#do these people feel the same way about white people murder ballads

[jaskierswolf]

Would you consider writing a story or drabble about Geralt having to rescue Jaskier after the bard is shrunk and locked in a birdcage after a noble refuses to let him leave?

I thought I could write a short drabble about this... but predictably I got carried away. Jaskier isn’t exactly shrunk? but... I hope you like it! __________

Geralt was pacing in front of the fireplace in the tavern. He wasn’t sure why he was so restless. It wasn’t like he’d made plans to meet up with Jaskier this year, or even last year, but it was strange that they hadn’t run into each other in three years. What was worse was that Geralt hadn’t even heard about the bard in those years. Normally, there would be chatter wherever he was about the bard’s whereabouts, conquests and new songs. There had been no new songs about the White Wolf’s adventures. None of the other Kaer Morhen witchers had heard anything either…

And Geralt was concerned.

He kept telling himself that if Jaskier the master bard had died then he would have heard at least something. The fair maidens would have been in mourning for the loss of the famously unparalleled lover, not to mention the countless beautiful people of other genders that Jaskier had courted in his time.

No.

There was nothing.

Silence.

Jaskier hated silence.

Something was wrong. Geralt was angry at himself for caring so much. He’d had friends before that had come and gone. The Continent was a harsh land and humans were fragile, they died. Geralt’s chest ached at the thought of Jaskier’s cold dead body, no life left in those twinkling cornflower blue eyes, no song left to sing.

He snarled and spun around on his heels. Jaskier wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He was barely… Geralt paused to think. How old was the bard? He couldn’t be any older than thirty but he was sure they’d been travelling together for longer than that. He grunted. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jaskier couldn’t be dead.

“You there!” He pointed at the barkeeper. “Jaskier the bard, you heard of him?”

The barkeeper nodded with wide eyes. “Course I have.”

“Have you heard any news recently, rumours, cuckolded nobles?” Geralt asked in a low growl. He wasn’t intentional trying to frighten the barkeeper but the icy cold dread had gripped his heart in a vice and he had to get answers.

“Nothing, witcher.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “What of his death?”

The barkeeper shook his head. “There’s been speculation but most lasses believe the bard has been cursed, the older folk think he got tired of fame and became a hermit.”

“Cursed?” Geralt latched onto that idea. Surely if there was a curse then a witcher or mage would have been called to deal with the problem. He let out a low sigh. “When did you last hear of him?”

The barkeeper gave a long drawn out whistle. “Sorry, witcher. Not for years.”

Geralt nodded and then turned to leave the tavern. He was going to find Jaskier.

_________

Geralt peered up at the manor house. The gates outside were shining, as if they were brand new. The gardens were in full bloom despite the cold winter chill and Geralt could hear the hum of bumble bees. As he pushed open the gates his medallion leapt from his chest and he frowned. He caught the wolf in his hands and gripped it tightly. That was not good. He whistled for Roach. She cantered up to him from the trees where he’d left her. She butted his head and he softly stroked her mane.

“Don’t know what he’s gotten himself into Roach, can’t let the idiot out of my sight.” He muttered. “I’ll kill him myself if he’s not already dead.”

She whinnied and stamped her foot, nipping at Geralt’s armour.

“Yeah. I miss him too.” He admitted quietly. It was the first time he’d said the words out loud but fuck, he hadn’t realised how much truth lay within them. “I’ll get him back.”

He pulled his silver sword from its sheathe on her saddle and gentle stroked her muzzle. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

The hum of his medallion got stronger as he neared the house. The sickly sweet scent of flowers was almost overwhelming. He covered his nose with his free hand to try block out the smell. If they were illusions they were fucking good ones.

The doors of the house flew open as he approached and he sighed. It was going to be one of those days apparently. He fucking hated mages. They thought the world owed them everything and rarely cared who got caught in the cross fire. The scent of the flowers faded away, replaced by the warm smell of roasted venison and apple tart. The strangest thing was the nightingale song that echoed through the halls. No matter where he walked it sounded like there was a nightingale on his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” He muttered, swinging his sword in his hand and peering around each door with narrowed eyes.

One room was completely empty except a golden cage hanging from an elegant hook; the nightingale. Geralt held his medallion tighter and hummed. The nightingale’s song didn’t stop but it did change its tune as it saw Geralt enter the room. Geralt swore as ‘Toss a Coin’ began to fill the air.  It was only then that he noticed the cornflower blue eyes on the bird.

Jaskier.

He ran across the room and grabbed the cage. Jaskier carried on singing, moving onto the ballad he’d written about a bruxa hunt. He fell off his perch as the cage jostled but still he kept singing. Geralt tore the cage door off and Jaskier flew out. As he escaped the confines of the cage the feathers changed into dirty and torn teal silk. Jaskier gasped hoarsely as he fell forwards into Geralt’s arms.

“G’ralt” He coughed.

“I’m here. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” Geralt pulled Jaskier to his chest in a tight embrace. He buried his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and inhaled deeply. His scent was soured with fear but sure enough there was the warm smell of chamomile, of Jaskier.

Jaskier whimpered and shook his head. He pulled at Geralt’s arms and pointed to his neck.

Around Jaskier’s swanlike neck was a ribbon with an enamel nightingale in the centre; the curse. Geralt slipped his fingers under the ribbon. “Will this hurt if I take if off?”

Jaskier nodded. “I. I can’t do it. Only him.”

“Him?” Geralt growled. “Who did this to you?”

“I did,” an icy voice came from the doorway. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you, Geralt of Rivia. My poor nightingale would not stop talking about you at first. If he didn’t have such a beautiful voice I would have cut his tongue out. Luckily, hope doesn’t last for long.”

Geralt snarled and bared his teeth at the man. Jaskier shrunk back and hid behind him, fingers digging into the back of his armour.

“G’ralt…” He whined.

Geralt raised his sword. “Release the bard and I won’t kill you.”

The man laughed bitterly. “Do you really expect me to believe that? The man sings your praises for years. Everyone knows he’s in love with you. The question is, White Wolf, do you feel the same?”

