
39. What’s your favorite trope?
~I actually really, really love when characters are injured or slipping physically or emotionally, but they keep it to themselves for the sake of others. It can be for any reason - they don’t want to be a bother, they think they should be strong enough to handle it, etc.
40. How many likes do your fics usually get?
~Depends. The most I’ve gotten on anything was ~70 follows/favorites for Horrible Bosses on ff.net, and 128 kudos on The Krypt on AO3. Those are outliers, for the most part. My more popular fandom fics float around 20 - 40 kudos, my smaller fandom fics float around 5-10. The mean average for AO3 kudos across all my fics is 32, and the mean average for ff.net favorites is 14.
41. Have you ever used a prompt?
~No. it’s very, very hard for me to imagine characters into scenarios that I didn’t myself come up with?? I’m not sure why.
42. What is your weakness as a writer?
~Pacing.
43. Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you wrote?
~Yes, I cried when I wrote the aftermath of the large battle I talked about earlier, between Cosmos and her warriors in the first version of A Petal Among Thorns.
44. Have you ever done a collab with another writer?
~No, I’m too self-conscious.
45. One thing you love about fanfiction.
~I love how it allows fans to expand upon these worlds and universes that were created for us. I love how it allows us to demonstrate our love by interpreting things that were either not touched or not expanded upon in canon. It also allows me to express myself in a healthy and creative way.
46. What’s your favorite emotion to cause on your readers?
~Nothing makes a person sexier than physical pain. But I also love anger and regret.
47. What’s your favorite thing about writing?
~See above. Writing fanfiction is another way that I express my love for something that matters so much to me, which are these pieces of media I write for. It also gives my daydreams purpose and doesn’t make me feel like I have to bottle them up!
48. Do you post your writing in any other platforms?
~Yep! AO3, ff.net! I’m Keyblader41996 on both.
49. What app/apps do you use to write (word, notepad, etc.)?
~I’ve got notes all over! I’ve got some in Notepad on my Mac, and I have some in Notebook by Zoho on their site and app, I have some in my paper notebooks, I have some in my college textbook margins and notebooks, etc. My favorite to use is Zoho’s Notebook.
50. One thing you don’t like about fanfiction.
~Thinly veiled, arbitrary and unnecessary bullshit that is masqueraded as “constructive criticism” when I didn’t ask for it, and when it’s easier for the commenter to just, idk, LEAVE THE FUCKING FIC?!?!?!!??!?!?! Rather than spend ALL that time just to be shitty???????????? get away from me.
51. Least favorite trope?
~I dislike time travel.
52. Favorite words to use when writing?
~I love facial descriptions and body language: He crossed his arms. Her eyebrows furrowed. She winked coyly. His fists balled at his sides, trembling. She jumped, clapping her hands enthusiastically. etc.
53. Least favorite words?
~I hate describing clothes and bodies/figures. Hate it.
54. Do you usually like what you write?
~It depends. I cycle through different phases. (1) This is great. (2) Oh god, what the fuck??? is this??? (3) I can’t even look at this, it’s so bad. *Stops writing for days* (4) Wait, why did I hate this so much? It’s a great starting point! (5) Edit (6) YESSS YESSSSSS YASSSSS!!!!!!!! (7) Post
I can start at any one of those numbers and go from there but it’s always in that order no matter where I start.
Thanks so much for asking me these!! I love them!!!
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Second Chance
A fanfic inspired by “The Chance You Didn’t Take” by Ronja. Peeta goes ahead with the wedding to Lace. This takes place four years later.
It’s a short walk from the train station to the town centre. District 12 has grown so much that I barely recognise it. There are new stores, restaurants and businesses, civic buildings, and, almost unknown outside the Capitol until recently, a cinema. I search for the familiar; anything that will help connect me to the place I used to call home. The ice-cream parlour is still here and the restaurant where I had dinner with Peeta and Haymitch. The Justice building too. Just opposite, there’s a large bakery with celebration cakes on display in the window. I expect to see “Mellark’s Bakery” on the sign above. However, it says “Ferguson’s Bakery”, and if Peeta has opened the bakery he talked about, it must be in another part of town. Lace’s shop should be around here, but I can’t see it. Perhaps she works from home now.
I’m tired and sweaty after the long train journey and what I want most is a long hot shower. Thankfully, I remembered to have the utilities switched back on before I left and the house will be fully functional. I pass by a supermarket, a Capitol innovation I thought I’d never see in District 12, and buy enough food for a few meals. I’ll be coming this way again tomorrow and I can buy more then.
My steps slow as I approach Victor’s Village. There’s uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as I pass through the familiar wrought iron gates. I’m confident that I’ve long since dealt with whatever memories that may surface, but there’s also an uncomfortable sense that it’s one thing to be confident from the safety of District 4, and another when I’m actually here in the place where it all happened. I dread the moment when I lay eyes on Peeta again. I’ve passed through the gamut of emotions when it comes to him, especially in the four years I’ve been away. From despair, to anger, to contempt, to pity and finally, to something I hope resembles indifference.
On the surface, the village is close to how I remember it – six very large houses on each side of a wide street with a generous space between. However, the air of isolation and neglect is missing as all of them appear to be occupied. The gardens are neat and maintained, even Haymitch’s, and I recall that in one of his irregular letters, he said he had hired a gardener. Too many complaints from neighbours, he had grumbled. And I can see why in this house-proud street. There’s only a few people about, two neighbours in the distance having a chat and a woman planting seedlings in her garden who looks up at me curiously for a few seconds before returning to her work. It’s 10am on a week day and probably most of the residents are occupied outside their homes at this time of day.
My house is not far from the entrance to the village so I don’t have far to walk. Haymitch’s house is on the far side of mine, and Peeta’s is opposite to Haymitch’s. I think briefly about calling in on Haymitch to announce my arrival, but that hot shower calls and Haymitch barely functions before noon anyway. I drop my pack at my front porch to remove the house keys from the zipped front pocket, turn the key in the lock, and enter.
The first thing I notice is how musty the house smells and I decide to open windows as I go from room to room. There’s surprisingly little dust, but I suppose since it’s been closed to outside air and human activity, none has been able to get in. I make my way to the kitchen first and turn the refrigerator back on. The milk, butter, eggs and bacon I bought at the supermarket goes into it, and I leave the rest of the groceries on the kitchen bench. With that done, I explore the rest of the house. It’s just as I left it. That morning’s newspaper rests on the hall table, still unread. A train schedule is spread out on the dining room table.
Upstairs, in my bedroom, the dress I wore to Peeta’s wedding lies crumpled on the floor. At the last moment, I had decided against the lavender gown that Lace made. By wearing Lace’s gown, I had wanted to please Peeta by showing that I accepted his choice of bride and was willing to make her part of my circle. I was an idiot. I’d suppressed my needs in favour of Peeta’s and it did neither of us any favours. I didn’t want to wear anything that Lace made ever again. Besides, lavender makes my olive skin appear sallow. I have a sneaking suspicion that Lace’s assurances that the colour suited me was rooted in not wanting anyone to upstage the bride.
I eventually decided on an old dress of my mother’s. It’s blue, similar in style and colour to the dress I wore when I was reaped for the first time. As best as I could, I braided my hair into the same style my mother had done. I wore no makeup or jewellery. The girl I wanted to emulate had been terrified of an uncertain future, but determined to do whatever it took to come out a winner. For that girl, Peeta had been the “boy with the bread”. The boy who had risked a beating by deliberately burning two loaves of bread to feed a starving girl. He was a kind, but puzzling boy who I’d never stop owing. I needed him to be that boy again today. I could be happy that this boy is marrying the woman he loves. To remember what he eventually came to mean to me brought on such misery of loss, that I didn’t think I could get through the day if I did.
Until the last minute, I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t go through with the wedding but I made my plans nonetheless. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, live in a house opposite to Peeta and Lace and pretend I was fine with it. All pretense was over from the moment Peeta knew the full extent of my feelings for him. I needed a new start, and Peeta needed the space to get on with his life too. I got on the phone and insisted on speaking to President Paylor personally. She told me that since I had been acquitted of assassinating President Coin, I wasn’t guilty of any crime. I had been sent to District 12 to recover, and if Dr Aurelius gave me clearance, I was free to travel and live anywhere in Panem. Several phone calls later, I had clearance from Dr Aurelius, confirmation that it had been accepted, an invitation from my mother that I could live with her in District 4, a train ticket booked, and one cat carrier purchased.
I open the closet to take out a hanger to put the dress away. I want to change out of my travel clothes too. I didn’t take many clothes with me when I left and bought new as I needed them, so there’s quite a lot here to choose from. The trouble is that I don’t care for them that much anymore. My tastes have changed to suit the mild weather of District 4 and I favour light fabrics in bright colours. But hidden amongst all the khakis and blacks and the preponderance of trousers, t-shirts and long cardigans, I find a summery dress in orange and yellow tones and select that. Then I hit the shower and wash away the sweat and weariness of many hours of train travel. After I towel myself dry I set to work on my hair. It’s shorter that I used to wear it but still long enough to braid, although I seldom do. Mostly I wear it down, in long shaped layers around my face, or drawn back in a ponytail.
I slip on the orange dress and some comfortable sandals and feel ready to take on anything. Even Haymitch. But before I do, I can’t resist looking over at the Mellark residence from the upstairs window. It’s very neat and tidy. I see no sign of toys, or a swing, or anything that indicates a child lives there. There’s no sign that a dressmaking business operates from there either. No bakery, no dressmaking shop in town, and nothing to hint that Lace and Peeta might still live in District 12. Perhaps they moved to District 8 after all. There’s a quick way to find out where Peeta is. I’ll talk to Haymitch. He should be up for a visitor by now and I did let him know I was coming, although I wouldn’t put it past him to have forgotten. I’ve kept in touch with Haymitch over the years, but he is a poor correspondent. Very occasionally we talk on the phone but inter-district calls are still prohibitively expensive. We have a tacit agreement not to discuss Peeta, so I have no idea what Peeta has been up to since I left. Max does the same. He writes occasionally, mostly about his family and the school, but little about District 12. I don’t ask, and they don’t tell.
I scan the street as I exit my front door in case anyone is about. I’m not in the mood to explain my presence here just yet. But as I pass by the side of my house, I notice something unexpected. Primrose bushes, lovingly tended, in a long neat row. They were on the way out and needed replacing when I left but these plants appear young and vigorous. I’d arranged for basic upkeep, but I didn’t know it included new plantings.
“Katniss,” someone calls out from behind.
I freeze at the sound of that familiar voice. My heart beats faster and my breath shortens. I school my face into what I hope is a sort of friendly nonchalance and turn around.
“Hi, Peeta. It’s good to see you again.”
Peeta stops a few feet from me. He looks healthy, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, his ashy blonde hair cropped shorter than I remember it, but still long enough to wave. Any boyish roundness is gone, and a man stands before me, and a handsome man at that. There’s something about the eyes that’s different too. They’ve lost that slightly “not quite there” look he had when he returned to District 12. It feels like the old Peeta, my Peeta, has come back. But not truly my Peeta, of course. Lace’s Peeta.
He regards me with a soft, shy smile. “It’s good to see you too, Katniss. We’ve all missed you around here.” I resist the urge to raise my eyebrows. I can think of at least one person who hasn’t missed me. “Haymitch told me you’d be arriving today and to watch out for you. I work from home now, so it wasn’t hard.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond so I start a different tack. “How have you been? And Lace, is she well? I expected you might have a baby or two by now.”
Peeta looks away to stare at something in the middle distance. “No, no children. Um, Lace is well. Last time I saw her, anyway. We broke up more than two years ago. Didn’t Haymitch tell you?” I shake my head. “Well, it was amicable, but we have separate lives now. Lace actually remarried a few weeks ago – a tailor from District 8. They combined their businesses.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wondered what happened to Lace’s shop. I walked through the town to get here and I noticed. It’s changed a lot. The town I mean.”
“Yes, I guess it has. I suppose it’s more obvious if you haven’t seen it for a while.”
I can’t think of anything else to say and I look for an excuse to end this awkward conversation. “I was just about to visit Haymitch to let him know I’d arrived. I would’ve done it sooner but I remember how grumpy he is in the mornings.”
“Haymitch isn’t home. He has an all-day council meeting today. It’s part of the reason I was keeping an eye out for you, to let you know. But I also wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. Haymitch too. It will be like our old Victor’s dinners. Please come,” entreats Peeta, as if he fears I might refuse.
Every instinct tells me to. This is nothing like I expected. Peeta is supposed to be married to Lace with a baby, or two. He’s supposed to be that other Peeta, not the Peeta I knew before the hijacking. I don’t want my carefully cultivated equilibrium disturbed. I’ve worked too hard for it. But then, how can I refuse without appearing as if I still haven’t got over him? If I don’t care, it’s just a dinner. We eat the food, exchange pleasantries and that’s it. Haymitch will be there anyway. And then I sell my house, go back to District 4 and Peeta does whatever it is he does.
“Ok, that will be nice, thank you,” I hear myself say. “What time?”
“Six, but anytime you get there is fine. I’ve . . . I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Katniss. We didn’t part well and I want to fix it, if you’ll allow it.”
I smile weakly and nod. It seems churlish to refuse what seems to be an attempt to make some kind of restitution. As long as he doesn’t want more than that.
Peeta returns to his house and I return to mine. I’m at a bit of a loss with at least six hours to kill. I think about doing some housekeeping, but only for a minute. The woods beckon.
______________________________________________________________
I take a long drink from my water flask. It’s a warm day and getting here has been thirsty work. But it’s been rewarding too as my gaze sweeps across the magnificent view before me. I find a more comfortable position on the boulder I’m sitting on and settle in to simply absorb the wonder of being here. I’ve missed it so much.
This is where I used to meet Gale. It seems a lifetime ago now. He was my best friend, one of the few people I trusted and my first crush, although I didn’t realise it at the time. But then, because the Games happened and I got to know Peeta, it never really went beyond that. We probably weren’t destined to be together anyway; we were too much alike, both of us fiery and impulsive. I’ve been working towards thinking the same way about Peeta; that we weren’t destined to be together. To witness Peeta happily enjoying his dream of a “wife, a toasting and a family,” was meant to consolidate it. Instead there’s a tiny seed of hope starting to sprout, and I hate it.
He probably has a girlfriend, anyway. Someone like Peeta wouldn’t be alone for long. For all I know, he’s engaged and planning a big elaborate wedding to another doe-eyed girl with mahogany hair. And it’s not like I’m incapable of being with anyone else. I proved that with my relationship with Ben. He’s a doctor who originally hailed from the Capitol. I thought of him as a cross between Peeta and Gale. He has Gale’s good looks, his focus and dedication, combined with Peeta’s warmth and sociability. We lived together for over two years and had a warm, companionable relationship. It should have been perfect yet somehow it never really took off. My mother says I’ve put a wall around my heart that prevents a man from getting too close. She may be right. I never want to experience the pain of Peeta’s loss again. As Finnick once said, “It takes ten times as long to put yourself together as it does to fall apart.” When Ben’s contract ended at the hospital and he wanted to return to the Capitol, I chose not to go with him. I don’t think it hurt him too badly, it seemed to me he sensed that I had given him as much as I could, and my answer came as no surprise.
I take another swallow of water and toss the flask into my game bag. It’s otherwise empty because I’ve caught nothing. There’s not many woods near the coast of District 4 and I’m sadly out of practice. I try to maintain my skills at a local archery range but it’s not the same. It’s a good thing I’m not dependant on what I can hunt anymore.
After I’ve got my things together, I commence the hike back to the village. My thoughts turn to the dinner tonight. The last time the three of us sat down to a meal together was before the wedding. Was that the one Lace was at? Probably not, but it was certainly the most memorable. Peeta and Lace were openly affectionate with each other; loving glances, touching each other in passing. I don’t know how I found the strength to be in the same room. Lace, who had surely been told I had no interest in the wedding arrangements, persisted in telling me anyway. One might even suspect she was rubbing it in, because I’m sure she was aware of my attraction to Peeta. It’s only in retrospect that I realise how manipulative Lace was. But then Peeta is a master manipulator too. In my most angry moments, I told myself they deserve each other. In my softer moments, I accepted that Peeta would never have acted this way if not for Snow, and Lace, no doubt, had her demons too. The war has created a mindset in which happiness has to be grabbed at before it can be snatched away, but the danger of that is acting in haste when caution should be the rule. Peeta was hardly well enough to get married, and Lace surely knew that she was taking a risk.
I also remember the night I tried to persuade Peeta to leave Lace and stay with me. I could see his struggle as he alternated between “I love you. I can’t hurt Lace. I love you. I can’t hurt Lace.” In the end, Lace won. It didn’t matter if he loved me more, if indeed he did. He still chose Lace and the result was the same. I had lost the boy with the bread.
If Peeta was surprised to see me at the wedding, it didn’t show. To the outward eye, he was happy and relaxed, exuberant even. But there was a falseness to it, something that hinted at an internal struggle beneath the surface. Lace, too, had a fragile sense of gaiety about her. I could never fault Lace for not being attune to Peeta’s moods and it seemed she’d picked up on Peeta’s anxiety. She gave me the same look of accusation she did on the night Peeta deliberately hurt his injured shoulder. The look that says, “I know you’re to blame.” That I was wearing my mother’s dress rather than the lavender gown didn’t help either. Panic momentarily flashed across Peeta’s face when he saw it. Lace just seemed angry. I suppose to her it looked like some kind of stunt.
I tried to appear as if I was enjoying myself, but I spent a good deal of time in the ladies’ room, or outside on the balcony. Peeta stayed away from me. It was a mixed blessing. I’m not an actor like him, and I was afraid my face would give away my own turmoil. But his avoidance hurt. I felt like I was nothing to him. The wedding ceremony was torturous. I stood at the back, as much in the shadows as I could. Peeta was everything the eager groom should be, but even from a distance I could see the faint tremor of his hands. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. If it were possible to attempt another suicide mission to kill Snow, I would have.
After, when I went to congratulate the bride and groom, he looked straight through me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I didn’t even rate as a friend any more. That was the end of the wedding for me. I didn’t stay for the toasting. I went straight home and sat out the hours in the rocker in my kitchen. I forced myself to imagine Peeta toasting chunks of bread by a fire and feeding them to Lace. I forced myself to imagine Peeta and Lace making love for the first time as husband and wife. The sooner I mourned, the sooner I could recover. There was life outside Peeta Mellark and District 12. I just needed the determination to find it.
The next day I called on Haymitch to tell him I was leaving the district, but he was drunk and couldn’t be roused. I left a letter for him instead. Taking only my father’s hunting jacket, a backpack with some clothes and a protesting Buttercup miaowing his head off in the cat carrier, I trudged my way to the train station. I wrote to Max soon after I arrived in District 4. He offered to keep my position at the school open, but I told him not to bother. I didn’t know when I’d be back, if ever.
______________________________________________________________
“Yes, we see quite a lot of Annie and little Finnick. Annie lives only a few streets away from my mother. She babysits sometimes. He and Buttercup are best buddies, although I think the fish guts Finnick brings him helps a lot,” I tell Peeta, as we finish our meal. I’m aware that I’m rambling, but being in Peeta’s presence again makes me nervous.
“And you’re a nurse. It doesn’t surprise me, though. You were always good at tending wounds and looking after people, even though you didn’t think so,” says Peeta.
I look up in surprise. How does Peeta know I’m a nurse? This is turning out to be an evening full of surprises. Haymitch isn’t here for a start. A stalemate at the council meeting, apparently, that can’t wait to be discussed at another time. I can’t recall a Victor’s dinner with candles and best dinnerware either.
“How did you know?” I ask.
Peeta is taken aback. “Haymitch told me,” he says, as if the answer is obvious. “He’s kept me informed of everything you’ve done while you’ve been away. I nagged him, to be honest. I needed to know you were alright, and then I simply needed to know.” He lowers his voice. “I never stopped thinking about you, Katniss. I don’t think that’s possible.”
Peeta leans across the table towards me, and his expression is so earnest that I’m momentarily speechless. I thought he was determined to move on to play happy families with Lace. He talked of moving to District 8 to get away from me, after all.
To cover my confusion, I steer the conversation back to nursing. At least I feel on safer ground with that. “Well, if you’re not surprised, I certainly surprised myself. I missed teaching but there’s no woods as such in District 4 to teach about, so I didn’t know what to do with myself at first. My mother talked me into doing some volunteer work at the hospital and it went from there. I guess my main problem with sick people was seeing their distress, but now that we have modern drugs at our disposal, it’s not so bad. I deal with post-operative patients mostly, anyway.”
Peeta smiles warmly at me. “I know from personal experience that you’re a great comfort. If I had to be in hospital, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather take care of me.”
I take another gulp of wine. I’m onto my second glass. My tolerance of alcohol stops at one but I feel I need it tonight.
“You, um, mentioned that you work from home. My guess is that it’s not baking,” I say.
Peeta leans back in his chair. “No,” he says with a laugh. “I paint commissioned works of art. Effie has set up an agency for me in the Capitol. They send either a photograph or a description of what the client wants and I paint it. My original works are becoming more popular too. I still bake, but it’s a hobby. “
I recall Peeta’s paintings of the arena. They were remarkable. He’s found his calling, I think. If Peeta was meant to do anything, it was to paint.
“A long way from opening your own bakery,” I observe.
“Quite a lot,” Peeta agrees, with a touch of self-mockery. “I don’t think I really knew what I wanted back then. I certainly didn’t know what was good for me,” he adds meaningfully.
“What happened with Lace?” I blurt out. I’ve been dying to know, but I’m shocked at my presumption. “Sorry, forget I said that. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s OK. If anyone has a right to ask, it’s you. It just . . . I don’t know . . . fizzled out. It’s like we had reached the end of the road and there was nowhere else to go. I thought we had lots in common, but it turned out that it was mostly superficial. When it came to actually living our lives together we didn’t have much in common at all. Lace grew tired of walking into town for work every day. She’d often sleep overnight in the apartment over her shop if she had a deadline to meet. She wanted to move into town, but I didn’t. We tried to keep the marriage going for as long as we could, but it became clear we wanted different things. The catalyst was a function Lace wanted to go to promote her business and she wanted me to go with her. I’d had a gutful of them. We ended up having a fight over it. Later we talked it over and came to a mutual decision that the marriage was over. Lace moved out the same day.”
I don’t know what to say. Haymitch had warned Peeta that he and Lace hadn’t properly thought it through. I guess that when their relationship hit the hard rocks of reality it began to fall apart. A mutual love of ice-cream and swimming pools isn’t enough to build a future on. But for some reason, I want to defend Lace. Perhaps it’s to show that I am so over him that I can afford to be generous.
“I suppose it was difficult for Lace moving from the town into the village when she was used to being surrounded by people and activity.” I say. But then I add as an afterthought, “she did have you and Haymitch though.” It had always been enough for me.
“Yeah, I guess. The government only started selling off these houses a year or two ago, so it was only the three of us then. But Haymitch and Lace didn’t get along. They tried at first. Lace would invite Haymitch over to dinner and Haymitch made an effort to be congenial. But Lace wasn’t you and Haymitch missed you a lot, Katniss, though you probably won’t hear it from him. It just wasn’t the same. There were problems with Shep and Haymitch’s geese too. Shep chased them and one time he actually killed one of them. Haymitch went ballistic and said he was going to take a gun and shoot him. And Lace was upset and crying . . .” Peeta sighs. “It wasn’t a good day.”
I have this sudden urge to laugh. The way to deal with Haymitch is to give it back, or ignore it as Peeta does.
I manage to compose myself. I ask, “So what happened to Haymitch’s geese? I haven’t seen any around. I remember them having the run of the village.”
Peeta pours more wine into my glass. This will be my third. I had better slow it down if I don’t want to say something I’ll later regret. My emotions feel all over the place.
“Well, when new people started moving into the village, they weren’t keen on geese eating their plants or leaving their droppings everywhere. A couple of the neighbours were attacked too. You know how geese get territorial during mating season?” I nod. “So, after getting nowhere with Haymitch, the neighbours formed a committee and took it to the council. Haymitch invoked something called squatter’s rights. He claimed that since he and his geese were here first, they had a right to stay. But after a lot of arguing back and forth, the other side pointed out that the village isn’t zoned to permit livestock. Haymitch wasn’t happy about it, but the geese had to go.”
I remember now that Haymitch did refer to it in one of his letters, something about bureaucracy gone mad. I didn’t connect it to his geese.
I smile at the thought of Haymitch fighting District 12 council, especially since he’s on the council himself. I look up to see Peeta smiling with me, his eyes fixed on my face. My breath catches. I recognise that look. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again. Flustered, I take another sip of wine.
“How did you and Effie get into business together?” I quickly ask.
Peeta’s mood turns sombre. “After Lace left, I had a sort of breakdown. It wasn’t over the marriage, it was more over the failure of the marriage, if you know what I mean. I gave up so much in my determination to do the right thing, and it failed anyway. I had more of my memories back by then which made it worse. It triggered a lot of nightmares and flashbacks and I just wasn’t coping. Dr Aurelius couldn’t treat me over the phone so I went to live in the Capitol for a while. While I was there, I met up with Effie. She does this sort of thing for a living now.”
Peeta swallows nervously. “I thought of going to District 4 to see you after I was finished in the Capitol, but I didn’t think I had the right. Not after the way I treated you. The wedding . . . I didn’t expect you to come and the only way I could get through it was to pretend you weren’t there. But I shouldn’t have been marrying in the first place. It was the most stupid decision of my life. And the most selfish. If I was thinking of Lace, like I said, I wouldn’t have married her if when I was in love with another. It was really about how I felt about myself. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who’d go back on their word, not after everything I’d done. And I did care about her, although not in the same way I care about you.”
Care? Did Peeta say care, as in present tense? I open my mouth to say something, anything, but Peeta continues.
“I can only imagine the hell I put you through. I know I blamed you for not telling me how you felt, but that was unfair. How do you tell someone whose memories of you are gone, has no interest in getting them back, and has told you they don’t love you anymore? Add a girlfriend and then a fiancé on top of that, and, well, if I were in the same situation, I wouldn’t have said anything either. I’m so sorry, Katniss.”
His words leave me dumbfounded. For years, I’ve fantasised about setting Peeta straight against his accusation that I should have told him how I felt. But he’s beaten me to it. He’s apologised before I got the opportunity.
But then he goes on. “If I had known, I would never have got involved with Lace. But I can’t regret getting on with my life when I thought you didn’t want to be part of it.”
The apology had been perfect until that qualifier at the end. It almost sounds like a repeated phrase, as if he’s said to himself before. Perhaps this was something worked out in therapy. But he’s right, of course. You do need to get on with your life when you think the one you love doesn’t love you back. That’s something I’ve learned too and there’s no reason why Peeta shouldn’t know it.
“Yeah, I understand. You just have to move on. I’m so grateful I met Ben. Ultimately it didn’t work out, but I would have missed out on two happy years if I hadn’t.
Peeta’s jaw visibly tightens. It’s mean, but I feel a sudden savage surge of satisfaction. Obviously Haymitch hasn’t told him everything.
“Any current boyfriend?” he asks after a short silence.
“No,” I reply.
“You?” I venture.
“No one since Lace. After one big mistake, I want to be sure next time,” he says.
I smile. “That’s good. That they’ll be a next time, I mean.”
He smiles back. “Yeah.”
I push back from the table. It’s late and I’m tired. My brain feels a little fuddled by the wine, and there’s a lot to think about. “Time for me to go. Thanks for dinner, Peeta. I’ve really enjoyed tonight.”
Peeta walks with me to the door. “I’m really glad you’re back, Katniss,” he calls after me.
Back? I’m not back. Didn’t Haymitch tell him why I was here? I don’t feel like explaining right now so I simply say, “goodnight Peeta.”
As I make my way across the street, I notice that lights are blazing from inside Haymitch’s house. He’s probably been there all along. I take a detour. It’s as good a time as any to say hello.
______________________________________________________________
It takes quite a few knocks before Haymitch answers his door. He has a drink in his hand and I can hear the televison blaring in the background. He opens the door wide to let me in. The place is a tip, even for Haymitch. I almost put my foot into a discarded pizza box with what looks like week-old pizza still in it.
“Why don’t you hire a housekeeper, for heaven’s sake? I don’t know how you can live like this,” I complain.
Haymitch hurriedly switches off the television. A romantic weepy had been playing. He seems embarrassed that I caught him watching it.
“Good to see you too, sweetheart. As charming as ever, I see.” Haymitch surveys the mess around him. “This is my last stand against the conformity that’s infested this place. They can make me hire a gardener, they can get rid of my geese, but they can’t make me clean house.”
I gingerly take a seat on the couch. “No, that would take a miracle. How did the stalemate go?” I ask.
“What stale -?” Haymitch begins. “Oh, the stalemate, yeah we got that sorted out. I’ve just got in, actually. Tough day.”
“I won’t stay long, then. It’s been a tiring day for me too. I just wanted to check in and say hello. “I hesitate for a moment. “What exactly have you told Peeta about me? He seems to be under the impression I’ve come back to stay.”
“Only what he’s needed to know,” says Haymitch. He refills his glass and holds it up. “Want one?”
“No thanks.” I’ve had enough alcohol for one night. “What do you mean “needed to know”?”
Haymitch settles himself into his favourite lounge chair. “I mean I haven’t told him more than the most basic information. He forfeited the right to details about your life when he married Lace. I love the boy, but it doesn’t mean his interests come before yours. You didn’t get out of District 12 to stay in contact with Peeta. Your life was none of his business.”
Or his, mine. It didn’t stop me from thinking about it though. “I thought his mission was to forget about me. It came as a surprise that he’s shown interest over the years.”
Haymitch takes a sip of his drink. “He’s done more than show interest. He hasn’t said anything, but I suspect all the effort into getting well and establishing a business has been primarily with you in mind.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I doubt it. I can’t mean that much to him. He did marry Lace, after all.”
“Peeta wasn’t himself. You need to remember that. He later came to regret the marriage. I’m not saying he and Lace were unhappy, they weren’t. But they weren’t as happy as they should have been. Partly because they weren’t suited, but also because he never got over you. And while your house has been there for you to come back to, Peeta has held hope that you would. Who do you think has been tending those primrose bushes?”
Peeta! I should have known the moment I set eyes on them. It was a labour of love from the first day Peeta returned to District 12. But for some reason, I’m irritated by it. It’s typical of Peeta. He shows his love with small considerate gestures but where it’s really mattered, he let me down. He marries another woman, stays away once he’s free, and a spot of free gardening is supposed to compensate.
“He made his bed,” I retort. I don’t want to talk about Peeta and his “hopes.” I’m uncomfortably reminded of earlier times where Haymitch has tried to sell me on Peeta. “Tell me what’s going on in the district. I hardly recognised it.”
Haymitch opens his mouth to argue, but evidently what’s happened to the district is a pet peeve because Peeta is now forgotten. He launches into a tirade.
“It’s gone to the dogs, that’s what’s going on. Would you believe it’s now called the ‘Land of Opportunity” and the “Capitol of the South?” It’s all because of that medicine factory. It attracted an influx of workers into the district. And then business opportunists arrived to service the workers which attracted even more people. There’s factories springing up everywhere. Just today, an application for a permit to build a clothing factory appeared on my desk by none other than Peeta’s ex and her new husband. I used to complain that District 12 was a backwater. I didn’t appreciate what I had. Even the village has turned into the worst example of Capitol suburbia. A man can’t even keep a few birds. “
“At least people are better fed now,” I venture cautiously.
“I wish they’d be better fed elsewhere,” Haymitch grumbles.
“Why don’t you move? District 12 isn’t the only place in Panem.” I ask.
“I can’t. Not while Peeta’s here. I’m the only family he has. He’s made a lot of progress compared to where he was, but he’s still fragile. The divorce really shook him. Everything he had told himself turned out to be a lie. But the breakdown really started when you left. I don’t think the consequences of marrying Lace really struck until then. It didn’t help that we didn’t know where you were. I didn’t see the note you left for at least a couple of days. We thought you might have gone into the woods and topped yourself,” says Haymitch accusingly.
“I put that letter in plain sight. I didn’t just walk out.” I yell in defence. “In any case, I thought all the attention would be on the happy couple and they’d still be celebrating into the next day. Peeta had a barbecue planned, I know that.” Self-pity had crept into my voice despite an effort to sound as if I were simply stating facts. The truth was that I had never felt so abandoned. It didn’t occur to me that anyone would care enough to check in on me.
Haymitch says more gently, “You’re more important than you realise, sweetheart, and it was Peeta who asked me to make sure you were OK. It did cause a bit of kerfuffle but when your letter was found, it all settled down. It didn’t endear you to Lace, though.”
I shrug. I don’t care what Lace thinks. But then I feel guilty about spoiling the wedding celebrations for Peeta. That wasn’t my intention. I’m also oddly resentful that Haymitch was under Peeta’s instruction. He couldn’t even be bothered to cross the road to do it himself.
“So, from your letters, you seem to like District 4. I hope it hasn’t caught the progress bug too,” says Haymitch.
I shake my head. “No, in comparison District 4 is a sleepy fishing village. It has all the amenities you could want, but none of the bustle.”
“It sounds like heaven,” says Haymitch enviously.
“Very close to it. And I’ve just recently bought a sizeable chunk of it. It took nearly all my savings, but it was worth it. It’s five acres with beach frontage, set on a hill and with good road access. It’s not too far from the town either. Only problem is, I’ve no money left to build on it. That’s why I want to sell the house in the village, so I can afford to.”
“No chance of you moving back here then.” Haymitch states.
“None,”, I reply. “Even if I hadn’t bought the land, I couldn’t. I can’t leave my mother. She had virtually lost both daughters and now she has one of them back. Just like you’re the only family Peeta has, I’m the only family she has.”