Jaskier whimpered pitifully behind his back. Geralt’s heart jumped in his chest but he filed that information away for later. He needed to save Jaskier first and then they could talk.

“Lift the curse,” Geralt snarled.

The man sighed dramatically. “I can’t. I lied to your bard, witcher. Only—”

“True love’s kiss.” Geralt finished with a groan. “Why?”

He shrugged. “The bard who loves everyone but has no one in return. It entertained me, nothing more nothing less.”

Geralt took a deep breath. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Geralt lowered the point of his sword slowly and narrowed his eyes. “He has me.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out if that’s really true, witcher?” The man’s lips pulled into a sinister grin. “Care to kiss your bard?”

Jaskier whined again. Geralt threw down his sword and spun round to face Jaskier. The bard was pale and shaking. Geralt did his best to give him a reassuring smile but it was difficult when he was so full of rage.

“Don’t have to…” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt nodded. “I know.”

Jaskier bright blue eyes were shimmering with tears. “I’ll understand. It’s ok.”

The hoarseness of Jaskier’s voice made Geralt see red. Jaskier meticulously took care of his voice, the same way Geralt took care of his swords. This man had taken that from Jaskier and he was going to pay. He took Jaskier’s face in his hands and placed a firm kiss on the top of Jaskier’s hair. “We’ll talk about it when you’re not cursed,” He murmured and then in a blink of an eye he’d turned to face the man again.

His sword was in his hands and at the man’s throat in a flash. The man stumbled backwards but Geralt moved with him, keeping the blade pressed against his neck.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” He snarled but before he could slit the man’s throat Jaskier’s hand was on his arm.

“Because of this,” Jaskier whispered and held out his other hand.

The ribbon.

Geralt’s eyes widened. “The fuck?”

Jaskier tilted his head and smiled weakly. “You, witcher, love me.”

“I…. fuck. Yeah.”

Jaskier laughed and then choked on a cough. “So it would be a shame to ruin it with murder, dear heart.”

Geralt glared at the man and sighed. “Fine.”

He pulled his sword away and Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his as they headed out of the manor house. It was far from over and they had a long journey ahead of them but it was a new a beginning.

Their new beginning.

Together. ___________

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard  @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt/jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #Anonymous

[antebunny]

Parent Trap AU 5

It’s a Parent Trap AU, plus on-the-run hacker!wwx and celebrity!lwj. Full series here.

-

At first, Lan Wangji finds writing songs to be extremely challenging.

He’s all but quit his job, and his son is gone. He’s alone in the house he once shared with his family, while his brother tries to keep quiet about pitying him and supporting him, and his uncle demands to know why he has no interest in searching for his son. He’s the one that files the kidnapping report, in the end. Not that it does much; they’re already searching for Wei Ying, since he escaped from prison.

All Lan Wangji really does, during this time, is cry by his piano, and sing.

The melodies come naturally to him. He’s been writing melodies for years, and these songs are no different. He has a thousand things to say, so some are angry, so fast he thinks he might tear his fingers on the guitar strings, some are soft with only piano accompaniment. All too soon he has dozens of recordings of phrases that can be put together into full-length songs. The only one he doesn’t record is the one he wrote for guqin, years ago.

But the lyrics, the lyrics he struggles with for ages. Not Lan Wangji finds himself at a loss for what to say. He doesn’t speak much, it’s true, but when he does he always finds precisely what he wants to say. Rather, Lan Wangji finds he has too much to say.

One Friday afternoon, he sits down on his couch and plays the same ten-minute ballad on his guitar, trying again and again to find a way to shorten it without feeling like he’s ripping a part of his already shattered heart out of his chest. While suppressing the urge to write more verses. He knows he can’t leave them all in; it’s too repetitive. He wants these songs to be good, though he doesn’t really plan on marketing them. A large part of him thinks it’ll always be like this. Just him and his instruments, alone in the living room, mourning over a love long lost, making himself cry over his own lyrics.

Still, Lan Wangji is a perfectionist at heart. He has to do something about the ten-minute ballad. It’s longer than two songs put together.

What if I made them two separate songs?

The thought comes to Lan Wangji suddenly, and he sets down his guitar to pick up the notebook containing the lyrics. This could work. He becomes convinced of this the longer he looks at the lyrics. He’ll never run out of things to say about Wei Ying, but if he separated each of those things into one song–that could work.

He chooses a different melody, edits the lyrics to fit it, picks out a theme, an aspect of Wei Ying to sing about, and suddenly he has a whole discography, and not a single published song.

Lan Wangji goes to his brother.

“Are you sure about this?” Lan Xichen asks, his brows pulled together in a small, worried dip.

“Mn.”

They stare at each other without speaking, because Lan Xichen knows that every concern he might think of, Lan Wangji has already over thought.

“Even if he hears them?”

Lan Wangji will never be famous enough that Wei Ying, wherever in the world he might be, will hear his songs. But if he does, then all the better. “Mn.”

Lan Xichen sighs. “I just don’t want to see you hurt anymore.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t think that’s possible. “Hm.”

Lan Xichen sighs again. “Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want. I’m sure A-Yao knows someone. I’ll ask.”

It’s a while before he finds someone who’ll actually produce his music, but he’s happy with the person he ends up with. Luo Qingyang emails him back almost immediately after she listens to his demo.

I need you down here yesterday, she says. This is getting produced right now.

His first song, When We Were Young, is released as a single less than a year after the scandal that took Wei Ying from his life, under the stage name “Hanguang-jun.” He’s not sure it fits, but he wants to.

And suddenly, it looks like Lan Wangji might actually be that famous.

Of course, it’s still years in the future, so Lan Wangji carries on like he’s not. His second single, At First Glance, does even better than When We Were Young, and his manager starts bothering him about a music video. Apparently it’s expected of him, but Lan Wangji rejects all of the ideas that the directors Luo Qingyang finds for him come up with. They end up renting a house for a week and filming there, then going to a studio with lights and a piano. Lan Wangji dresses up for that and plays his heart out, and that’s it, that’s the music video.