“Humph” grunts Haymitch as he stares into his drink, apparently deep in thought.
Since there’s a lull in the conversation it seems a good time to leave. I’ve stayed longer than I meant to, anyway.
“I’d better go now,” I say, as I stand up. “I’m tired and you must be too, with that stalemate and everything.”
“What?” Haymitch says, roused to attention. “Yeah, goodnight, Katniss. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
“What’s tomorrow evening?” I ask.
“Victors Dinner. Your turn. Shall we say, six?”
______________________________________________________________
“I thought you were exaggerating when you told how much the school has grown. It’s ready to burst at the seams. You’ll have to add more classrooms again soon,” I say to Max. We’re sitting on a wooden bench in a relatively quiet part of the school grounds under the dappled shade of a large maple. Max takes a sandwich from a brown paper bag and offers me half. I’ve caught Max at lunch recess, hoping to have a brief catch-up with him.
“Tell me about it,” he replies. “We’ve appealed to the government for extra funding, but we’ve yet to hear back.”
In exchange for half his sandwich, I offer Max a cheese bun. On my way out this morning, I almost tripped over a basket of them that had been left at my front door. With them was a note with a hand painted katniss flower in the corner. It read, “I’ve missed baking these for you, love Peeta.” I’ve eaten three already.
“ A fundraiser, maybe?” I suggest.
“Maybe. You wouldn’t be volunteering your services would you as ex-Mockingjay and former teacher? Your old job is still waiting if you want it, by the way. We had to shut down the subject as we couldn’t find anyone else to teach it. And now that you’re also a nurse we could get two for the price of one,” teases Max.
“Not a chance,” I tell him. “I’m not coming back. Not to live, anyway. My home is District 4 now. I am curious about something though,”
“What?” asks Max between bites.
“What happened after I left? Haymitch told me that people were worried about me and there was a bit of a fuss. Did you hear anything?”
Max snorts in amusement. “Err, yes. They only had a search party organised. If you wanted to ruin the start of the honeymoon, you couldn’t have planned it better if you tried. Moira knows Lace’s cousin and she said Peeta was beside himself. Lace was doing her best to be sympathetic but behind closed doors she was livid. She said you were doing it for attention. When I heard the story, I wanted to congratulate you immediately. But since I’d been banned from talking about any District 12 news, no such luck.”
“I feel awful.” I hide my face in my hands. “I didn’t want to ruin things for them. All I wanted was to get out of District 12. I thought I was doing them a favour, if anything.”
Max gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder. “It soon blew over. And you were entitled to do whatever you damn pleased. If you want to feel bad about something, what about me? I had to put up with your foul temper to get you teach at the school, and then without warning you’ve run off to District 4.”
I scowl at him but otherwise resist the urge to return the jibe. Max seems to get off on annoying me.
I ask, “What happened after that? I mean, were they happy at least? I know they divorced later, but was it good at the start?” For all my anger, Peeta’s happiness had been my priority. I hate to think he was miserable the whole time.
Max regards me quizzically. “I didn’t see them together very often, but when I did they were very affectionate with each other. Holding hands and little touches, stuff like that. It seemed overdone to me, but I suppose they looked happy enough. There were rumours later on that Lace was very friendly with the new tailor in town, but as far as I know they were only friends. It came as no surprise to anyone that they began dating soon after the divorce, though. That’s all I know,” he says, finishing with a shrug.
“Oh”, is all I say.
It seems to have been very much how it was at the Victor’s dinner then. When did it start to go wrong, I wonder? Did the routine of married life take the romance out of it? They were good friends, they enjoyed each other’s company and they liked many of the same things: ice-cream, jigsaw puzzles and swimming pools. Childish things, I realise. Maybe they just grew up.
“You’re still stuck on him, aren’t you?” Max’s voice cuts across my musings.
“What! No. No!” I say with increasing force. “That was over a long time ago.”
“So you were in love with him!” Max says triumphantly. “I knew it. When you took off how you did, and when you did, I knew there couldn’t be any other explanation. So now you’re hoping to get back with him?”
“No! Not after everything that’s happened.” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
“What did happen?” Max asks.
I hesitate for a moment but then I decide to plunge right in. I figure I can do with a confidante and Max’s unvarnished cynicism might just be what I need. I tell him about Peeta’s state of mind when he returned from the Capitol. His romance with Lace. The effect it had on me. The night of the pre-wedding party and how he chose Lace over me. Why I left the district. What I found when I came back. The primrose bushes and the cheese buns. Everything.
“Seems simple enough,” says Max. “He’s finished with Lace and wants you back. You’re not in a relationship and you want him back. Where’s the problem?”
“I didn’t say I wanted him back.” I say hotly. “But if I did, I don’t know if I can trust him again. He hurt me. He hurt me a lot. He chose Lace over me.”
“OK, but it seems that the biggest barrier for you is that he went ahead with the wedding. You were ready to forgive what happened with Lace before that. But maybe the wedding was a good thing.”
“How do you figure that?”
Max slows his speech as if he’s standing in front of a class. “Because it allowed the relationship with Lace to run its course and die a natural death. He’d never be able to say that he and Lace could have lived happily ever after, because they didn’t. And as for you, you made a life without him, a successful one, unless you count the fact that you haven’t really moved on.”
I shift uncomfortably as I take in Max’s words. It makes sense, but it still hurts that when it came down to a choice of her or me, he chose her. That it didn’t work out is neither here nor there.
Max seems to sense my resistance. He continues in a more persuasive voice. “Look, I’m your friend, not his. If he pines for you the rest of his life, that’s unfortunate but I’ve no emotional investment in it. It’s you I’m concerned with. You’re stuck and you can’t move on until you have some kind of closure. Use the time while you’re here to work out whether you should be with him, or put it to rest for once and for all and then tell him to fuck off. “
I laugh. The final piece of advice is so typical Max. Maybe telling Peeta to fuck off is the solution. But for the moment I feel lighter. I’ll just do what I came to do, and let other matters fall as they will.
I’m just about to thank him, when the first of the bells to signal the end of lunch recess sounds across the school yard. Max gathers the remnants of his lunch and stands up. And then, without warning, he snatches the bag with the remaining cheese buns.
“Payment for my services as advisor to the lovelorn.” He takes a bite out of one of them. “Mm maybe he’s worth keeping for his buns.”
______________________________________________________________
My chocolate cake looks more like a chocolate biscuit than a cake. I don’t know what I did wrong. I followed the recipe exactly. The lamb stew with dried plums simmering on the stove smells appetising, at least.
I’m in deep thought about what to do with that chocolate cake cum biscuit, when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Peeta, come to offer assistance to cook dinner. He picks up the packet of flour I bought at the supermarket and tells me I bought the wrong kind. Ten minutes later, he’s returned from his house with the correct flour and an armful of other ingredients. He says the lamb stew would be delicious with crusty bread to accompany it.
Since the lamb stew doesn’t need any attention at the moment, I’ve nothing to do but watch Peeta. I make us both a cup of tea and perch myself on a stool at the bench. Peeta makes quick work of the cake batter, and while it’s in the oven, he starts on the bread. I’m mesmerised by how the muscles of his broad shoulders and arms work together as he kneads the dough. I remember those same hands kneading the tension from my shoulders during the Quell, and those strong arms holding me as we slept together on the train. He’s very attractive, I think. Not in an obvious way like Finnick or Gale. Or Ben either, for that matter. But in an understated way, coming more from expression rather than feature.
“Do you want vanilla or chocolate frosting on the cake?”
“Huh?” I’ve been so engrossed in my thoughts I didn’t realise that he had finished kneading the dough and had put it aside to prove. I hope he didn’t notice me staring. I blush slightly in embarrassment.
“Um, chocolate,” I manage to stammer out.
With a smile, Peeta takes a bowl out of a cupboard and some utensils from a drawer.
“So what have you been up to today? Getting re-acquainted with the neighbourhood?” Peeta asks.
“Sort of. I went hunting again this morning. Or tried to. I didn’t bag anything but I got closer than I did yesterday. I visited Max at the school. Then I went to see Mr Sutherland and then to the supermarket to shop for tonight,” I reply. I rush past the reference to Mr Sutherland. I’m reluctant to talk about my reason for coming back to District 12, although Peeta will have to know sooner or later.
Peeta’s hands still. “Is that Bill Sutherland of Sutherland’s Real Estate?”
I take a breath. “Yes, I’ve contracted him to sell the house. He says there’s a lot of interest for property in the village and it shouldn’t take long to find a buyer.”
Peeta resumes his work. “I suppose not. It didn’t take long for the other houses to sell.”
I’m taken aback. My news doesn’t seem to have fazed Peeta all, but then he is an expert at dissembling. The other thought that occurs to me is that maybe Haymitch is wrong and Peeta isn’t so keen to have a romantic relationship with me. The primrose bushes and the cheese buns could mean nothing more than friendship. He was tending primrose bushes and baking cheese buns for me at the height of his infatuation with Lace. My mood, which had been buoyant, takes a downward turn. It’s irrational, but suddenly I’m angry with him. I slip off the stool and head towards the dining room.
“I’ll set the table,” I announce. Peeta looks up in mild surprise but if he’s inclined to comment, it’s too late. I’m too busy rattling cutlery to hear it. It’s a good thing, I rationalise. If Peeta was entertaining ideas of us being together it would be nothing but one huge complication. And as for Haymitch, he can keep his nose out of it. If it hadn’t been for his interference on the night of the pre-wedding party I could have kept my dignity at least.
By the time I go back into the kitchen, I feel much calmer. If Peeta had been puzzled by my abrupt mood change, he says nothing. We talk about our work and Peeta invites me over to see some of his paintings the next afternoon. I make a salad to complete the meal and right on six, Haymitch arrives.
It’s a pleasant evening. Haymitch is in good spirits. I think he’s happy for the three of us to be breaking bread again, like the old days. In some ways, the Lace thing was hardest on him. It’s not anything against Lace, but the fact that it caused division between Peeta and me. Peeta and I are Haymitch’s family and in recent years he’s been in the unfortunate position of being the neutral relative in a family who are no longer on speaking terms with each other. It occurs to me, that in his imperfect way, Haymitch has been looking out for us ever since our names were called at our first reaping.
We talk little about ourselves. Most of the conversation is about District 12 and all the new development. Haymitch hates it, but Peeta sees some positives in it. He likes the new library, for instance, and the cultural activities and focus on the arts that you don’t generally find in small towns.
“You can keep your arty farty stuff,” says Haymitch with a dismissive wave of the hand. “There’s more to quality of life than a library and some pathetic piece of sculpture that’s a waste of tax payer’s money. Just yesterday, I had to approve a permit for a new factory because I had no legal reason not to. It will create a hundred more jobs which is supposedly a good thing. But all I see is one hundred more people living here. It was your ex and her new husband, by the way,” he says accusingly to Peeta, as if he were personally responsible.
Peeta rubs his forehead as if he’s heard it all before. “Good for them. Lace always was ambitious. I’m glad she’s doing what makes her happy.”
“Well, I can’t object to doing what makes you happy,” Haymitch concedes, as he reaches for the wine bottle. He turns his attention to me. “And what makes you happy, sweetheart?”
“Fresh air, sunshine, purpose in life, people I love,” I say without hesitation.
Haymitch leans back in his chair to consider it. “I don’t think I can improve on that except maybe a bottle or two of fine whisky to go with it,” he says eventually.
Peeta says nothing. I sneak a glance at him but the warmth of his gaze makes me turn away. I’m so confused by him, and even more by my reaction to him.
Haymitch leaves just before nine. He doesn’t want to miss a minute of his favourite soap. He’s also left us with the dishes, a point not lost on Peeta. I feel embarrassed because I did the same to Peeta last night. In District 4, guests aren’t expected to do dishes and offers to help are declined. In District 12, guests traditionally muck in. I wonder what other customs I’ve absorbed while living in District 4 that are different. It certainly feels a lot more like home than District 12 nowadays.
Despite my pleas that I don’t need help, Peeta insists. I wash and Peeta dries. We work in companionable silence for a little while. I’m acutely aware of his physical presence. Our hands brush occasionally as I pass the dishes to him and he does seem to be standing closer than necessary. As I lean over the sink, a lock of hair falls forward but before I can reach out for it, Peeta does it for me, and tucks the offending strand gently behind my ear.
“Thanks,” I say, not daring to look at him. It wouldn’t take much for me to launch myself at him. I’m very annoyed with myself. Rediscovering my strong attraction to him wasn’t something I had anticipated when I planned this trip.
“I’ve really missed you, Katniss. Doing little things like this together. Remember when we used to do the dishes when I ate at your house sometimes. You washed, I dried, and Prim put them away.”
My head jerks upwards in surprise. “You remember that?”
“Yes. I think I have nearly all my memories back. Dr Aurelius says it’s hard to be sure, since it’s normal to forget things and memories can fade but I don’t feel that there’s blanks anymore,” he explains.
Peeta reaches out for another dish and I realise that I’ve washed the same cup for several seconds now. I quickly hand it to him. I’m stunned by this new information. If he has his memories back then that means . . .
“I remember everything about you,” he says, as if he had read my mind. Suddenly I’m transported back to our cave and I hardly dare breathe. This is ridiculous. I haven’t even been back two days and it’s like I never left. Still hanging on for any sign that Peeta remembers how much he loved me.
“Is that a good or bad thing?” I ask lightly, making an attempt at humour. I hope he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in my voice.
“All good,” he answers.
With the dishes finished, it’s time for Peeta to leave. But before he does he reminds me that we have a date the next afternoon. It’s not until I’m almost asleep that the significance of Peeta using the word “date” to describe our next meeting hits me. I’m being courted. I think.
______________________________________________________________
I’m woken by the sun shining brightly through my window. It’s a crisp, clear morning with the promise of a fine day. I’m strongly tempted to ditch my plans to start packing and go hunting instead. However, Mr Sutherland is bringing in potential buyers this afternoon to see the house and if the house sells quickly, I need to get this started sooner rather than later.
Over breakfast, I plan a course of action. I decide to empty room by room, starting with the least used. I doubt I’ll be taking much back with me to District 4. When we moved into this house from the Seam we had little in the way of personal possessions. What we accumulated since means little to me, and besides, if I haven’t used it in the last four years, I certainly don’t need it now. The furniture is the biggest concern. Mr Sutherland told me I could sell the house furnished, but it doesn’t add a lot to the value of the house since most people prefer to furnish their home themselves. It will be a big expense to have it shipped to District 4 and I don’t really like it anyway. Too “Capitol” for my tastes. I suppose I could sell it before I go. That’s a lot of trouble though. What will I do? Have a garage sale? I’m sure the neighbours would love that. Ha! I know. I’ll donate it all to the school plus all the other stuff I don’t want. And then it’s Max’s problem. It even might pay for a classroom or two and should compensate Max nicely for putting up with my “foul temper.”
The first thing I do is order two packing crates. If it doesn’t fit into these two crates, then it’s not coming with me. Cinna’s clothes in the basement will take up nearly one of them. I’m determined not to leave them behind. Cinna meant for me to wear them, and wear them I shall. They’ll make good padding for the china tea set my mother asked me to bring back too. It’s the only thing she asked for other than something of Prim’s; a locket that she had loved that was left behind when they were forced to flee from Capitol bombs. A stab of pain runs through me at the thought of Prim. All her things will have to be gone through and disposed of. It’s not something I have to do today but it can’t be put it off forever.
By lunchtime I’ve cleared out my mother’s room. She doesn’t want any of her old clothes but there’s a good winter coat I think she’ll still find useful so I keep that. Otherwise, it’s just some photographs and a few pieces of jewellery to go in the crates. The rest of it I put into big bags to go to a charity. District 12 might be relatively affluent now, but the war has exacerbated poverty in other parts of Panem.
Mr Sutherland phones me to say he’s on his way, so now’s a good time to visit Peeta for our “date.” I’m unsure how I feel about a “date”. I’m as attracted to him as much I’ve ever been. But I don’t want to rush headlong into anything either. We may be different people now, but that doesn’t mean the past is erased. I don’t forgive easily, and there’s some way to go before I can do that.
Peeta has converted his main bedroom into a studio. It’s a good choice since it’s the largest room on the upper floor and has an abundance of natural light. The perimeter is stacked with canvases of various sizes and they appear to be sorted by category. On one side is the commissioned work – portraits mostly. Peeta shows me the photographs he works from. It’s remarkable how he’s able to pull some aspect of the subject’s personality from the photograph and magnify it on canvas. I can see why his work is in demand. There’s also the work he’s least fond of. That’s when the client wants an abstract work to match paint and fabric swatches. Peeta says a monkey could do it but it’s relatively easy money.
On another side of the room are landscapes. Sunset seems to be a favourite theme. The colours are gorgeous and the scenes so evocative I just want to jump right into them. I linger at one that appears to be painted from the meadow as I can see it in the foreground. The woods are at the centre and there’s a tiny figure in the background with a bow over their shoulder.
“Is that – “I begin.