His third single, Under Moonlight, is somehow more popular than his previous two combined. He has fans now, or maybe it’s just that he’s only now realizing it. He’s not quite sure what to do with that. The video this time takes place on the very bridge the song talks about. He doesn’t do much, since he rejected the idea of hiring actors to play the “counterpart,” so he’s confused as to why it continues gaining views on YouTube. Apparently he looks young. He’s not sure if this is insulting or not, but the internet would probably be shocked to learn he has a five-year-old son.

Lan Sizhui is too young to listen to music by himself, so Lan Wangji hopes that somewhere, there’s a radio playing one of the new hit songs by Hanguang-jun, and a father-son duo walking past.

Luo Qingyang bullies him into exactly one interview before his first album is released. On it, he accidentally confirms that all the songs on the album are about one person, and panics after that, not wishing to reveal anything about Wei Ying or even Lan Wangji’s own name on camera.

Apparently the mystery helps? Lan Wangji understands fame less and less the closer he comes to it. He thought if he just wrote good songs, enough people would listen to him that Wei Ying would hear it. Wei Ying is spotted in Thailand, and Lan Wangji ends up naming his first album Oceans Apart.

It sells, and it sells, and still, Wei Ying and their son are nowhere to be found.

-

Wei Wuxian is lying on a roof the night of his wedding anniversary.

Purple, white, and red fireworks explode in the black sky above him. There’s some celebration going on in the city, and Wei Wuxian takes advantage of it to pretend it’s in celebration of his anniversary.

Not that there’s much to celebrate. He doesn’t think it’s typical to celebrate the anniversary of a marriage which no longer exists, but their marriage didn’t end in the typical way either.

And he still loves Lan Zhan. Loves him so much that the sight of rabbits brings him to tears. So much that he feels like a traitor whenever someone so much as smiles in his direction, so much that he can’t imagine himself flirting with someone. So much that he cries on the roof when the fireworks light up the sky.

“Papa?”

Wei Wuxian looks to the right, and there’s Wei Sizhui, who is sometimes the only thing keeping Wei Wuxian going on his darkest nights. He’s nestled up with Wei Wuxian’s arm around him, small face peering earnestly at him from the dark. “What?”

“Why are you crying?”

Wei Wuxian raises one hand instinctively to rub the tears away. He’d forgotten about that. He’s thrown himself fully into caring for his son, making sure that he has clothes and good food to eat, which is hard when they never stay in a place for long and Wei Wuxian is paranoid of anyone who stares at them too long. Sometimes he wonders if he’s really doing any good, keeping Wei Sizhui away from his other father and uncles and aunts, from a happy childhood with friends and a school. And every time, he blinks back to the moment he woke up in the prison having narrowly avoided being murdered, and knows that Wei Sizhui is still safer with him than he’d be if he was still there, within the Jins reach.

“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’s nothing.”

Wei Sizhui frowns. “But Papa is sad,” he declares.

Wei Wuxian presses the back of his hand over his eyes. Fireworks crack so loudly it muffles his shaky inhale. Tears stream down his cheeks and around his ears. Red lights flash across his eyelids.

-

White lights flash through the stage, focusing on the solitary grand piano, and Lan Wangji, in his white suit, seated on the piano bench. A hush falls across the massive crowd. He adjusts his microphone slightly, and places his fingers gently atop the keys. The cameras zoom in on him.

And Lan Wangji sings.

-

“I’m just remembering,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Someone I used to know.”

“Is it Dad?” Wei Sizhui asks timidly.

Wei Wuxian inhales shakily again, then wraps his arm back around his son. “Yeah,” he admits. “It’s your other father.”

He hasn’t looked back since he ran away. Countless times, he’s thought about Googling the Jiangs in an internet cafe, just to check on how they’re doing. They have social media profiles, so he could. He could. But even the slightest hint of connection could ruin what Wei Wuxian has managed to salvage. The Jiangs would fight for him. Would drag their names in the mud for him, and he can’t let them do that to themselves, so he cuts all ties and doesn’t look back.

Wei Wuxian hasn’t dared to search Lan Wangji since he ran away.

-

“Hello,” Lan Wangji sings, and the crowd cheers.“It’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet, to go over everything. They say that time’s supposed to heal you, but I ain’t done much healing.”

Before he knows it, there’s tears streaming down his face. They drip onto his nice white suit, but the music doesn’t pause.

-

Hello from the other side

“Will we ever see him again?” Wei Sizhui asks plaintively.

I must have called a thousand times

Wei Wuxian tries to shake his head, his shoulders pressed against the dusty brick roof. “I don’t know, baby,” he says.

To tell you I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done

“But why not?” Wei Sizhui pushes. It’s far from the first time he’s asked, but each day it gets harder and harder to answer.

Hello from the outside

“Because he’s very, very far away,” Wei Wuxian replies this time, and tries not to think of Lan Zhan as he last saw him, sleeping peacefully in their bed the night Wei Wuxian broke in and took Wei Sizhui with him. “Oceans away.”

At least I can say that I tried

Eventually, the fireworks stop, and Wei Sizhui falls asleep, head resting in the crook of Wei Wuxian’s arm. Wei Wuxian raises one hand to the midnight sky, pretends he can reach through the vast expanse to wherever his family is. “Happy anniversary, Lan Zhan,” he whispers. “I miss you.”

To tell you I’m sorry for breaking your heart

Eventually, the song ends, and the cheers deafen the stadium. The lights go out long after Lan Wangji has gotten up from his seat and stepped away from the microphone. The tears on his face are invisible until the cameras focus in on him walking.

“Happy anniversary, Wei Ying,” he whispers, before he picks up the microphone to thank the crowd. “I love you.”

#antebunny's ficlets #parent trap au #i will not pretend to write a song that's Famous™ #i'll just steal Adele's which has 2.8B views on youtube #:) #mdzs #the untamed

[ecoamerica]

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[bamf-jaskier]

I’m reading a non-canon short story written by Andrzej Sapkowski about Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding called Something Ends, Something Begins and my heart is literally so full. Even Asaps has to get tired of having so much angst so this short story is a literal fluff-fest and I love it so much. 

So I thought I would share some of my favorite quotes from the story and if you all want to read it, here is the link. 

"One day she'll break her neck," growled Yennefer, watching Ciri galloping in the splashing water, bent, firm in the stirrups. "One day your crazy daughter will break her neck."

Geralt turned his head and without a word looked into the sorceress's violet eyes.

"All right, then," smiled Yennefer, without averting her eyes. "Sorry, our daughter."

She hugged him again, pressing herself against him firmly, bit him in the arm again, kissed him, and bit him once more. Geralt touched her hair with his lips and carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

I am literally...I swear, we finally get domestic Yenralt and it isn’t even in the canon universe. I am literally going to fight someone. This is so damn cute and the way Yennefer is like “our daughter” my goddamn heart. 

The list of the guests wasn't that long. The engaged couple compiled it together and charged Dandelion with sending the invitations. Soon it turned out that the troubadour lost the list before he could even read it. Because he was ashamed to confess, he used a cheap trick and invited whomever he could. Of course he knew Geralt and Yennefer well enough that he didn't miss anyone important, but it wouldn't have been him if he didn't enrich the list of the guests by an admirable number of quite random persons.

Why does it just make sense that Dandelion would fuck this up? It’s so in-character, putting him in charge of the guest list was the first mistake. 

No one invited the golden dragon Villentretenmerth, because no one knew how to invite him and where to look for him. To the general astonishment the dragon turned up, of course incognito, in the form of the knight Borch Three Jackdaws. Of course, where Dandelion was present, one could not speak of any incognito, but even so few believed when the poet pointed at the curly-haired knight and claimed it was a dragon.

The image of Dandelion just pointing at this dude and yelling “He’s a dragon!” is fucking hilarious, especially when you consider most people don’t know dragons can shapeshift. 

"Was it you who invited

Triss Merigold?

"No," the witcher shook his head and silently praised the fact that the mutation of his blood system didn't allow him to blush.

"Not me. I think it was Dandelion, even though all of them claim to have learned about the wedding from the magical crystals."

"I don't want Triss to be present on my wedding!"

"But why? She's your friend."

"Don't make a fool out of me, witcher! Everyone knows you slept with her!"

"That's not true."

Yennefer's violet eyes narrowed dangerously.

"It is true."

"Is not!"

"It is!"

"All right," he turned around angrily. "It is true. So?"

The sorceress was quiet for a moment, playing with the obsidian star on the black velvet ribbon around her neck.

"Nothing," she said at last. "I just wanted you to admit it. Never try to lie to me, Geralt. Ever."

I love the little bickering. Also, like, even though Triss and Yennefer are friends try valid of her to not want her at the wedding. She slept with Geralt!! Love how Geralt tries to deny it at first but gives up ten seconds later. Geralt really tried to pull the “just friends” card and Yennefer was having NONE of it. 

The doppler accused Villentretenmerth of racism, chauvinism and lack of knowledge on the discussion's topic. Therefore, the insulted Villentretenmerth changed for a moment into his natural dragon form, destroying several pieces of furniture and causing a general panic. When the situation calmed down, a fierce quarrel began, in which humans and non-humans accused each other of lack of open-mindedness and racial tolerance. 

A quite unexpected twist in the discussion came from the freckled Merle, the whore who didn't look like a whore. Merle announced that the whole debate was stupid and pointless and didn't concern true professionals, who don't dinstinguish between such things, which she was willing to prove on the spot (for an adequate reward, of course), even with the dragon Villentretenmerth in his natural form. 

In the silence that fell abruptly in that instant they heard the female medium proclaim that she's willing to do the same, and for free. Villentretenmerth quickly changed the topic and began discussing safer topics, such as economics, politics, hunting, fishing and gambling.

Everything about this sequence is perfect, absolutely prime. Dragons and Dopplers fighting, Merle saying she would fuck a dragon in dragon form. This has EVERYTHING. 

"I'll get going right after the feast," Ciri repeated. 

"I want... I want to feel the wind in my face on the back of a galloping horse again. I want to see the stars on the horizon again, I want to whistle Dandelion's ballads at night. I'm longing for a fight, the dance with a sword, I'm longing for the risk, for the delight victory brings me. And I'm longing for solitude. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," Geralt smiled sadly. "Of course I understand you, Ciri. You're my daughter, you're a witcher. You'll do what you must. But I must tell you one thing. One thing. You can't run away forever, even though you'll always try."

"I know," she replied and cuddled herself closer to him. "I still have hope that one day... If I wait, if I'm patient, then I, too, perhaps will live such a beautiful day like this... Such a nice day... Even though..."

"What, Ciri?"

"I've never been pretty. And with that scar..."

"Ciri," he cut her off. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Right after Yen, of course."

"Oh, Geralt..."

"If you don't believe me, ask Dandelion."

"Oh, Geralt."

Ciri telling Geralt she wants to travel and move on is just heartbreaking but it makes sense. She has more adventures to go on. Geralt’s story is ending. Hers is beginning. Also Ciri feeling insecure about her appearance and Geralt being a good dad and comforting her? Amazing. 

"I have unfinished business there," she hissed. "For Mistle. For my Mistle. Even though I avenged her, but for Mistle one death is not enough."

Bonhart, he thought. She killed him out of hatred. Oh, Ciri, Ciri. You're standing on the edge of an abyss, daughter. Not a thousand deaths would avenge your Mistle. Beware of hatred, Ciri, it consumes like cancer.

"Watch out for yourself," he whispered."I'd rather watch out for others," she smiled ominously. "It pays off more, it works better in the long run."

I will never see her again, he thought. If she leaves, I will never see her again.

"You will," she answered unexpectedly and smiled with a smile of a sorceress, not of a witcher. "You will, Geralt."

When Geralt asks what Ciri plans to do on her travels she literally says: I am going to avenge my dead girlfriend and murder some people. Which is not a healthy coping mechanism but damn if the idea of a gay revenge story doesn’t sound good to read. 