“Yes, it’s you. I can’t seem to draw a forest landscape without putting you in there somewhere. In fact, it’s become something of a trademark of mine.”
I can’t think of anything to say so I simply nod in acknowledgement. I move on to the next section of paintings. These are much darker, nightmarish, in fact. They remind me of the paintings Peeta produced after the first Games. I recognise the poisonous fog from the Quell and the wolf mutt with emerald eyes – Glimmer’s eyes. There’s also depictions of arms strapped to gurneys, a syringe held up against a bright light, and an especially horrific one of a redhaired man with his mouth wide open in pain and terror. He has no tongue. It’s obviously Darius.
“Oh, Peeta,” I whisper. “You remember all this?”
“Yes. I wish I didn’t. But it was all part of finding myself again. There’s no separating the good memories from the bad, unfortunately. They are all part of what makes you the person you are. I tried to run from it for as long as I could, but you can’t keep running forever. The worst of it, is knowing that if I had faced it sooner it would have saved a lot of pain for everyone in the long run. These paintings are therapy for me. Dr Aurelius encouraged it when I was in the Capitol and I kept it up.”
“And the nightmares? Have they returned?” I ask.
“Yeah, they came with the memories. And I still have flashbacks, although less often than I did. What about you? Do nightmares still trouble you?”
“Yes. But, like you, not as often.” But they are just as vivid, I say to myself. I gave Ben a few bruises threshing around whilst in the midst of some hellish scene I couldn’t escape. He said he didn’t mind the interrupted sleep. “I’m a doctor, I’m used to it”, he’d say. But I felt bad about it just the same.
There’s a painting of the monkey mutts from the Quell that catches my eye. Peeta has focused on their long sharp incisors. They almost pop from the canvas with terrifying realism. A shiver of fear runs through me. I don’t know how Peeta can bear to paint them.
From behind me, Peeta clears his throat. “I’m really sorry I asked you to stay away at night when you had a nightmare. Now that I have them myself, I know how terrifying they are. I wasn’t a good friend. And it was me, wasn’t it, who started the practice of sharing a bed for comfort? “
I turn to look at him in astonishment. This admission is a huge surprise. It was one of the most hurtful incidents of the whole Lace saga. But I didn’t think Peeta had given any more thought to it.
He goes on. “I really missed you, but once it was said I couldn’t take it back. I wanted to be a good boyfriend to Lace, and I thought that’s what I needed to do. The irony is that a good boyfriend wouldn’t think anything bad about a friend occupying the guest room once in a while. Not if they saw it as innocent. I really don’t know why you stuck with me.”
I don’t answer straight away. There’s a lot to unpack. I wonder if one reason for the night time ban was that he wanted to fuck Lace without the danger of an ex-fiancée knocking on his door in the middle of the night. It’s a cynical conclusion, but that’s what my experiences have taught me. To be a cynic. Not even perfect Peeta escapes its judgement.
But the bigger issue is why did I stick with him? The answer is easy. Hope and guilt. Hope that he’d remember he loved me. Guilt for every harm that Peeta had suffered because of me. Honesty forces me to acknowledge the part I played in the delay in Peeta’s recovery. I let him get away with too much. Haymitch too. Every time I put Peeta’s needs ahead of my own. Every time I avoided an explanation because it involved memories from our past. Every time I didn’t come straight out with the truth. So no more softening or evading the truth from me.
“I stuck with you because I love you. Because I hoped that you would love me. I hate that I couldn’t go to you for comfort anymore. To know that Lace was welcome anytime she pleased, and sharing your bed, when I wasn’t even welcome in the guest room. And after everything we had been through together. We were supposed to protect each other. You really let me down.”
“But I appreciate the apology,” I add, more calmly.
I steal a glance at Peeta to see how he reacts. He’s glowing. Actually glowing. I don’t know why. I’ve just told him off. Annoyed, I turn my attention back to the paintings.
“Would you like one? A painting, I mean. It’s the least I can do. Any subject you like. A keepsake of District 12 perhaps,” asks Peeta eagerly. Why is he so happy?
“It’s not necessary. Really. You don’t owe me anything,” I reply
“I want to. Please. Anything you like.”
My eyes drift towards the landscapes. They really are beautiful. There is one special place in District 12 I would take home with me, if I could. A painting would be the next best thing. I can imagine it on the wall of my new home. Just adjacent to the window facing the ocean.
“We’ll have to walk a long way to get there,” I warn. “It’s at least two hours away.”
“That’s OK.”
“And there could be wild animals and other dangers.”
“I’m not worried. I have you to protect me.”
“Saturday, then?”
“Perfect. It’s a date.”
There’s that word again.
______________________________________________________________
The next day I clear out the hall, laundry and the study. I also bag a wild turkey. I’m so excited that I invite Peeta and Haymitch over for a turkey dinner. Peeta brings an apple pie for dessert and Haymitch brings the wine. We have a merry time reminiscing about the lighter moments of the Games such as Johanna’s inappropriate strip in the elevator. Peeta and Haymitch almost wet themselves laughing at me. I pretend to be OK with it, but a part of me is offended. I’ll get them back one day, I vow. But still, it’s so nice to be able to talk about the past with Peeta present and share again those memories that are common to us. I realise it was a mistake to allow Peeta to dictate which memories were allowed to be talked about. It was not only a disservice to him, but a disservice to us too. We did so many things wrong, Haymitch and I. But tonight, it feels like we’re a family again. It’s going to be hard when it’s time to leave.
Haymitch manages to slip away without helping with the dishes again. I suspect he’s trying to do some matchmaking as it leaves Peeta and me alone together. I feel as if I’m treading dangerous waters. It would be so easy to love Peeta again. And I’m afraid. When his hand accidently brushes against my breast, my body tingles in response. I jump back a little, and when I turn to him to accept his apology, his eyes are molten. I quickly return to the dishes.
Mr Sutherland phones and asks that I call in to discuss the sale. He has two buyers currently in a bidding war and there’s also some preliminary papers to sign. After that’s done, I treat myself to a hot chocolate and a blueberry muffin at the café across the road. I’m at a table by the window, and I entertain myself by watching the world go by. How District 12 has changed! If I squint a little, there’s not much to distinguish it from the Capitol. Even the smart looking couple who approach the real estate agency wouldn’t be out of place. As they read the listings in the window I admire her stylish blue suit. But when I get to her mahogany coloured hair, the identity of this couple suddenly occurs to me. It’s Lace and her tailor husband.
I observe them curiously. Lace has lost some weight, and although she’ll always be on the chunky side, she looks good. Her husband is a bit older than her, and from what I can see of his face, he seems pleasant enough. What strikes me most is their physical interaction and how they differ from Lace with Peeta. They don’t touch, but you can see the rapport between them – in their posture, in their facial expressions. This is an adult relationship. It’s not the pawing of lovesick teenagers. They evidently see something they like, because they enter the shop. I sigh in relief that I hadn’t timed my visit to Mr Sutherland fifteen minutes earlier.
“Katniss!” An excited voice screams my name.
It’s Delly Cartwright. Her yellow curls bounce around her cheerful, smiling face. She asks if she can join me, but before I can answer, she’s already taken the seat opposite.
Delly greets me as if I’m a long-lost best friend. “It’s so good to see you again. I heard you were in the District. What luck to find you here. I haven’t seen you since the wedding and there’s so much to catch-up. So how have you been?”
District 12 might have changed but Delly hasn’t. Friendly and genuinely interested in people, she asks a million questions about my life in District 4. She wants to know about my work and how my mother is. What District 4 is like. My plans for the future. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about myself for so long. But eventually the topic is exhausted and then I hear what Delly’s been up to. I learn that her husband works at the medicine factory. He accepted the job while they were still living in District 6. Delly jumped at the opportunity to return to her home district. As a child care worker, she can find employment anywhere so it was an easy decision to leave dreary 6 for 12.
“But it’s not the same. It was silly of me to expect it when almost the whole of 12 was destroyed. All the buildings are new, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s the people, I think. Most of them are from other districts and they’ve come for opportunities and to make money. There’s nothing wrong with that I guess, but it gives the place a different character. Nothing of the old 12 remains. At Peeta’s wedding they didn’t even bother with the toasting.”
My ears prick at the mention of “toasting.” I was sure Peeta would have a toasting. When he announced his engagement to Lace he said there was going to be a toasting. Not a wedding, but a toasting. In District 12 no one feels really married until they’ve had the toasting.
“That’s strange,” I say. “Why wasn’t there a toasting? Peeta had talked about having one.”
“Something about the program being too full,” says Delly. “I know it was Peeta’s idea to dispense with it. Lace didn’t mind since it’s not a District 8 tradition and means nothing to her.”
“But they might have had it privately. Most often couples do,” I say. I want to make certain about this.
“No, I’m pretty sure. I asked Lace about it the next day. She said they were exhausted anyway, and just collapsed into bed. So, no toasting. I suppose it makes no difference in the scheme of things, but it’s sad to see the old ways go.”
Not sad. Not for me anyway. I’m foolishly happy. Peeta kept this for me. Maybe he wasn’t thinking it at the time, but the fact that he chose not to have a toasting with Lace means something. I still have the boy with the bread!
As much as I like Delly, listening to her prattle on is torture. When there’s a break in the conversation, I make my excuses. I’m so happy I give Delly a hug goodbye. Her blue eyes widen in shock. Katniss Everdeen isn’t known for being demonstrative. I’m sure she’ll put it down to another thing that’s changed about District 12.
_____________________________________________________________
It’s a beautiful day to be at the lake. Warm, with just the faintest of breezes, waterfowl skimming across the water, the scent of pine. I’ve grown to love sea breezes, salt air, and the sensation of sand beneath my feet but I don’t think it will ever be as special as this place. Peeta, who loves beauty in all its forms, is captivated. He immediately searches for a good position to set up his portable easel and collapsible stool, and gets to work.
While Peeta is occupied, I assemble a campfire ready to boil water for tea, find a soft grassy bank to lay out the rug and set out the containers of food for our picnic. With nothing left to do, I sit for a while and simply take in the surroundings. A family of ducks take to the water, a mockingjay perches in the tree above, frogs croak a familiar song. Peeta is still busy sketching and the water looks so inviting, I decide to have a swim before lunch. I remove my boots, socks, trousers, shirt and underwear and throw them in a messy pile.
“I’m going for a swim,” I announce.
Peeta makes a noise that passes for acknowledgment but doesn’t look up from his work.
I wade out carefully, the muddy bottom unfamiliar after becoming accustomed to a sandy one.
When the water is deep enough I dive and swim amongst the reeds and then further out where the water is cooler. I float on my back to gaze at the blue vault of sky above. I lazily swim to the furthest edge of the lake where it’s shaded by a canopy of trees. Last time I swam here, I fantasised about naked swims with Peeta. I wonder if we’ll do that today.
I swim back to the shore and make my way towards Peeta. I’m curious about how much progress he’s made. To my surprise, he stares at me. And then pretends not to stare. And then stares again. I suppose Peeta is used to swimming pools and swimsuits. Everyone swims naked in District 4, whether you’re nine months old or ninety. I see an excellent opportunity to get back at him for all the teasing about being “pure”. Who was it who laughed because I wouldn’t look at his naked body?
I pad over to his side to peer over his shoulder to see what he’s drawn.
“That’s wonder – “I start to say. Peeta stands suddenly and the stool falls to the ground with a clatter. And then his arms are tight around my back and his lips press down on mine. I’m taken by complete surprise but I find myself kissing him back anyway. A hand slides down to my rear and pulls me hard against him. My mind races. Do I really want this? Is this happening too fast? Or should I stop over-thinking and just go with it? His hand moves from my rear and snakes around to cup my breast and fondle the nipple. Oh, what the hell. I work my hands free to unbuckle his belt and then get to work on his shirt buttons. Peeta bends down and an arm comes around to the back of my knees. I’m lifted and carried to the picnic rug where I’m gently laid down. Clothes are frantically torn off and then his body is on top of mine, his skin against my skin. I’m sopping wet and I open my legs to welcome him in. Neither of us last long, the urgency too exquisite to delay. After, Peeta lies on his side and trails his fingers down to the sticky wetness between my thighs where he draws lazy circles to match lazy kisses. I come with a shudder and I feel him smile against my lips.
We lie in silence for a little while, my head resting on his chest, his arm around my shoulders. Our first time together, I think dreamily. It’s not how I imagined it many years ago. I expected we would be each other’s first. But there’s advantages to not being fumbling virgins. No awkwardness, no pain. Just pleasure.
I sigh in contentment, but then I suddenly remember our circumstances. I don’t know how he feels about me, not really. I don’t know how I feel about him. There’s six yawning years of history still unresolved. And I live in District 4, and he lives here.
I attempt to rise but the arm across my shoulder tightens and holds me down.
“Don’t run, Katniss. We have to talk about it. We’ve started something, although it never really stopped for me. I’m going to put it right out there. I love you. I always have, even when it seemed like I didn’t. I don’t expect an answer from you right now. I know we still have a lot to talk about. All I ask is that you think about it. OK?”
I nod against his chest. My emotions are such a confused tangle that I know it will take some time to sort them out. When he said he loved me, such happiness suffused my being that my immediate instinct was to say it right back. But the reticence that’s been part of my nature since I was at least eleven years old, tells me to take it slow. I think I owe it to both of us not to be making any declarations just yet.
I raise myself slightly and turn my body to plant my arms across his chest and look him in the eye. “Do you think we could do this over lunch?” I ask. “I’m starving.”
Peeta laughs. We put some clothes on. With Peeta’s fair skin, I don’t want him getting sunburned on me.
We have a feast of chicken, salad, fruit, freshly baked bread rolls, cheese buns and tea to wash it all down.
As I munch on some grapes, I decide to broach a subject I’ve felt some guilt over.
“I’m sorry I spoiled your honeymoon. I’ve just recently learned that it was a couple of days before Haymitch found the letter I left for him. My plan was to leave without fuss. It seems I actually caused one,” I say.
Peeta shakes his head. “None of it was your fault and no one blames you for what happened.” He pauses as if to reconsider his words. “Well, maybe one person, but when your letter was discovered, she came around.”
I bet. Ecstatic to be rid of me, is my guess.
Peeta asks, “What happened when you got to 4? Haymitch has told me some things, but clearly, he left a lot out. Was Ben your only boyfriend?” Peeta sweeps away some crumbs on the picnic rug as he says this. It occurs to me that if I have jealousy over Lace, he has too over any relationships I may have had.
“Um, not exactly. I dated a few men. Nothing serious. It was all part of getting on with it, I suppose. I met Ben about a year after I moved to 4. He’s a doctor, originally from the Capitol. We met at the hospital when I was at the start of my nursing training. We had a mutual interest in PTSD patients. Almost half the country seems to have it, even those who didn’t fight in the war. We lived together as housemates at first. He needed a place to stay and I had a spare room. And then we drifted in to something more.” I smile thinking of Ben. He was balm to a wounded soul. Wherever he is, I hope he’s happy and has found someone wonderful.
“What happened? Why did you break up?” Peeta asks, almost sullenly. If Peeta was a scowler, he’d be scowling right now.
“Oh, his contract with the hospital in 4 ended and he wanted to go back to the Capitol. He asked me to go with him but I didn’t want to leave my mother. I loathe the Capitol anyway, as you know.”
Peeta nods, but he doesn’t look happy. Maybe he hoped I was celibate the past four years. But if he wants me to get over Lace, then he’s going to have to get over Ben. At least he wasn’t forced to watch.
“How soon did you realise that it wasn’t going to work out with Lace?” I ask.
“Looking back, I think it was about six months in. But it was about a year before I started to accept it. Little things started to accumulate. Shep and the geese. Lace and Haymitch not getting on. Lace disliking the walk into work. Lace hating the village. Lace’s insecurities about you, even though you were absent. My nightmares disturbing her sleep. She eventually moved into another bedroom because of them. We both tried our best, but in the end, our best wasn’t good enough.”
I think about what Max said about the relationship dying a natural death. What if he hadn’t married Lace? Would he be consumed with guilt that he dumped her days before the wedding? Would he believe that she was someone he could have been happy with if the circumstances had been different? And what about me? Would I be happy dealing with his guilt, or knowing that but for me, he would have been happy with Lace? And there’s also Lace to consider. Would she have closure? Would it always be an open question for her too? It’s interesting to contemplate the different course our lives can take with just one fateful decision.
“Just as well you didn’t have kids. I half expected you’d have them straight away,” I observe.
“That was the plan. When there’s going to be five of them, it’s best to make an early start.”
“Five! Why five?”
“Lace comes from a family of five. I guess we thought it was a good number. I laugh now to think of these crazy plans we made. We were like children playing house. I was in no fit state to be a parent. I don’t know whether I am now, to be honest. And as for Lace, she leaves her family and friends to set up a business in another district where she knows no one. It takes all her savings - her family’s savings too by the way - works hard to build up a clientele, and she’s going to be happy working from home while taking care of five kids?”