The priestesses Iola and Eurneid also sobbed, when Yennefer refused to put on the white wedding dress they had made for her. Not even Nenneke's mediation helped. Yennefer cursed, threw around hexes and dishes, while repeating that she looks like a fucking virgin in white. 

The enraged Nenneke began yelling, too, and told the sorceress that she behaved worse than three fucking virgins at once. Yennefer responded by conjuring a ball of lightning and demolishing the roof of the corner tower, which had its good side, too. The crash was so terrible that Caldemeyn's daughter got shock from it and her diarrhea stopped.

Once again, this scene has EVERYTHING. Yennefer getting so pissed it demolishes a tower. The shaking being so bad it stops diarrhea. Also, why does Asaps use diarrhea so often in his books? You know what, I don’t want to know. 

Triss Merigold and the witcher Eskel from Kaer Morhen, were seen again, sneaking, arms linked, into the garden summerhouse.

Is that...IMPLIED TRISSKEL?? OKAY THEN. All the Trisskel friends out there: They hooked up at Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding I don’t make the rules. 

"Yen..."

She looked breathtaking. Black wavy locks, curled up with a golden tiara, fell in a shining cascade over her shoulders and the high collar of a long white brocade dress with black-striped sleeves, pulled together on a bodice with countless drapes of lilac ribbons.

"Flowers, don't forget the flowers," warned Triss Merigold, all in dark blue, and handed a bouquet of white roses to the bride. "Oh, Yen, I'm so happy..."

"Triss, darling," sobbed Yennefer all of a sudden, upon which both sorceresses embraced and kissed the air around their ears and diamond earrings.

"Enough of those endearments," ordered Nenneke, smoothing the folds on her snow-white priestess dress. "We're going to the chapel. Iola, Eurneid, hold her dress, or she'll kill herself on the stairs.

Triss and Yennefer’s friendship is so sweet sometimes. Like, they would literally murder each other but they would also murder FOR each other too. 

Yennefer approached Geralt and with a hand in a white lace glove she straightened the collar of his black cloak, embroidered with silver. Geralt offered her an arm.

"Geralt," she whispered into his ear. "I still can't believe it."

"Yen," he answered her in a whisper. "I love you."

"I know."

I don’t know is Asaps is purposefully referencing Star Wars here but either way this had me tearing up. Geralt and Yennefer deserve a happy ending and even if it’s not officially canon the author wrote it so this is canon in my head. 

The wedding was splendid. Ladies and maidens cried collectively. Herwig was the master of ceremony, a former king, but still a king. Vesemir from Kaer Morhen and Nenneke stood in as parents of the betrothed couple, Triss Merigold and Eskel as witnesses. 

Okay but why is Asaps sneaking in the Trisskel? I want more of it and this pairing definitely intrigues me. Also Vesemir and Nenneke as their parents? That’s so damn sweet. I swear to fuck this entire short story is too damn cute and I want more of it. 

I cannot stress how much I love the energy Merle brings to the table. Saying she would straight up fuck a dragon. The power of it all. 

#I am OBSESSED #like this has EVERYTHING #and I mean EVERYTHING #the witcher #yenralt #asaps #andrzej sapkowski #The Witcher books #myposts #yennefer #geralt #triss #eskel #trisskel #ciri #wedding

[sauzwriting]

if you're lost, you can look and you will find me

The echo of a corner that at some point had been part of his life. He could almost hear the hustle of life seeping through. Voices. Laughter.

Now it was all silence.

--

Megumi watches Yuuji go through a breakdown in the ruins of Shibuya. He tries his best to ground him. He tries his best to show how much he loves him. Despite it all.

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Yuuji/Megumi

Tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, music, childhood memories

Warnings: self-harm,a bit angsty, manga spoilers of shibuya arc 

ao3 link

There was so, so much silence.

To him, it was deafening, overwhelming. His heart fell everytime he stopped to listen, realizing how it was his fault.

He knew. This silence was his.

Yuuji walked through the streets, deep in thought. The only light reaching his eyes, a pale yellow tint dying the night sky. He didn't know what hour it was. He didn't care.

He just dragged his feet forward.

Ahead of him were the silhouettes of the people who kept saving his life, somehow. He wondered why, once more. He wondered, but never said anything about it. All he could do, all he had left to do was offer up his tainted hands to them, so he could make up for all of it. So he could feel like, maybe, he was allowed to live for a little bit more.

Yuuji could barely look at the debris around them.

It reminded him of all the voices he silenced. Every little piece of the ruins oozed life, memories lost to a power that words couldn't even describe.

But, for once, he stopped on his tracks and dared to raise his gaze and regard the wrecked city before him.

He met cracks, lost shoes and the wind howling at his heart. His breath hitched as he shifted the whole weight of his body, turning around to see, to watch what was left.

A flicker of color hit his eyes, getting his attention.

It was a neon sign of what seemed to be some kind of shop. It was barely hanging from its original place, half of it was completely broken and resting miserably on the ground. But the rest of it was still standing, seemingly fighting to light up the street. Blues and reds flickered, illuminating Yuuji, coloring him, his body, his hair, even his scars. It almost looked like it was alive. The colors, beating, like a human heart.

All it lacked was blood, to pour out of it.

"Hey," he felt something on his shoulder. A touch so soft it was barely noticeable. But still, the fingers lingered. "You're staying behind. Is something the matter?"

Yuuji turned around, slowly. Megumi was looking at him, his uniform stained with dust and ripped in some places. God, he looked so tired. Under the neon flickering lights his features popped up even more and Yuuji could notice dark eyebags painted just below his eyes. How many days has he gone without sleep, he wondered.

"I'm fine." He teared his gaze away from Megumi, back to the sign. "You can go on ahead, I'll catch up in a bit. It's okay." It was strange, hearing his own voice among all the silence. His lips trembled as the words came out of his throat. It felt foreign, like it wasn't his.

"No, it's not." Megumi took a step forward, getting a bit closer to him. Yuuji heard the rubble crumble under his feet. "I'm not doing that." Something inside Yuuji's chest shrunk and shivered. Just a sudden twinge of pain.