It does sound unrealistic put like this – especially when you consider that Lace and her tailor husband are ambitious enough to start their own factory. When I think of Peeta and Lace together, they were like teenagers. Peeta has the excuse of the hijacking. But what of Lace? For someone who had the maturity and wherewithal to leave her home and start her own business, her teenage hanging out with an aimless Peeta is at odds. And she risked being discovered dry humping with Peeta in a dark corner on an important night of her life, too. She must have been a randy teenage boy’s dream. I guess it was because she was in love. She dumbed down to be with Peeta. It’s the only thing I can think of.
“Is having children important to you?” I ask. It seems an appropriate question, since we’re discussing how many children he and Lace planned to have.
Peeta seems surprised. “I’d like them one day. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not sure I want them. What if something happens? The world is such a dangerous place. I’ve had so many people I love taken from me, I don’t think I could bear to lose a child.”
“So, it’s best not to have them? It’s always a risk loving someone. They could die. Or they don’t love you back. Avoidance isn’t the answer. It never is. I found that out the hard way.”
What he says makes sense, to a point. The difference is, if you meet someone and you come to love them, it’s pretty much out of your hands. But to have children, that’s a deliberate decision. There’s something else that annoys me about his answer too.
“But you risked loving Lace. Why was it different with me?” I try to keep the hurt and resentment out of my voice, but I don’t think I succeed.
Something that looks like remorse flickers across Peeta's face. “Lace was a sure thing. You weren’t, I guess.” He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve gone over this a dozen times with Dr Aurelius. He thinks there was a duality to my personality at the time. There was the old me, the real me, trying very hard to emerge, but it was suppressed by fears and false beliefs. And without my memories, I had no frame of reference to counteract it. But I couldn’t help falling in love with you, try as hard as I could to fight it. It was partially the reason I proposed to Lace. I needed to keep those feelings at bay. And to be honest, if I couldn’t have you, Lace was the next best thing, even though I wasn’t aware that I was thinking that at the time. I really hate myself for saying that. But it’s the truth.”
Primrose bushes and cheese buns. Hang-out days. Hands-on lessons in kneading dough. In a way, Peeta was courting me at the same time he was courting Lace, even though he wasn’t aware of it. Even the night-time ban was an acknowledge of attraction.
“Was there ever a time I had a chance? A chance I didn’t take, that could have made a difference?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
“Maybe. But there were probably chances I didn’t take too. That’s why I’m not letting the chance go by without telling you that I love you. That I want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you.”
I wonder if Peeta remembers that he said the same words to me just before the Quell. If we could only erase everything between Peeta’s capture and now. But we can’t. Second chances don’t come along very often. My instinct is to reach out and grab it. My natural caution says wait. It’s been four years apart, and I’ve back less than a week. If what Haymitch said is true, Peeta has been thinking about this for much longer than I have.
I glance over at Peeta. I’m so reminded of the boy he had been, that I’m tempted to throw all caution to the winds and accept him on the spot. But I can’t, not yet. Sighing, I turn my attention to the lake. It’s such a bright beautiful day, in such a beautiful place. Too beautiful to be spoiled by dredging up a past we can’t change. I need to lighten the mood. If I can’t give a definite answer, I can at least give encouragement.
I crawl over to him and straddle his lap. I don’t know whether we can make this relationship work, but for the moment I’ll trust my instincts, and my instincts are telling me right now to make love to Peeta Mellark. I comb my fingers through his thick blond hair and cover his neck, his forehead, his eyes and cheeks in light kisses. When I eventually get to his mouth, his lips are waiting to capture mine in a long languorous kiss. He tastes like apples and mint tea, his face warm and slightly scratchy against my own. His hands reach up to cup my face to deepen the kiss, and then glide down my back to grasp my hips and then even lower to clasp the globes of my behind. One hand reaches underneath to lightly stroke the cleft between my thighs and I whimper in response. I press myself against his own arousal, and with a groan, his arms go around my waist and I’m tipped onto my back. Fingers are hooked into the sides of my sodden underwear and . . . Suddenly, Peeta halts.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t think about birth control. I’m sorry, Katniss.”
“It’s taken care of.” I had a slow release contraceptive implant inserted that lasts five years if it’s left in place. I go back to kissing him.
This time the love making is slow and controlled. He moves with increasing pace, his excitement building ever closer. I bring my knees up to clasp him tightly around the waist, so that my centre is pressed against his . . . Suddenly, Peeta halts.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think a bird just pooped on me.”
“Let me see.”
Sure enough, there is a big blob of bird shit on Peeta’s left buttock. I reach for a napkin to wipe it off.
And then we laugh until our sides ache. Somehow, it’s just what we need. I collapse against Peeta’s side and his arm goes around my shoulders. I gaze up at the trees to watch the leaves flutter in the wind. The breeze has freshened and clouds scud across the sky. It’s then I notice that the sun is getting low. It’s time to leave if we want to arrive home while there’s still good light.
I put out the campfire, dispersing the embers and covering them with dirt. Then I gather our picnic things together. As Peeta packs away his art equipment, I remember our purpose for being here. He had done nothing since our impromptu love-making session.
“It’s fine,” says Peeta, when I ask him about it. “I have enough. I’ll do the rest when I get back to my studio. In fact, I was finishing up just as you decided to take that naked walk into the lake to deliberately turn me on.”
“I did not!” I splutter. “Everyone swims naked in 4. We hardly know what swimsuits are.”
Peeta pats my behind in passing. “I believe you. No one else would, though.”
As we head for home, it occurs to me that we didn’t get around to that naked swim. Another time perhaps.
______________________________________________________________
The house is sold. It went for a lot more than I expected so I’ll be able to start the build straight away when I return to 4. The new owners want to move in as soon as possible and have asked for a two-week settlement. I saw no reason to say no. Except one. Peeta. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay in 12, but I don’t want to leave him. He has a life here, an established business. And if the Peeta and Lace saga has taught me anything, a long-term relationship needs common goals and values to survive. I don’t know if we have that. I couldn’t bear to have Peeta back, and then lose him again somewhere down the track.
I’ve been half living with Peeta since we made love at the lake. He offered to make his home ours while the contents of my house were progressively packed away. It was an excuse, because I can easily do with minimal paraphernalia, but the luxury of sharing a bed with Peeta again was too good to pass up. From the warmth of his strong steady embrace as I sink into sleep to the comfort of his presence in the darkness. Perhaps it’s a mistake to grow accustomed to it again. The more I fall, the harder it will be, but I know deep down it’s already too late.
I distract myself with the last of the preparations. I’ve hired a furniture removal company to transport the furniture to a storage facility while Max organises a fundraising auction. The Matsons were thrilled when they heard the news. Max whinged about it though because he’s Max. But since it was accompanied by a hug, I don’t take the whingeing seriously.
I still have Prim’s room to do and I can’t put it off any longer. Peeta offered to help, but I need to do this alone. Prim’s room is at the rear of the house, where it overlooks the back garden. When we moved here from Seam, Prim excitedly dashed upstairs to choose her room. She could have had the master bedroom if she wanted it. I would have given Prim anything.
Prim chose the colour herself – a soft turquoise. It’s a very feminine room. Prim was at the age where she liked everything to be girly. She was the contrast to me, who had never been interested in such things. I identified with my father too much for that.
I sit on the edge of the bed and try to feel her presence. There’s a poster of Buttercup on one wall. Incredible as it might sound, Buttercup became something of a celebrity in the Capitol. They nicknamed him “Grumpy Cat” and his image appeared on everything from refrigerator magnets to lunch boxes. Prim had a following too. There were Prim dress-up dolls and Cinna had been approached to design junior fashion for girls under the “Prim” label.
That wasn’t Prim though. She wasn’t a fashion icon, but a doctor in the making. She would have been wonderful at it. She’d be finishing her training by now if she had lived. And perhaps have a boyfriend. It occurs to me that Ben would have been perfect for her. I would have liked him as a brother-in-law.
On another wall, is the painting of a primrose Peeta made for me after he returned to 12. I have mixed feelings about this painting, because of its associations. I recognise the love that Peeta put into it. It’s just that the kind of love I wanted from him was going to Lace. It was also given to me on the same day he put a ban on the night time visits. Perhaps it’s no surprise that after I hung this painting in Prim’s room, I promptly forgot about it. It represents something given and taken away at the same time.
I rise from the bed and start the process of packing her things. I start with her clothes, placing them in two piles. Some are Cinna designed. They’ll get a good price at the auction. The others will go to charity. On a dresser, is her jewellery box. It’s mostly costume jewellery but there’s a few more valuable pieces. At the bottom, I find the locket my mother wants. It’s an embossed silver oval on a silver chain. On the inside are two delicately painted miniatures of Buttercup on one side, and Lady on the other. It was obviously a gift from Peeta. I don’t know what occasion it was for. Maybe there wasn’t one.
I debate what I’ll do with the painting. Peeta painted it, after all. I decide to include it with the other things to be auctioned. I don’t want reminders of that period of Peeta’s and my relationship.
After everything is cleared, it’s just a room. Prim was never the sum of her possessions. Her memory lives in the hearts of those who loved her.
When I go downstairs, I find Peeta there, waiting. I walk into his outstretched arms and rest my head on his chest.
“Are you OK?” he asks, as he gently strokes my back.
“Yes,” I say. “Prim doesn’t live here anymore.”
______________________________________________________________
Last night we had a Victor’s dinner at Haymitch’s. It was about time he had a turn. He cooked coq au vin which was very good. He’s quite the cook. The only downside was worrying about the state of the kitchen if the rest of his house is anything to go by. During the dinner, I caught him looking from Peeta to me and back again as if he’s waiting for something. I know Peeta is. Time is running out for me to make a decision.
There’s only one room left to clear. My own. This shouldn’t take long as it will all be going into bags for charity. I open the closet doors wide and start pulling clothes off hangers. Numerous pairs of black and khaki pants, assorted cardigans, a puffer jacket, the odd dress, a red abomination that Effie gave me, the lavender gown that Lace made. All go into bags. And shoes, not many, lace-ups, a few with heels (never could walk in them), flat sandals, and hunting boots. I keep the boots. They’re good for beach walking when the weather turns cold.
And then the drawers. Most of this will go in the bin. Night attire, T-shirts and tank tops, socks, stockings and underwear. I pull out some bras. They’re actually too small for me now. Better nutrition and maturity has solved at least one body image problem of mine. Actually, the burns aren’t too bad either now. They faded with time and I had the worst of them buffed away – one of the perks of having a Capitol trained doctor for a boyfriend.
In the bathroom, various cosmetics and bottles of shampoo, a hair dryer I never used, and hair ties are all disposed of.
There, all done. My eyes sweep the room for anything I might have missed. And there is something - a buff coloured box on the top shelf of the closet. Right at the back. Grumbling, I trek downstairs for the stepladder. A few extra inches would come in handy sometimes.
With a bit of stretching, I manage to bring the box within reach. It’s not heavy and I get it to the floor without difficulty. Now that it’s in full view, I recognise what it is. It’s the box that was left for me when I was sent here after the trial. I removed my father’s hunting jacket and plant book and left the rest of the contents in the box. I don’t remember shoving it to the back of the closet, but I guess I must have.
I take off the lid. There’s my parent’s wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in the arena, and the locket Peeta gave me. I reach in and pull out the locket. I find the catch that opens it to reveal a photo of my mother and Prim on one side, and Gale on the other. Both Peeta and I had made Haymitch promise to save the other if there had to be a choice. Peeta had the locket made to convince me that I should be the one to live. He told me that I was his whole life and he’d never be happy again. Well, that didn’t turn out to be true. And I had told myself that I’d be damaged beyond repair. That wasn’t true either.
The fact is, he was happy with someone else, for a time, at least. And I’d survived, even thrived, without him. Maybe it’s time to let go of the romantic ideals of the past and see them for what they are – a combination of childhood myth-making and the teenage penchant for the over-dramatic. And who would really want to be responsible for someone’s happiness or well-being? You should be with someone because you want to be, not because you need to be.
You can’t bring back the past. Peeta is no longer the boy with the bread. I’m no longer the girl who could sing and make the birds stop to listen. We’re not the star-crossed lovers either anymore. We need a new reality if we are to grow together. Peeta told me he loves me. I love him. There’s no point in denying it. But it’s only a start.
I place the locket, spile and wedding photo in one of the crates. What’s left will either be collected by the charity or taken by the furniture removalists. I wander from room to room, saying goodbye to each in turn. Images flood in, unbidden. I see Gale laid out on the kitchen table, his back a criss-cross of bloody welts, Prim doing her homework at the dining table, my mother knitting by the hearth in the living room, Snow threatening me in the library, Peeta carrying me up the stairs to my bedroom. It’s strange to find some good memories of this house, when you consider what it took to get here. My last call is the front door. I snib the lock and pull the door behind me to hear it click shut. Onwards to the next chapter of my life.
When I get back to Peeta’s house, I find him in the kitchen getting dinner started. He’s chopping carrots and onions. He looks up from his work and greets me with a smile.
“Hi, did you get your packing finished? I finished your painting, if you want to take a look.”
“A bit later. I have something to ask you first. Come sit with me on the couch.”
I take Peeta by the hand and lead him to the couch in the living room. I twist to the side and tuck my feet beneath me to so that I face him.
Peeta looks at me expectantly. I only hope that he likes my proposal.
“I have some land in District 4, about 5 acres, overlooking the ocean. I intend to build a house on it. That’s why I came to 12 to sell the house in the village – to pay for it. There’s more than enough room for Haymitch to build a house close by.” I pause to re-think this. “Well, not too close. He could keep geese if he wants to. The sunrise over the ocean is glorious. We’re on the wrong side of – “
“Yes.”
I’m stopped in my tracks. I haven’t mentioned anything about him coming to 4 yet. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.’
Peeta pulls me onto his lap. “You’re asking me if I want to live with you in 4.”
Annoyed at being pre-empted, I open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong, but then remember that’s exactly what I’m asking.
I lean back to peer into his face. “You don’t want to think about it?’
“There’s nothing to think about.”
“What about your work?’ I ask.
“I can work anywhere. In fact, I’ve been thinking for some time of specialising in seascapes.”
This is too easy. There must be a hitch somewhere. “What about your house?”
“Sold already. The contract was signed yesterday.”.
I cross my arms. This is getting to be too much. “That’s awfully presumptuous. How did you know I was going to ask you to come to 4?”
“Let’s say I have a way of knowing these things before you do,” he says, with a smug smile.
I raise my brows and give him my best “oh, really?” look.
“That one time.” Peeta says, looking suitably chastened.
I decide to let it pass. He had been hijacked after all.
“But what if you were wrong?” I persist. “You would have sold your house for no reason.”
“I would have left here anyway. I hate what 12 has become almost as much as Haymitch. I’ve only stayed this long because I hoped you’d come back. But if you wanted to live here, I’d stay right here alongside you. I’d follow you into another Games, if I had to.”
My Peeta. Ever the romantic. It’s just as well one of us is practical.
“And you’ll never guess who bought it.” Peeta says with a hint of mischief.
I’m just about to say I have no idea when the memory of a blue suit entering a real estate agency comes into my head.
“Lace and her tailor husband,” I announce.
“How did you know?” asks Peeta in surprise.
“Let’s say I have a way of knowing these things before you do.” I reply, trying not to smirk. “Does Lace’s husband have a name, by the way? I only know him as her tailor husband.”
“Arthur Bobbin. Bobbin is a big name in District 8, apparently. He’s from one of the lesser branches, though.”
So Lace’s married name is now Lace Bobbin. If I were her, I’d keep my own name.
Peeta starts to nuzzle my neck and his hand creeps inside my shirt. I slap his hand away. There’s still some serious issues to consider. “Before we do anything, there is something we need to talk about. I don’t want us to end up like you and Lace. Or even Ben and me. We need to want the same things if we’re to have a future together.
“We do. Remember what you told Haymitch about what makes you happy?”
I look at him in puzzlement.
“’Fresh air, sunshine, purpose in life, people you love.’ All the things I want,” he replies.
“But what about children? You want them, and I’m not sure.”
Peeta stops his nuzzling to look me full in the face. “We can worry about that later. I’m not ready to be a father yet, and you’re not a definite no. Life is full of risks, and I’m more than willing to take one with you. All I know is that I love you, and I want to spend my life with you, come what may.”
I think about that for a moment. It’s an important area of compatibility – whether to have children or not. But Peeta is the one who is taking a chance. It’s not up to me to decide for him.
“There is, however, one very important thing we haven’t discussed yet.” Peeta says, bringing me back to attention.
I wrack my brain. I can’t think of anything.
Peeta pretends to sigh in exasperation. “I can’t know if this is all real until we do.”
I stare at him, puzzled.
“You love me. Real or not real?”
I laugh. I remember this old game. Trust me to assume that Peeta will know what I feel and launch straight into practical concerns instead.
I take his face in my hands and give him the most thorough kiss he’s ever had in his life.
“Most definitely real.”
______________________________________________________________
They play on the beach. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and grey eyes struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten years for me to agree. But he wanted them so much. And I did too in the end, although it wasn’t without a great deal of anxiety. I still fear that loved ones can be taken from me, but if I’ve learned anything in life, is that sometimes you just have to take a chance.
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Miscellaneous rambling Game Thoughts that I am Thinking about Game
Today’s Think: Spice up the calendar stat raising gameplay a bit with ~festivals!~
LONG RAMBLE INCOMING
* Festivals that aren’t just markings on the calendar like in persona, but minigames like animal crossing and harvest moon! Also Oreshika but I only know one other person who plays that, lol. I really grew to like their tournements tho, even if its just a boring samey rpg battle repeated every damn year for centuries. It became oddly more useful in the postgame because everyone’s levels are so high and the amount of Devotion (job class selection points, basically) doesn’t increase as the enemies get buffed. So the twice yearly contests are the only reliable way to get a huge amount of devotion all at once, which is great if you’re grinding out new characters en masse and trying to get a rare inheritance trait! (srsly tho i have got TOTALLY sick of the ‘everyone lives and dies and then you play as their descendants’ thing by now, it just makes me feel extra guilty for grinding. I had to kill like 300 dads!)
...MAN I’M GOING OFFTOPIC LOL
Anyway what I mean is that there’s a way bigger incentive to look forward to festivals/contests if the reward from them is something super useful that you can’t get anywhere else!
Princess Maker 2 had a similar sort of thing, because money was really hard to make and the prize from a single tournement could fund like four months of combat classes!
So whatever these rewards are gonna be, they should be like that and be a big boost that can help power-level your charries. Maybe even a x2 multiplier on experience for a particular stat, until january next year? or maybe this is how training gyms level up, instead of having exp? your fame rises in the tourney and you’re able to buy better equipment! Oh, and maybe the non-combat festivals could give a reward of a big relationship boost with certain characters? Gotta impress all the potential dates with your pie-baking skills! (pie may also contain dates)
* Also there totally needs to be a beauty pageant or fashion show or something. I know in real life there’s barely any of those for men, but this is a fantasy world so we can just say this town’s mayor is Damn Cool! And also it goes without saying that we’re gonna indulge the fantasy of having an unbiased set of judges that aren’t racist or homophobic or pedophiliac or anorexia obsessed or.. well, real life has a LOT of problems that games don’t have to emulate, lol.
So yeah! This lil town in jrpgland has a big ol fancy fashion contest and it’s a fun event for everyone! Enjoy making mr grizzled warrior protagonist look cute as hell!
* Basically this but What If It Wasn’t A Joke
Seriously I hate seeing stuff like that on memes about being progressive, when it was clear within the context of the show that kids were meant to laugh at that male character wearing dresses. Man I was SO damn happy when Steven Universe subverted that trope and had an end of episode twist be Steven crossdressing and loving it and everyone is like ‘wow classic steven’ and cheering for him. Also they didn’t force the socially anxious girl to sing on stage! Generally a great episode for breaking tropes!
So yeah more like Basically This But Basically This
Man I forgot how much that ending makes me grin, holy shit! It probably doesn’t have the same factor out of context, but just it makes me so happy to have a flash forward and we see Sadie still singing the song, just offstage. So we get to know that even if this whole experience was ruined for her, she hasn’t given up on her dreams, and she’s way more confident with singing in front of other people even if she isn’t ready for singing with strangers. I love her and Steven’s friendship so much, seriously! its such a good big sister sort of thing, and this episode was great for showing steven stepping up to protect her but like.. not in any sort of cliche macho way. By winning back the crowd with a fab dress!
* So yeah anyway Where Was I Before I Got Offtopic Lol
It won’t be a crossdressing-only pageant or anything, but it’ll be a unisex fashion show and I’m not gonna include any form of homophobic nonsense from real world fashion industry. And I wanna give loads of options so the player can pick whatever they prefer, and I’m writing this character as the sort of dude who would love all of them! Dark antihero trenchcoats are cool but what about also PASTEL LOLITA TOP HATS
* Maybe could have gameplay similar to the gen 4 version of Pokemon Contests? With the multiple judges! In those games the judges were all identical and it was just ‘don’t pick the same judge twice’, here it could be more like the three judges have different tastes and you have to coordinate your style and performance to get as many points as you can. Do you gamble it all on super-impressing one judge, or make an unconventional combo outfit that can bank medium level points with everyone?
And like maybe the cooking contest could have the same sort of gameplay, cos that’s another festival where you could say the judges could have different tastes. Also maybe friend characters have a random chance of appearing as a judge! You wouldn’t get any bonus points tho, cos they’d get kicked off if they cheated on your behalf. But maybe you can get a relationship points boost if you appeal to them? So it could be like a temptation to risk losing the contest but unlock a new romance scene with your sweetheart. THE POWER OF PIE!
* Other various festivals I have really liked in various cute town time games:
* Stardew Valley’s easter egg hunt!
* Rune Factory’s weird snowball fight but with turnips instead!
* Parents giving you money on new years was also a thing in rune factory, and I’m pretty sure that’s based on a real thing in some country? Was it china? Your culture rules, dudes!
* Also its in a lot of games cos its celebrated in japan, but I wish we celebrated it here too! The two day valentines! Seriously I way prefer the idea of having one day where one half of the couple gives a gift and then a later day where the other person gives one back in return. And its less commercialized, they even still make homemade chocolates in that country! Damn i’d love to try doing that someday! (not necessarily for a valentines thing, just in general it seems fun)
Maybe could have a fun fantasy variant where people give something different instead of chocolates? or if the conditions for the two different days were different? like instead of the girl valentine and the boy valentine its.. I dunno... a day celebrating some famous social class busting couple so its meant to be for rich people hitting on commoners and vice versa? A bit of a halloween aspect where you’re allowed to do stuff that’s normally frowned upon, free of judgment. (It was like that in puritan times when people were all ‘burn the witch!’ and all)
Also I like that japanese valentines has ‘honmei and giri’- chocolates for actual crushes, but you can also give them to friends and family! More holidays need to be an excuse for friend gifts! (also those are really catchy names for such a thing)
* Speaking of which, maybe I could throw in some festivals from my home country? Mostly britain has similar holidays to america with a few missing, but there’s a few ones unique to the different regions which are pretty fun. I don’t know a lot about all of them but here’s some of the ones we have in my are, Wales!
* Guy Fawkes’s Day. Official day for hella fireworks! Tho people also do them at christmas and halloween, and this holiday is right in the middle so DEAR GOD I’ve been dealing with my noisy neighbours constantly exploding stuff for three months. Give it a break, guys!
The story behind this holiday is actually kinda interesting though, we set off fireworks to celebrate some villainous guy who tried to bomb a castle once and everyone tied him to a tree and set him on fire. There’s even a kids’s song about this weird morbid old thing! “remember remember the fifth of november, the gunpowder treason and plot, i see no reason the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot”
Also its my american friend’s birthday, which is funny cos apparantly my birthday is an american holiday too! O+O
* Eisteddfod, which is like.. literally a stat testing festival in real life?? Like yknow how you have sports festivals in school, well this is that but for like.. brain. Brain sprints.
In mythology the Welsh were basically the Bard class of britain, we have loads of folk heros who are like.. literally able to poetry and then your brain explodes. So poems, songs, and novels are valued a lot here, and this is the biggest day of the school schedule because of it! Everyone gets to dress in ye olden style fancy dress costumes and enter best poem/short story/painting/whatever contests, and it is SURPRISINGLY AWESOME!!!
like.. everything is done with MAXIMUM HAM. M A X I M U MMMM
There is no amount of hyperbole when I say that the school carves their own wooden throne and there’s a public crowning ceremony for the kids who win. This is a literal actual thing that happens once annually in every school forever. Its called the Chairing Of The Bard! And I won it once when I was 11 or so and it was both the best and worst thing ever, like holy shit i was SO terrified having to stand up in front of 300 people and put on an even more silly costume on silly costumes day...
Oh and another strange thing that is actually real! School houses! like in harry potter! Its generally for younger kids tho, its like 100% of all primary schools (grade schools) and then like 1/3rd of high schools? Also the names of the houses are up to the school to decide, but for some reason they almost always seem to be red, yellow, blue and green. In my primary school they were just named for cities in wales, and I always found it really annoying that I didn’t get in Caerdydd house when the school was literally IN Caerdydd!
* Also unrelated but I looked up my old high school on google and I’m surprised that so many of the same teachers are still working there seven years later! I’m so happy that some of them got promoted!
* And other miscellaneous festival ideas!!!
* You know what i fuckin love? That nonsense fantasy trope of having to fight thru a giant dungeon and get like the rare crystal feather of the fuckface bird or else you can’t marry the king’s daughter. Its even more weird and weirdly endearing when its just like.. AN EVERYONE. Eveyr marriage. Everywhere. How the fuck do these people actually survive if they have to do this five times a year??
So yeah, I think that’d be a really cool wedding festival to have as like.. a sign of this town being badass, lol
But also make it less of a law, cos its not as fun if people are being forced to die on mount terror, yknow? its just a tradition that developed cos of some great adventurer in ye olden times, and goofy bastards dare each other to attempt it as the equivelant of a batchelor’s party. You don’t have to, plenty of people just make faux feather ornaments to propose to their loved one. But it’s considered a powerful good luck blessing to pull off the legendary adventure! Like only one couple every decade manages to do it, and you get a big town festival to make your special day even better! And people won’t be mad if you fail, it’s still a fun bit of entertainment for the townsfolk and a good excuse for Secondary Tradition: We All Get Drunk Instead
So yeah, gameplay wise this would mean you have an option to do this festival or not. But it’s gonna be the hardest minigame of all, so don’t come unprepared! Alternatively you can either buy or make your own proposal ornament, and do things the less adventurey way.
* Probably different batchelor/ettes would like different things? like Blair is an adventurer herself so of course she’ll go nuts for the traditional feather hunt. And she’d really hate the expensive ornament, cos she’s a down to earth gal who works hard to scrape together enough income in the inn to look after her lil sister. She’d get pissed off at you wasting so much on her, like wtf if you’d bought me a nice sturdy set of furniture that’d be way more useful! (Tho she’s a bit of an outlier and generally most people will at least be flattered by the fancy stuff, even if its not their favourite.)
* Oh, and maybe you could actually do the feather festival together??
I actually didn’t think of that, I was just going 100% with the cliche of dude having to do some crazy quest to marry a girl. But it would be a way better test of your luck as a couple if you did it as a couple!
That could be SO cool, just the two of you climbing a badass mountain and beating up monsters all lovey dovey~! And it could make the minigame entirely unique on each route, cos each character would have different roles in battle. Most of them aren’t adventurers by trade like Blair, so you could be fighting alongside a mage or a support character.
Maybe one of them is actually a weakass that you need to protect? Tho I mean it would be bad to categorize one character as the least enjoyable version of the minigame. So maybe its like one character becomes that in one particular situation, and that’s the sign that you’re getting their Normal Ending instead of the Golden Ending? Someone who has some sort of doubts or a secret they’re keeping, which limits their ability here. Possibly Mortimer? Cos in his case it would be exceptionally hard not to reveal his secret in battle! And I dunno, maybe he tells the protagonist the secret before they get married, and the writing is just framed so that the player never knows but the protagonist does. Now go do his golden ending if you wanna learn more!
* I like morty a lot. He’s ended up the most developed even though he’s the most recent character I added, lol!
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Chapter 3
summary: She ended every letter with a heart; she was still debating if distance really made the heart grow fonder.
pairings: Harry Hook x Evie, Ben x Mal; slight Carlos x Jane, Carlos x Jay, Carlos x Chad
style: Multi-chapter — somewhat sequel to this; canon divergence
notes: I’m still quite wifi-less so it’s hard for me to reply at the moment, but I’m so grateful for all the love I’ve seen, thank you all so much <3 There will be more Harry and the Isle next chapter, there was just a few things I wanted to set up first. :
rated: T; will feature strong language, minor violence, and sexual themes
other locations: ao3 | ffnet
tumblr chapter listing: x
Mal had never been struck by someone before. She’d rather an actual slap in the face than the weird feeling that presented itself whenever Ben was around.
Maybe it was because he was the first genuine person she’d ever met and she didn’t know what to make of it.
And she hated it.
He smiled because he was actually happy, and his offers of aid were never presented so he could gain something from her. As a child, she had scoffed at the fairy tales and their descriptions of perfect princes, not thinking anyone could actually be so kind.
Meeting just one person like that was exhausting enough, especially since he seemed to linger around her and her fellow VKs. She made a game out of finding the flaws in the other hero children to make herself more comfortable around the smiling faces.
Audrey was easy; she was too busy projecting her own insecurities as a false ego to actually care about Ben, or really, anyone but herself.
Lonnie was still trying to find herself. She felt like an outsider, wearing pretty dresses while idolizing her mother and wanting to emulate her.
Chad was an idiot. He was irritatingly similar to Audrey, entirely too full of himself to properly function, but his underlying issue seemed to be not unlike a lot of their fellow students: he’d never had any trials or tribulations in his life, and they’ve only been told stories of the villains and their children, so much so that they became more evil figures and boogeymen than actual people, and the fact that they were now in Auradon gave them all a sense of anxiety.
Jane was the most insecure person Mal had ever met, and unlike everyone else, Jane couldn’t hide it to save her life. She felt incredibly vulnerable under her mother’s warm gaze, feeling a pressing weight on her shoulders because of her, and she was desperate to be anyone but herself.
But when her critical eyes landed on Ben…she couldn’t find anything. All she could see was someone who was too kind, too giving, too passionate about his country and his people, the same line of thinking that lead him to care about the forgotten children such as herself.
The worst part was that she couldn’t even bring herself to hate him for it.
- - -
After being left to their own devices, Evie was finally read into the plan of trying to steal Fairy Godmother’s magic wand, which would allow them to break the barrier and unleash chaos.
That first night they found out it wouldn’t be as easy as they hoped. With Jay’s wonderful and calculated attempt at just swiping the wand from its’ display, they realized they needed Fairy Godmother to take it out willingly, and Mal was spending most of her time coming up with a way to do so through Jane.
Evie truly hoped it would be soon.
She was distracted during class — Chemistry, one of the classes she had alone —taking to doodling in her notebook than pay attention. Regardless, she sat next to Doug, who still seemed to be entranced by her.
She hadn’t noticed she was writing her name as “Evie H.” in her notebook until Doug tapped his pencil on one of them.
“H? Isn’t your last name Gr-”
“Evie.” Their teacher looked over at her, “Perhaps this is just review for you, so tell me, what is the average atomic weight of silver?”
She grinned through gritted teeth. She could see Doug sending her an apologetic look from the corner of her eye.
“The average atomic weight…of silver…” As she spoke, one of her hands fished around her purse, looking for the smooth surface of the mirror. Once found, her fingers curled around it, encasing and hiding it in the palm of her hand.
When the teacher gave her an unimpressed look and motioned for her to come up to the board, she gave a grand smile.
Oh, he would learn to never underestimate a villain.
- - -
The four agreed to meet up after tourney practice, and Evie was the first to arrive.
Which she didn’t mind. Her little distraction during Chemistry had given her an idea, and she was eager to get started on it.
She sat at the picnic table, took out one of her notebooks, and opened to an empty page. She then went for her pencil case, fishing through numerous blue pens to find the sole red one she owned.
She paused before the pen hit the paper.
What could she even say? How would she even-
She pressed her lips together, willing the tears that were beginning to form to go away. She would worry about that later, but for now, she needed an outlet.
‘I don’t know when this will get to you and I don’t know how…’
Once she opened the well, the words poured from her with ease.
She didn’t realize how much she’d been writing until a backpack was thrown against the table top and she jumped up, noticing that she’d written over a page. When she turned to the new arrival, thoroughly expecting either Mal or Jay by the way the backpack was thrown, she was shocked to see the grinning face of one Chad Charming.
“Is everyone on the Isle as pretty as you?”
Guessing he had no intentions of leaving her alone, she placed her pen down and gave him her best terrifying smile. While it was considered sub-par on the Isle, it would be more than enough for Auradon.
“That depends,” The way she bared her teeth made definitely made him flinch, “how turned on are you by danger and malnourishment?”
Chad furrowed his brow, mouthing the word “malnourishment” as if willing it to make sense to him by just repeating it.
Evie’s brows raised. “It means lack of food, Charming.”
“Oh.” He smiled airily, as if he didn’t just need her to explain it. “Well, sure.”
If it wasn’t so undignified, Evie would’ve slapped her forehead.
“Anyway, you really nailed that Chemistry problem today. You’re gonna have all the nerds in love with you.”
Chad’s dazzling smile came easy to him, so much so that Evie wondered just how many girls he’d used it on.
“Your point?”
Undeterred, he sat down beside her, arm propped against the table. “Someone like you deserves a prince. Your mother is a queen, after all.”
“I already have one.” Chad paused, the charm he thought he possessed slowly slipping in his confusion.
“Um, uh…what?”
His lack of intelligence would’ve been endearing on anyone but him.