There's no way you could leave Sukuna's vessel by himself, he thought, eyes fixated on the ground. He understood, after all.

"I'm not leaving you alone." Megumi hit him lightly on his chest with his fist. "Okkotsu and Choso are strong. They're going to look for a safe place to spend the night. It's not safe to stay here by yourself." Yuuji looked up at him, surprised.

All he saw was a furred brow crowning tired green eyes glaring at him. Somehow, it was the same gaze as always. Slightly annoyed, warm, fond. The same green as always. It hadn't changed.

He was not looking at a murderer or Sukuna.

Yuuji wanted to cry. He didn't deserve that.

"We can catch up later, together." Megumi sighed. "Why did you stay behind?"

Yuuji kept silent for a bit before walking up to the ruins of an entrance right below the neon sign. He bent, moving a boulder that was stuck there, blocking the way.

"Itadori. What are you doing?"

Pieces of rubble fell down to the floor as Yuuji pushed the rock away. His fingers were calloused, blood coming out from irritated, patches of flesh that had been peeled off. It hurt, touching something as rough as stone. But he didn't mind.

"I hadn't realized before, Fushiguro." His voice was raspy and low, inbetween sighs. The knot in his chest made it hard from him to breathe, for the words to come out. "But I know this place."

There were no lights inside. Everything was dark, except for the intermitent colors of the sign, leaking surreal lighting inside the abandoned shop. And yet, Yuuji didn't need to see to remember the shapes of this place. His memories were vivid, painting over the darkness; the echo of a corner that at some point had been part of his life. He could almost hear the hustle of life seeping through. Voices. Laughter.

Now it was all silence.

Yuuji just stood there, while Megumi followed him inside, turning on the flashlight on his phone so he could find out what all this was about. White washed up the darkness and the memories vanished from Yuuji's sight, replaced by the harsh reality.

Here, too, his hands had spoiled it all.

Yuuji wanted to laugh. He wanted that awful sound to tear up his throat, to dismantle and claw at his insides. Sukuna probably found this amusing. In his rampage, in a lost of control, he had even shattered pieces of him.

"I came here once with grandpa. When his — well. When he was...better."

Megumi stayed silent but Yuuji felt his eyes on him. He looked around too, drinking it all in.

"Was this a music shop?" Megumi muttered, walking carefully towards Yuuji. His voice was lower, softer.

There were records, album covers with different colors and styles, CDs scattered all around the floor. Broken, reflecting the light of the flash and creating ripples of rainbows on the ceiling.

"Yeah. He took me here once, years ago. He was really grumpy, he never quite liked the music I listened to." He laughed, bitterly. Still, there was a touch of fondness in his voice. "He came here, with me, and shared his favorite songs with me. He constantly spoke of this place...He didn't even know how to use his phone...so we just...came here, picked up some Cds and..." Yuuji kneeled over the pieces of cds on the floor and tried to gather some up. "I know it's stupid. To feel like this after — well, after I. I — I have no right to feel sad over this. I did this." He breathed in and flinched when he cut his finger with one of the fragments. "It's just shitty. It's so shitty. He's gone now and now I just erased and destroyed part of him."

"It's not your f—"

"It doesn't matter." Yuuji closed his eyes, held the shards tightly, so tight they pierced his skin. He didn't care, he didn't care because he hated his voice, he despised hearing his own shame. He had no right to these feelings. The pain grounded him, because up until now it was all he'd felt since Shibuya. And he'd gotten used to it. And he wanted it to be a comfort, because it was all he felt he deserved. "Do you know— he was actually such a big, damn softie. He loved ballads, god. Do you know Time after Time ? He— I— ," his voice cracked. He cracked. He tried, with trembling, bloodied hands, to cover his face as his breathing became erratic. Tears mixed up with blood, running down bruised skin. He whimpered, trying to keep down his pathetic voice, bit his lip in an useless attempt to stop crying. His whole body, even his soul, felt like it was shaking without control.

"I'm. I'm sorry. I just— there is no way, no way I can say it enough. To anyone." He could hardly speak. It was barely a whimper. "It doesn't matter. Nothing's the same anymore—I'm not the same, I can't go back. It doesn't matter." Silence. "I barely know who I am anymore."

"Yuuji. Fuck."

Megumi said his name. He kneeled right beside him but Yuuji didn't want to look at him. He tried to take his hands away from his face but Yuuji flinched, scared of his touch. Scared of himself.

"Please."

Megumi's voice was so soft, so tender, he just frozed up. He could feel Megumi's breathing brushing his hands. And then, long fingers reached for them, slowly taking them away from his face. The touch was so gentle and careful, it made Yuuji stop trembling altogether. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this.

He'd almost forgot he had yearned for this, for so long.

"Stop hurting yourself."

Yuuji saw his face. Megumi had left his phone on the ground and the light was illuminating him from the back. He looked mad.

But his voice was so kind. His hands were on his, cleaning up the wounds and wrapping some bandages around them. Even after that was done, Megumi didn't let go of his hands. He slowly traced the shape of them with his fingers, caressing them with care. His eyes went up, checking Yuuji's face just for a moment. The tears were still flowing, his gaze still watery.

"Don't you dare apologize." Megumi looked down again, just to carefully touch the scars that ran up his arms. "You're Yuuji." He sighed and breathed in. "And you deserve so much better than this."

He looked up and locked his eyes with Yuuji's.

"I still don't regret saving you. And I won't, ever ." Yuuji's tears stopped falling. "This is our reality. It's unfair. But you're still you. I know that. I didn't doubt it for a second." Megumi reached up to clean the tears off his cheeks. "So for god's sake, let me carry that weight with you."

A knot, deep, deep inside Yuuji's chest untangled.

"But Sukuna—"

"No buts. I trust you." He muttered. He inched a bit closer to him, carefully. "Stop running from me."

Megumi looked away and remained silent. Yuuji couldn't move. He didn't want to, but he felt like he had to. But as soon as he tried to shift away, Megumi pulled him closer and embraced him.

Yuuji knew. Megumi wasn't good with words. That's why he said nothing more. But there was an unspoken feeling in how he could feel the warmth of his body against his. He could hear Megumi's heartbeat ripple through his own chest. It was almost like a song.

Yuuji was tired, too. He had no energy to fight back. And he wanted this.

So he gave up.

They stood like that for a while, in silence. In each others' arms, hearing each others' breathing. Megumi slowly rubbing circles in Yuuji's back and Yuuji holding him tightly, his head in the crook of his neck.

And then, Megumi started humming someting. Low, barely audible.

But it sounded familiar.

Ah, he realized.

Eyes closed, Yuuji hummed back. His voice cracked, it was probably off key. But god, it felt so good. It felt so relieving. That he could still do this, remember this.

This feeling would probably only last for a little longer but it was warm, so, so warm.

And well, knowing his grandpa wasn't the only one liking sappy ballads made his heart flutter. It made his heart feel just a bit like it used to. Just a bit.

Yuuji smiled. It was a weak smile but Megumi could feel it on his shoulder. So he moved, pulled away to look at his face and gently place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, right where an ugly scar had sunk in his flesh.

"Let's go back."

Megumi brushed pink hair away from brown eyes and helped him up.

He didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the night.

That hand in his, that warmth. It seemed to give back a bit of his humanity.

He was Yuuji.

And Megumi loved Yuuji.

#fic #jujutsu kaisen #itafushi #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #fushiita #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuuji #post-shibuya arc

[kmalexander]

The 2020 Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide

The phrase “Black Friday” has a more menacing tone in 2020—especially here in the United States. Hopefully, you’re following the advice of the experts, staying home, laying low, wearing masks, and washing your hands. But a pandemic shouldn’t stop gift giving! So, once again, I took some time and assembled my List of Lists for 2020. In it, you’ll find a plethora of paraphernalia for the weird-fiction fanatic, cosmic-horror connoisseur, or mythos maniac in your life. As with previous years, I’ve worked to assemble a list of exceptional items for all ages and budgets.

There’s a few changes this year. First, I’m now linking to IndieBound for all books. Please do what you can to support your local bookshops and small businesses. Odds are they can get you anything Amazon can, and it’ll help out your community. Secondly, where possible, I’m also linking to the author’s personal webpages. Check them out. Follow them. It’s a nice way to stay current with what’s happening in the world of weird fiction. Please remember, while I’ve ordered these by price, the prices and availability are subject to change. I don’t have any control over that. Happy shopping!

 QUICK LINKS 

• Books • Music • Apparel • Games • • Housewares • Miskatonic •

Books

Mother Hydra’s Mythos Rhymes by Jarred W. Wallace $9.95 + Shipping (Paperback)

This mock children’s book features twenty-one sinister nursery rhymes twisted with a Cthulhu Mythos bent and illustrated by the incredible Heather Hudson. Also included is a complete Edward Gorey-style alphabet. Every budding cultist should learn their ABCs after all.

The Worm And His Kings by Hailey Piper $13.00 + Shipping (Paperback) $6.99 (eBook)

This arrived only a few weeks ago, and I can’t wait to dive in. Set in New York City in 1990, the story follows Monique as she hunts for her missing girlfriend. But the trail goes much deeper than she realizes, sending Monique into a subterranean world of enigmatic cultists and shadowy creatures.

The Stars Were Right by K. M. Alexander $14.00 + Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook)

I’m nearly finished with Book Four’s edits. So, if you haven’t, now is the perfect time to start reading my Bell Forging Cycle. Follow Waldo Bell as he is sent careening through the multi-level megalopolis of Lovat, fighting to clear his name as a bloodthirsty killer stalks him. It’s mystery and monsters, chases and cults, and an ancient evil in a world that is similar but not quite like our own.

RADIO by J. Rushing $15.99 + Shipping (Paperback) $3.99 (eBook)

A jazz-infused, opium-soaked, historical fantasy with a transgressive edge that explodes from the opening chapter and never relents until its final pages—a welcome addition to modern fantasy literature and weird enough that it earned a place on this list.

Murder Ballads And Other Horrific Tales by John Hornor Jacobs $16.95 + Shipping (Paperback) $7.95 (eBook)

Seems like it’s becoming a tradition to see a new book from John Hornor Jacobs on this list every year, and it’s no surprise. He’s arguably one of the best mythos writers working today. This collection of recent horror and crime short stories takes you through tales involving old gods to malevolent artificial intelligences, plus it includes the sequel to his 2011 novel, Southern Gods.

The Cipher by Kathe Koja $17.95 + Shipping (Paperback) $3.99 (eBook)

Part haunted house story, part body horror, part descent-into-madness tale all told in the style of Transgressive Literature. The Cipher is one of those stories I was shocked I hadn’t read until this year. Koja writes stunningly physical characters and knotted complex relationships that feel eerily familiar to anyone who’s spent time in artist circles. Enjoy the Fun Hole. (One of my 2020 Three Great Horror Reads for Halloween.)

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones $26.99 + Shipping (Hardcover) $9.99 (eBook)

At its heart, this is a horror novel about growing up poor and native in western Montana. But The Only Good Indians also a novel about revenge, mistakes, and their extended consequences. I blew through it. I grew up not too far from where this novel is set, and I have yet to find a recent author that captures the behavior and actions of the people in that area quite as well as Jones. You’ll never look at elk the same way again. (One of my 2020 Three Great Horror Reads for Halloween.)

The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin $28.00 + Shipping (Hardcover) $14.99 (eBook)

The first of the Great Cities series focuses on a roiling, ancient evil that stirs beneath the streets of New York City and threatens to destroy the city. New York must go on, and it will take five protectors scattered across the boroughs coming together to stop it. An allegorical response to Lovecraft’s work and a love letter to the city.

The Dark Brotherhood and Other Pieces by H.P. Lovecraft $650.00 + Shipping (One Copy Available—Sold via AbeBooks)

This rare late-60s first edition copy from Arkham House is in fine condition with a fine dustwrapper. It also comes with an inscription by the publisher and editor of this work: “for Herb Arnold from the compiler – August Derleth.” An extremely unique find and a unique piece of weird fiction history.