“Boyfriend, Chad. I already have a boyfriend. On the Isle.” She spoke slow and clear, as if speaking to a child, not really thinking about what she was saying.
What was the harm in it, anyway?
“Boyfriend, huh?” Chad popped up the collar of his letterman jacket, looking away from and trying to pretend that didn’t put a stop in whatever he’d been trying to pull. “Well!” And with that he gave a huff, grabbed his backpack, and left in a hurry.
Evie rolled her eyes and turned back to the paper in front of her. She was just about to pick the pen up when she heard rustling from behind a nearby tree, and Doug appeared from behind it.
“I couldn’t help but overhear-”
“Are you stalking me?”
Doug paused. “Technically…yes.” He walked over to the table and sat down beside her. “I too have a…significant other on the Isle.”
Evie raised a brow. “You do?”
“No. That was a lie.”
Evie couldn’t help but let out a laugh. This was far from how she’d been expecting her afternoon to go.
“You told a lie? I’m impressed.” Doug still looked at her with wide puppy-dog eyes and it unnerved her.
“Was yours a lie? I can’t blame you, trying to get Charming off your back. He-”
“No, it wasn’t a lie.” She gestured to the letter she was writing. “I do have a boyfriend on the Isle. We’ve been dating for nearly four years, so I don’t plan on that ending anytime soon.”
“Oh!” Doug turned a bright shade of red, and Evie felt of twinge of something — guilt, perhaps? — at his embarrassment.
“We can be friends.” She didn’t know if that was better or worse, but Doug’s face lit up with a genuine smile.
“I’d like that.”
- - -
When the others finally arrived, Carlos was the last with, surprisingly, a dog snuggled happily into his arms.
“Is it stuffed?” Jay leaned closer, jumping slightly when the dog turned to him, tail thumping against Carlos’s arm.
“Guys, this is Dude.” Three pairs of brows raised when Dude licked Carlos’s cheek and the boy smiled.
“Not that I’m not glad you got over your fear of dogs or anything…but…just how did that happen?” Mal asked, for once distracted from the plan.
“Ben!” No one noticed Mal slightly recoil. “When he was helping me practice for tourney, Dude chased me, and Ben showed me just how cute and cuddly he was. Not scary, like Mom said.”
“Don’t tell your Mom. She might want to skin him for his fur. He might make a nice hat-”
“Jay!”
What was supposed to be their plotting session turned into a mess of laughter as Jay and Carlos began doing impressions of Cruella, her high-pitched voice and mimicking the squeaking sounds that would come from her stuffed dog Baby that she insisted was once real.
Evie sat on top of the picnic table, letter tucked away in her bag, laughing alongside them, ignoring just how comfortable the scene made her feel.
Even Mal was relaxed, recalling the subtle pranks they’d play on the woman — just enough to confuse her, but not enough to make her angry, as she would just take that out on Carlos — and how they’d laugh from the shadows.
They talked of the time they added an extra spot to one of Baby’s paws — not even touching on just how difficult it was to get a hold of the thing without Cruella knowing — and how she still hadn’t noticed yet.
They were able to talk of Cruella’s anger, Jafar’s penny-pinching ways, the Queen’s cruel vanity, and Maleficent’s…everything, knowing that they wouldn’t have to face their parents that night, knowing that they had a comfortable bed to sleep in and food to wake up to.
They’d never outright say it, but even after such a short time in Auradon, they felt safe.
Mal would never admit that she didn’t exactly hate not thinking about the Isle or the plan for a little while. She wanted to impress her mother, to prove her competence, but even she was beginning to be blown away by it all.
Sure, everyone was way too prissy, Goodness class was exhausting, and Ben was too…nice and she didn’t know how to handle it, but it was more enjoyable than she was expecting it to be.
And while she had a thing for misery, it was a breath of fresh air to see her friends like this.
#hevie#descendants fanfiction#harry hook x evie#harry hook#evie grimhilde#evie#my ds fics#my fics#fics#amle tag
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The Beekeeper’s Apprentice: Mary Russell Rundown
Oh boy oh boy I do love a good bump and dig into Holmes canon - especially if it has the potential to ruffle male fans! @sonnetscrewdriver knows me so well.
Plot/Setting/Narrative
So what’s the live or die, sink or swim, aspect of a non-Conan Doyle Sherlock-like tale?
Surly its not Sherlock’s characterization.
A child can get Sherlock right.
Is it the mystery? Is it the logical detective steps or flights of barely believable deductive ability key to the kingdom?
Nah.
While the ride is important and a big draw most every Sherlock versed individual typically learns not to put their eggs in that widely inconsistent basket.
How about the narrative expression explaining and driving the Sherlock-like things in the story?
You friggin’ bet ya! That’s the important stuff.
And Laurie King can certainly write a Sherlock-like narrative!
Holy hell.
King is as close to emulating a Doyle style narrative I’ve ever personally read but injects it with a wonderfully feminine perspective.
And not overtly flowery and romantic lyrical male-writing-feminine but feminine in the ways important to a Sherlock-like story; in the detail observations our Mary Russell is often to share.
The cases I feel could be a bit tighter other than the Kidnapping of Jessica which was surprisingly moving and really when I started to connect to Mary.
Mary Russell
The elephant in the room, “is Mary Russell a Mary Sue?”
I don’t really care but very brief digging has resulted in learning many people do.
Personally I think the best and most important thing to know about Mary Russell and by extension her creator is that on the official website there is a downloadable PDF titled “Information for the Writer of Mary Russell Fan Fiction” and is 17 pages of free organized information for fic writers and fans.
That’s simply beautiful.
Seems to me Laurie King knows what shes fuckin’ about and what she owes in debt.
And I don’t care if Mary Russell is viewed as some sad woman power fantasy by a wider Sherlock fanbase - but I won’t necessarily argue that she isn’t that either.
Mary Russell most certainly is a Mary Sue as viewed by some people and the argument is easily kindled.
And that’s not inherently bad is it? A little frustrating as its pretty obvious female characters get labeled Mary Sue disproportionately to male ones, to the point where there is no doubt in my mind that if Mary Russell were simply Russell hardly anyone would question or doubt his ability or companionship with Sherlock.
To get to the point:
I think Mary Russell is many things and like Sherlock as a character is adaptable to many reader views and interpretations - and ultimately its the controversy and wider discussion of her that makes Russell “valuable”.
I also think a big clue into the author’s intent with the character has to do with how her gender is discussed and made pronounced in text.
If Mary Russell never questioned her abilities or strength or worth as tied to her being a female in a very (very) male narrative space both within the one presenting her as well as the history of the character(s) she is tied to then the “Mary Sue” argument would have a lot more ground to claim, but as it is I am of the opinion that Mary Russell is meant to be a bit much and slightly antagonistic to what readers understand and unquestioningly accept regarding Sherlock and Sherlock canon.
I’m also pretty certain she is meant to be just a good time as well!
Lots of humor and love in this first book and it’s easy to like Mary, it really is, and while she initially comes off a bit pious as her story goes on she becomes more honest and open with her readers.
The first person narrative is uncharacteristically Sherlock and probably what drives a lot of “Mary Sue” arguments I’d imagine (“It reeks of self-insert!”) but works well enough and allows us insights into Mary we need.
Sherlock Holmes
This is a good Sherlock.
Very much a woman’s Sherlock.
And I mean that in the nicest way possible and not a comment on the impending romance.
‘Cause it’s going to happen and I might as well come to terms with it.
I’m actually really upset how okay I am with it to be completely honest.
I’m a romantic turd and I’m a sucker for relationships rooted in trust and belief in the other’s abilities so for me the impending romance (which is more “Mary Sue!” fodder and actually probably the biggest sore spot for anti-Russell folks I bet) is a combination of irritate and excitement.
Sherlock has always been an attractive figure for a lot of people - the age old “Smart is Sexy” at work.
I am one such people.
Very much a Spock vibe with Sherlock amirte???
The aloof disengaged approach to viewing relationships and emotional response paired with the logic and brains makes those characters someone you’d reallllly enjoy seeing crack (hence how their common and intense pairing with their closest ((of happen to be male)) confidants is so deeply satisfying).
The age gaps between Mary and Holmes is intense though innit?
YIKES.
A part of me wants to wax and wane on how irritating that is but then another part of me is practical and knows I can a.) ignore it b.) can’t help BUT ignore it because Holmes has the permanent visual image of stinkin’ Jeremy Brett in my traitor mind and I’m cool with watching him snog just about anyone!
So.
Hard to get up in arms about that really.
A third part of me also doesn’t give a shit.
Why am I so certain romance will bloom?
Because this is a woman’s Sherlock and I don’t mean that then obviously romance must present its self but what I mean is that this Sherlock isn’t alien and convinced that romantic feelings are unintelligent.
Kind of hard to explain but know it comes from years and years of reading various Sherlock Holmes fan fiction from various Sherlock Holmes properties and I know a “female holmes” when I see one.
Eh, I’m not explaining this well I’m loosing steam here but yeah.
*shrugs*
I’m not being negative!
Highlighted Passages
“As both I and the century approach the beginnings of our ninth decades, I have been forced to admit that age is not always a desirable state. The physical, of course, contributes its own flavour to life, but the most vexing problem I have found is that my past, intensely real to me, has begun to fade into the mists of history in the eyes of those around me.”
So, yes, I freely admit that my Holmes is not the Holmes of Watson. To continue with the analogy, my perspective, my brush technique, my use of colour and shade, are all entirely different from his. The subject is essentially the same; it is the eyes and the hands of the artist that change.
He was, as the writers say but people seldom actually are, openmouthed.
It was none other than the long-suffering Mrs. Hudson, whom I had long considered the most underrated figure in all of Dr. Watson’s stories. Yet another example of the man’s obtuseness, this inability to know a gem unless it be set in gaudy gold.
“Youth does not inspire confidence, in life or in stories, as I found to my annoyance when I set up residence in Baker Street.”
“I suppose you know I was prepared to hate him,” I said finally.
“Oh yes.”
“I can see why you kept him near you. He’s so…good, somehow. Naïve, yes, and he doesn’t seem terribly bright, but when I think of all the ugliness and evil and pain he’s known… It’s polished him, hasn’t it? Purified him.”
“Polished is a good image. Seeing myself reflected in Watson’s eyes was useful when contemplating a case that was giving me problems. He taught me a great deal about how humans function, what drives them. He keeps me humble, does Watson.”
He caught my dubious look.
“At any rate, as humble as I can be.”
Looking back, I think that the largest barrier to our association was Holmes himself, that inborn part of him that spoke the language of social customs, and particularly that portion of his makeup that saw women as some tribe of foreign and not-entirely-trustworthy exotics.
It was a mad time, and looked at objectively was probably the worst possible situation for me, but somehow the madness around me and the turmoil I carried within myself acted as counterweights, and I survived in the centre.
It was the same, but I was different, and I wondered for the first time if I was going to be able to carry it off, if I could join these two utterly disparate sides of my life.
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I hope—” She looked down. “If my fears are correct, I have married a traitor. If I am wrong, I am myself guilty of traitorous thoughts against my husband. There is no win here, only duty.”
Holmes touched her hand and she looked up at him. He smiled with extraordinary kindness into her eyes.
“Madam, there is no treachery in the truth. There may be pain, but to face honestly all possible conclusions formed by a set of facts is the noblest route possible for a human being.”
“Are you telling me the butler did it?”
“I’m afraid it does happen. Shall we search the woods for the débris?”
“It is, I can even say, a new and occasionally remarkable experience to work with a person who inspires, not by vacuum, but by actual contribution.”
Somehow me Da’ had raised a drunken mob in this tiny place, had summoned thick voices in song, and was driving them down the lane with the goad of his mad fiddle—a magnificent Welsh chorus, singing Christmas carols, in English, in an infinitesimal Welsh village, on a warm August night. Suddenly nothing seemed impossible, and as if the thought had loosed the house from stasis there was movement within.
“Is it always so grey and awful at the end of a case?” He didn’t answer me for a minute, then rose abruptly and stood looking down the road towards the house with the plane trees. When he looked around at me there was a painful smile on his lips.
“Not always. Just usually.”
“Hence the cocaine.”
“Hence, as you say, the cocaine.”
The amazed adoration in her eyes was too much. I pulled her to me so I did not have to look at it. Her hair smelt musky-sweet, like chamomile. I held her, and she began to cry, weeping oddly like a woman rather than a young child, while I rocked us both gently in silence. In a few minutes she drew a shuddering breath and stopped.
“Better?”
She nodded her head against my chest. I smoothed her hair.
“That’s what tears are for, you know, to wash away the fear and cool the hate.” As I suspected, that last word triggered a reaction. She drew back and looked at me, her eyes blazing.
“I do hate them. Mama says I don’t, but I do. I hate them. If I had a gun I’d kill them all.”
“Do you think you really would?”
She thought for a moment, and her shoulders slumped.
“Maybe not. But I’d want to.”
“Yes. They are hateful men, who did something horrid to you and hurt your parents. I’m glad you wouldn’t shoot them, because I shouldn’t want you to go to gaol, but you go ahead and hate them. No one should ever do what they did. They stole you and hit you and tied you up like a dog. I hate them too.” Her jaw dropped at so much raw emotion aired.
“Yes, I do, and you know what I hate them for most? I hate them for taking away your happiness. You don’t trust people now, do you? Not like you did a few weeks ago. A six-year-old girl oughtn’t to be frightened of people.”
“You were brave, you were intelligent, you were patient. And as you say, it isn’t really over yet, and you’re going to have to be brave and intelligent and patient for a while longer, and wait for the anger and the fear to settle down. They will.” (And the nightmares? my mind whispered.)
“Not right away, and they’ll never go away completely, but they’ll fade. Do you believe me?”
“Yes. But I’m still very angry.”
“Good. Be angry. It’s right to be angry when someone hurts you for no reason. But do you think you can try not to be too afraid?”
“To be angry and—happy?” The incongruity obviously appealed to her. She savoured it for a moment and jumped to her feet.
“I’m going to be angry and happy.”
No, I refuse to accept gallant stupidity in place of rational necessity.
“I dislike the idea of a murderer employing children,” said Holmes darkly.
“It is, I agree, bad for their morals, and interferes with their sleep.”
The more I thought about it, the curiouser it became. What kind of human being would need a refuge capable of sustaining life in a siege?
“Good God, Holmes, where have you been to pick up such a stench? Down on the docks, obviously, and from your feet I should venture to say you’d been in the sewers, but what is that horrid sweet smell?”
“Opium, my dear protected child.”
“The admission then caused me some shame. But, that was half a lifetime ago, and since then I have learnt, slowly, and painfully, that time and distance can prove a powerful weapon.”
The thought of telling someone, and having to see their face afterward, had always clamped my mouth down on the words, but now, to my exquisite horror and relief, I heard the words trickle from my mouth.
“I was merely going to say that I hope you realise that guilt is a poor foundation for a life, without other motivations beside it.”
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For our girl Yodo please!: ☾★ ☆ ☠ ■ ♡ - (fluffy stuff)♥ ☮♦ ☯ ▼ ∇ - old age/aging headcanon (like when she's 16-20?) ♒ ☼ ൠ ◉ - Extended Sand Fam headcanon?
pffttt just give me the whole thing why don’t you i kid i kid i love thinking about this girl
☾ - sleep headcanon
she’s a really light sleeper, the tiniest sound or shift can wake her up and it always takes her a long while to get back to sleep (she compensates by napping a lot throughout the day)
★ - sad headcanon
when she was still living on the streets, she once made friends with an older kid who taught her some tips and tricks for surviving, she considered him to be like her older brother, until he fucked her over when running away from the authorities one day by getting her caught to save himself (she struggled with accepting shinki and araya as her bros for a while because of it, but she eventually decided that she was just going to be a better sib than he ever was)
☆ - happy headcanon
sometimes when she’s having a tough day, her and gaara will stay up late together to stargaze, they’ll show each other all the made-up constellations they both created in their childhoods and talk about the stories behind them until yodo falls asleep and gaara (really carefully) picks her up and puts her to bed
☠ - angry/violent headcanon
yodo’s fighting style is very brutal, she like to use chakra strings, but instead of controlling puppets or binding people, she uses them to literally pick people up and slam them into walls and floors, though she can be a good tactician when she tries, shes much more fond of just ending fights fast and hard before her enemy can gather their bearings
■ - Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon
she’s a chronic hoarder and her room is pretty much always a mess, even when she’s been forced to clean it and it looks empty her things have usually been stashed in random hidden places like under the bed, inside her duvet covers and behind her wardrobes
♡ - romantic headcanon
yodo is a distant relative of the common limpet and will regularly just cling onto her gf as they’re walking around; making her give her a piggyback, sitting on her shoulders, clinging onto her legs when she wants to be a brat and climbing up her front to give her a kiss (chouchou is too taLL)
♥ - family headcanon
she’s always thought that her auntie tema is just the Coolest and she tries really hard to emulate her because she’s everything she wants to be when she grows up (though she quickly drops learning wind jutsu when she has little aptitude for it)
☮ - friendship headcanon
yodo doesn’t actually have a ton of friends, she’s not shy or anything, she’s just quite happy with her bros, a few academy buds and her group of friends in konoha and doesn’t feel the need to make any more
♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon
despite her punk fashion sense (though she does really like punk rock) she’s got a really broad taste in music, she likes rock, pop, jazz, classical, edm.. p much everything tbh. except country.
☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon
her favourite game genres are fighting, horror, brawlers and walking simulators (i like exploring alright?)
her least fave are strategy (they’re so bOrING) rpgs, (uughhhghuhghhh why’s there so much text just let me punch something already) and point and click (wHAT THE FUCK KINDA SOLUTION IS THAT HUH?!???)
▼ - childhood headcanon
she was very late learning to talk, she had a few carers in her early years who taught her bits and pieces but she didn’t actually start conversing till she was like 3-4 (most of her first words were swears)
∇ - old age/aging headcanon
as she reaches her 20s she has a brief panic about her life’s direction and starts fretting about having a Big Ambition, she tries out a lot of new things during this time and announces a new career goal every week, until she finally settles down when she realises that she was much happier when she was just enjoying her life and not thinking too hard about the Future (as long as she’s got her fam and her Best Girl she doesn’t really care about having a big important job or anything)
♒ - cooking/food headcanon
she eats a LOT, but is surprisingly a pretty healthy eater, always makes sure she gets her vitamins and proteins and only splurges on junk food on special occasions/when she needs a break day
☼ - appearance headcanon
yodo cares about her looks wAY more than she’d ever let anyone outside her fam and friends know and she has three (3) wardrobes full of clothes (gaa doesn’t get why she needs so many, but it makes her happy so he doesn’t mind)
ൠ - random headcanon
she’s a total animal lover and thinks that All Animals Are Good Animals, cats, dogs, birds, hyenas, scorpions, doesn’t matter she’ll love them all
◉ - Any other question of your choosing
she loves her grandpa baki and aunt matsuri just as much as gaa kank and tem, baki is always great when she just feels like she needs a hug and a nice cup of tea to cool down and matsuri is ALWAYS her first stop when she needs general life help (cause as much as she loves her papa and uncle kank they’re the farthest thing from normal and their advice is always terrible unless it’s about the most efficient way to disembowel someone)
#ictoan answers#naruto#yodo#team shinki#sand fam is best fam#MY GIRL#i love her so much om g#thank you for letting me ramble on about her so much#you are a v good bud#spellfire01#long post
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Review Fix chats with “Island” creator Nicolas Brondino, who lets us know what this survival game headed to Kickstarter is all about.
About Island:
London: 18th century.
In another life, you were a sailor, but a set of bad decisions and an unforgiving storm has thrown you and the remains of your embarkation on the beaches of some forgotten archipelago in the Pacific.
Lost and alone, far away from home and civilization, you will have to show resolve and cleverness to adapt to the extreme situation that awaits you.
Island is a roleplay and strategy game inspired from two classical books, Robinson Crusoe and Mysterious Island, and offers you the closest possible exploration of the original scenario: the long-term harsh experience of a lone individual surviving on a desert island.
Review Fix: How was this game born?
Nicolas Brondino: When I was running games as a GM, I started offering one evening scenarios based on the « surviving on a desert island» theme, as an experiment. While extremely classic in literature, the « Robinson Crusoe » fantasy applied to D&D and RPG elements resulted in producing a number of surprisingly exciting moments. Imagine rolling for the content of an abandoned crate on a beach or to avoid the infection on your broken leg. Yummy. Anyway, I kept the idea in the back of my mind, waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn it into digital game form.
Review Fix: What has development been like so far?
Brondino: The true difficulty in making the perfect iteration of Island doesn’t reside as much in technology as it is in re-transcribing the desired experience. It’s absolutely necessary that players should be able to re-transcribe naturally the “what would I do in this situation ?” in the game, and that the game seems to follow naturally.
Aside from the development itself, there is a huge process of back and forth review, and advice with gamers from all side of the world, as well a survivalist enthusiast.
Review Fix: What makes this game special?
Brondino: To me, approaching the concept simply by filling a hunger meter or collecting branches after branches to build a shelter would get boring rather quickly.
Real survival situations are about cleverness and mental fortitude. The mind always breaks first. Island isn’t just about hunger, thirst, or staying warm. Pain, terror, and despair, can quickly degrade your mental condition. Conditions can stack quickly. You are often hurt, diminished, and desperate. You’ll often be confronted to critical situations, and the game is about how you will face those.
Review Fix: What games influenced this one the most?
Brondino: In the first Fallout, there’s this moment where you leave the vault for the first time. You don’t know what’s outside, but you know that you and your companions’ survival depends on you finding that damn replacement part. Soon after, you’ll start crossing the wasteland, where you’ll feel the crushing weight of nothingness. Nothing seemingly survived, and you are at that moment unsure it saving the remains of life is worth it.
I loved this feeling, and found an almost similar emotion in FF6, right after the world is destroyed. Celes tries her best to save her only companion, lost on an arid island with no proof any life survived except herself. After his death, the crushing realization of being the last human alive in a dead world precipitates her into an intense feeling of sadness and loneliness.
Review Fix: How important is the music in this game?
Brondino: To me, the most memorable soundtracks make the most memorable games. My gaming years started in the 8/16 bit era, and the music was the cornerstone for creating this wonderful feeling of adventure.
We are currently testing different styles, and aren’t set on the subject. One of the possible choices is a musician that makes Snes sounding tunes. I have a thing for this style, and would like for Island something atmospheric and gloomy, close to what we can hear in the deeper caverns of Maridia in Super Metroid.
Review Fix: Any fun stories or wild moments during development?
Brondino: Because we wanted Island to emulate a set or rules from real survival situations, we had this great idea to test a typical survival scenario by ourselves, spending a few days building shelters, scavenging for food, etc.
We already were in contact with survivalists that were helping us for the “theoretical” side, but nothing is as instructive as the real deal.
Well, let’s get to the point, we froze to death and came home very hungry. Overall, let just say it was very informative.
Oh, remember when they say, “it tastes like chicken”? It doesn’t, they lied.
Review Fix: Do you think preserving older gameplay mechanics in new games is important?
Brondino: There is no such thing as an “old” gameplay mechanic. If it’s fun or immersive, gamers are going to ask for more. Take for example side platformers: The genre lost most of its popularity right after we 3D gaming dominated the market, because it didn’t fit with the technology. Now thanks to indie gaming, it’s back and loved as much as before, and it’s here to stay. I’d say “old” and “new” gameplay mechanics will cohabitate harmoniously, as long as each game bring something new and exciting to the gamer.
Review Fix: What’s your favorite memory as a gamer?
Brondino: I only had a few games for my GameBoy. Amongst them were Megaman 1 and Gargoyle’s quest. I was 10 or 11 and sucked so bad at these games. In both games, I kept getting pulverized and to increase difficulty my playing time was very limited by the few batteries I was able to put my hand on. The rage, despair and retry cycle lasted at least a year before I was able to beat them both. That feeling of triumph then is just indescribable.
Having Capcom as my gaming ‘tutor’ at that time has been the best way ever for becoming an addicted gamer.
Squaresoft took the rest of the job, but that’s another story.
Review Fix: Who will enjoy this game the most?
Brondino: To me, a good game can be defined by two elements, it’s atmosphere, and how much excitement you can get from the challenge it provides.
We want Island to offer you an immersive experience, allowing the kind of gamers that like to ‘play a story in their mind’ to do so.
“I broke my leg, and a storm is coming, what am I going to do? The last shelter is at least half a day’s walk from here, I’ll never make it.”
Island is also, of course, the perfect game for the kind of gamer that likes a punishing challenge. We want you to be put under the perfect dosage of pressure, sharing the character’s fears, making mistakes, and learning from them. This is your trial: only those of you with the good amount of adaptivity and cleverness will survive and escape the island.
Review Fix: How do you want this game to be remembered?
Brondino: We would like gamers to remember Island as a punishing & realistic yet exciting castaway experience in RPG form.
A multiplayer mode has been requested recently, and we’d really love to bring gamers together and build an online community addicted to feverish survival gaming sessions. If we go in that direction, we would like to go for both a 2~8 collaborative mode, as well as a “savage” mode.
This would be very exciting for us to watch bring a community together, and we’d really love them to remember it as a unique & thrilling experience.
Review Fix: What’s next?
Brondino: Well, Island is at the beginning of its adventure, so it’s a little too far to speculate on another game. While Island is meant as a solo gaming experience, as quoted previously we’ve got many requests for a multiplayer mode for Island. A lot of these requests were for a cooperative mode, where a group of castaway could play together in a structure similar to say, a tribe, each bringing a specialized set of survival skills to support the group’s survival.
It would be very exciting for us to watch survival tournaments on Twitch. Depending on the success of the solo mode, we’d really love to go in that direction.
Review Fix: Anything else you’d like to add?
Brondino: Right now, the game’s campaign is about to be launched on Kickstarter. It’s the occasion to support us by buying the game at a discounted price or have the ability to put your personal creative touch to the game with the upper rewards.
Some vital decisions will be taken during the Kickstarter, like including the previously quoted multiplayer mode, and some optional target machines like the PS4.
I know many can’t help us and times are hard for everyone. If you do love the game’s concept, you can help us by talking about it to your closest friends, or simply by leaving us some support note on twitter. Every piece of help counts.
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Review Fix Exclusive: Inside ‘Island’ Review Fix chats with “Island” creator Nicolas Brondino, who lets us know what this survival game headed to Kickstarter is all about.
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Be like water
Don’t make a plan of fighting; that is a very good way to lose your teeth. If you try to remember you will lose. Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless, like water.
Be adaptable, and don't be dogmatic about sticking to some set of ways of doing things. Adapt and use whatever is best, is the only principle. Water is supremely adaptable: it changes form depending on whatever it is in; it doesn't hold a solid form. It also can flow, or it can splash and crash; it can feel hard, or it can feel soft. These reflect different aspects of martial arts: e.g., jiujitsu is considered "the gentle art" because it doesn't have striking and uses grappling techniques and leverage, while the "hard arts" are striking arts, like Muay Thai, boxing, etc. Water represents all of these styles, and it uses whichever one best accomplishes its job.
What does water do when faced with a wall? It finds a way through it. Water will crash, erode, or seep into crevices until it can find its way again. For example, the famous Grand Canyon in Arizona was carved from a great river that once flowed through it. Water is one of the most powerful elements on earth, capable of moving boulders, shaping coastlines, and carving massive caves.
Sometimes, your problems become a huge mountain that blocks your path. It seems too tall, too big, and too powerful to overcome. So what do you do? Instead of trying to climb it, why not go through it? Often, the challenges you face have multiple solutions – but you can’t see it because you keep looking above. Answers can lurk in the most unexpected yet obvious of places. If you’re too busy viewing just one angle, you won’t be able to get through it.
Once when Lee was under the instruction of his teacher, Yip Man, he became frustrated because he couldn’t master what Yip wanted him to learn. Thus, Yip gave him a week to meditate and reflect upon his situation. Lee surprisingly found the answer to his dilemma not from something supernatural, but rather, when he went sailing alone. It was when he looked at the water that he realized what he has to do in order to be great.
Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.” – Bruce Lee
Being like water is a fairly common goal within the world of martial arts, regardless of style. Students of everything from gong fu to karate to muay thai have sought to improve themselves by emulating its fluidity, force and formlessness. Not only martial artists can learn lessons from it though. So what does it mean to be like water, and how can doing so help improve our lives?
Formlessness
Another quote by Bruce Lee that’s often tossed around is this one:
“Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water my friend.” – Bruce Lee
Technically that was him reciting lines he wrote for his role on the TV show Longstreet, but I think it still reflects both his thoughts on the matter and an essential property of water that can seriously help people in their day to day lives.
Water, as he says, is shapeless. It doesn’t fight when it’s put into a new container, instead it adapts and changes to perfectly fit its new home. If an object is dropped into the water it doesn’t fight back it just moves out of the way and swallows it up. This formlessness and adaptability is a quality that everyone should strive to achieve.
So how are some ways we can practice this attitude? Think of all the times you’ve been forced into a new situation. Maybe it’s something benign like going to an unfamiliar coffee shop or maybe it’s something more serious like losing your job. What have your reactions been like?
For most people change, no matter how small, is at the very least uncomfortable if not completely terrifying. The natural reaction when people are forced into a new situation is to flee or to fight to get back to the way things were. Instead, try to be more like water. Let go of all that energy you’re wasting trying to cling to the old way things were and let yourself reshape to fit your new surroundings.
The key to achieving water-like adaptation to new situations is understanding the concept of formlessness. The reason water doesn’t fight when it’s placed into a new environment is because water doesn’t have it’s own form. There is no one ‘shape’ of water, it assumes the shape of whatever its container is.
The best way to achieve a similar lack of form is to work on letting go of your self-created identity. I’m not saying you should completely abandon your personality, but rather that you should come to accept yourself as a malleable being. Once you understand that, like water, your defining aspect is that you are constantly changing you can easily adapt to any new situations that may arise.
Fluidity
Ok, I understand that fluidity and formlessness are essentially the same thing since formlessness is a general physical property of all fluids, but bear with me here because fluidity as a concept for our purposes has a slightly more nuanced meaning that separates it out.
When water is flowing, like in a stream or a river, it’s difficult to stop. You can try and push it back but it will slip around you and continue on its way. Like all currents it finds the path of least resistance automatically and follows it without effort or hesitation. If there is even the slightest crack or weakness it will find its way through and keep going.
You can apply this principle to your own life through the practice of wei wuwei (爲無爲) or action without action also sometimes referred to as effortless action. The idea of wei wuwei is central to Taoism and is characterized by releasing conscious control of your actions over to the flow of the infinite Tao.
In more Western terms – go with the flow.
As I said this may sound a lot like the above point of adapting to your surroundings but it’s slightly different. Adapting to your surroundings means changing yourself to become as comfortable as possible in the situation that has presented itself to you. Being fluid, or practicing wei wuwei, deals more with how you deal with obstacles.
Traceurs will understand this concept well. The idea is that when faced with an obstacle you react instantly and naturally taking the path of least resistance around it and moving on. Rather than slam into obstacles you let the natural order of things take its course as you glide around them.
Here obstacles doesn’t necessarily mean physical things. These can be any blocks to your progress tangible or not. When manifested into your general attitude it can also be an effective way to overcome mental blocks. When you hit a block in your thinking or creativity don’t dwell on the problem, just accept that its there and move on.
Dealing with problems this way is not only more effective, it keeps stress to a minimum as well.
When my acute self-consciousness grew to what the psychologists refer to as the “double-bind” type, my instructor would again approach me and say, “Loong, preserve yourself by following the natural bends of things and don’t interfere. Remember never to assert yourself against nature; never be in frontal opposition to any problems, but control it by swinging with it. Don’t practice this week: Go home and think about it.”
After spending many hours meditating and practicing, I gave up and went sailing alone in a junk. On the sea I thought of all my past training and got mad at myself and punched the water! Right then — at that moment — a thought suddenly struck me; was not this water the very essence of gung fu? Hadn’t this water just now illustrated to me the principle of gung fu? I struck it but it did not suffer hurt. Again I struck it with all of my might — yet it was not wounded! I then tried to grasp a handful of it but this proved impossible. This water, the softest substance in the world, which could be contained in the smallest jar, only seemed weak. In reality, it could penetrate the hardest substance in the world. That was it! I wanted to be like the nature of water.
Suddenly a bird flew by and cast its reflection on the water. Right then I was absorbing myself with the lesson of the water, another mystic sense of hidden meaning revealed itself to me; should not the thoughts and emotions I had when in front of an opponent pass like the reflection of the birds flying over the water? This was exactly what Professor Yip meant by being detached — not being without emotion or feeling, but being one in whom feeling was not sticky or blocked. Therefore in order to control myself I must first accept myself by going with and not against my nature.
The natural phenomenon which the gung fu man sees as being the closest resemblance to wu wei [the principle of spontaneous action governed by the mind and not the senses] is water:
Nothing is weaker than water,
But when it attacks something hard
Or resistant, then nothing withstands it,
And nothing will alter its way.
The above passages from the Tao Te Ching illustrate to us the nature of water: Water is so fine that it is impossible to grasp a handful of it; strike it, yet it does not suffer hurt; stab it, and it is not wounded; sever it, yet it is not divided. It has no shape of its own but molds itself to the receptacle that contains it. When heated to the state of steam it is invisible but has enough power to split the earth itself. When frozen it crystallizes into a mighty rock. First it is turbulent like Niagara Falls, and then calm like a still pond, fearful like a torrent, and refreshing like a spring on a hot summer’s day. So is the principle of wu wei:
The rivers and seas are lords of a hundred valleys. This is because their strength is in lowliness; they are kings of them all. So it is that the perfect master wishing to lead them, he follows. Thus, though he is above them, he follows. Thus, though he is above them, men do not feel him to be an injury. And since he will not strive, none strive with him.
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