No book catches your interest? Check out the books featured in one of the previous guides. • 2014 Books • 2015 Books • 2016 Books • 2017 Books • 2018 Books • 2019 Books •

Music & Audio

Tribute To H.P. Lovecraft by Epsilon Eridani Free (Digital Download)

This atmospheric and somber dark ambient album is the third project from Mexican electronic artist Juan Pablo Valle. Blending instrumental tracks, spoken words performances, and recitations of parts of Lovecraft’s stories, this tribute serves as an excellent horror soundtrack.

The Yellow Sign $6.99 (Digital Download)

While Lovecraftian music often skews towards dark ambient or metal performances, The Yellow Sign goes takes a more orchestral approach. Composer Graham Plowman has created a fantastic classical soundtrack putting this album on par with any feature film—brooding, menacing, and wonderfully enjoyable.

Beyond Madness by Aklo $9.00 (Digital Download)

Erich Zann would be jealous. Aklo, like its madness-inducing namesake, is hard to pin down. But this album captures “the beyond” in ways not often heard in modern music. Part noise, part experimental, Beyond Madness is an excellent addition to any Lovecraft fan’s collection.

Live from Stockholm by Ogham Waite $12.00 (Digital Download)

Ogham Waite, one of Innsmouth’s Deep One inhabitants, and the Amphibian Jazz Band are the mythos’ answer to the lounge stylings of early Tom Waits. Bluesy and moody, this seductively smokey album drips with saltwater. Waite’s performance and delivery are melodious as they are melodic, a great addition to mythos music.

Ambrose Bierce’s The Boarded Window $20.00 + Shipping (Vinyl)

This limited vinyl pressing of Bierce’s unsettling perspective-shifting tale is read by Anthony D. P. Mann and scored by Chris Bozzone. Cadabra Records always goes the extra mile with their products, and it’s clear from the hand-poured red and white splattered vinyl to the incredible art by Jeremy Hush.

Deities by Tortuga €22.50 ($26.68) + Shipping (Vinyl) €5.00 ($5.93) (Digital Download)

This one showed up randomly on a playlist, and I found myself intrigued. Once I listened to it, I became a fan. Tortuga is a Polish doom metal band whose work is loaded down with intricate and heavy driving riffs inspired by Lovecraft’s writings. It’s good stuff.

Not finding any music or audio that interests you? Check out one of the previous guides. • 2014 Music • 2015 Music • 2016 Music • 2017 Music • 2018 Music • 2019 Music •

Apparel

Tiki Cthulhu Embroidered Patch $9.00 + Shipping

I see many patches as I search for new cosmic horror gear throughout the year, and occasionally I find one that rises to the top. This sew-on tiki-styled Ctuhulu is 3″ x 2.5″ and was created for the 2018 H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival. If you want a mythos inspired adornment for your bag or jacket that’s a bit outside the norm, look no further.

Cthulhu Socks $18.00 + Shipping

It’s winter in the northern hemisphere, that means you need to keep your appendages warm. Also, socks-for-Christmas is a right of passage. Why not consider getting these Cthulhu Socks from PutYourSocksOn featuring tentacles up the side and an illustration of the dead and dreaming Cthulhu on the ankle.

Sourpuss Tropicthulhu Rosie Dress $29.00 + Shipping

When you are associated with the ocean, you generally get associated with the tropics regardless of where your sunken city dwells. This 40’s style Rosie Dress allows you to show your appreciation of R’lyeh’s favorite son in a subtle but delightful manner.

Amulet of Azathoth £23.95 ($34.42) + Shipping

It’s the grandpappy of the mythos deities in amulet form! Well, kinda. A representation of the nuclear chaos beyond angled space himself. This antique amulet is a little over an inch and a half long and is cold cast in a mixture of resin and brass—a stunning little pendant.

Mother & Father Statuary Set $85.00 + Free Shipping

These handmade and hand-painted resin figures of Dagon and Hydra would work perfectly as bookends or garden statues. Aged in a way to evoke feelings of lost treasure salvaged from the seafloor or perhaps a dank and forgotten chamber somewhere beneath Innsmouth. Kinda cute to boot.

Cara Mater Silvae Shub-Niggurath Woodcut Print $187.50 + Free Shipping (Limited Edition)

Liv Rainey-Smith’s fantastic woodcut work has long been a fixture in the weird lit community. This limited-edition print is done in the style of a sacred icon and features a great rendition of Shub-Niggurath, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, or as my readers will know her, “Cybill.”

Keeper of the Nightmare Mask $331.53 + Free Shipping (Made to Order)

Plague doctors always cut a fearsome figure in humanity’s historical memory, but what lies beneath that leather mask and shielded eyes? This custom made-to-order mask twists tentacles to form that familiar (and terrifying) plague-doctor shape adding an extra level of menace to an already menacing form.

Not finding apparel you like? Check out the apparel on one of the previous guides. • 2014 Apparel • 2015 Apparel • 2016 Apparel • 2017 Apparel • 2018 Apparel • 2019 Apparel •

Games

No Players Online Name Your Own Price (Windows/Linux)

What starts as a simple old demo of a capture-the-flag 3D shooter found on a discarded tape eventually twists and turns becoming something else entirely. I’m a sucker for the 80s glitch aesthetic, and it’s used here in masterfully unsettling ways—multiple endings, interesting game world, very much worth your time.

Kadath $5.99 (Digital Download, Early Access)

This first chapter of a first-person cosmic-horror adventure has you following the case of a World War II Nazi train that vanished only to reappear in a cave in the Himalayas 75 years later. Dripping with atmosphere and filled with brilliant puzzles, this first chapter left me excited for Kadath and wanting more.

Fate of Cthulhu $20.00 (Downloadable PDF) $35.00 + Shipping (Book + PDF)

In this tabletop roleplaying game from Fred Hicks and Evil Hat Productions, you and your friends will find yourself sent into the past on a mission to prevent the future. It’s a race against time as you try to stop the stars from being right and prevent Cthulhu’s foretold return, all before you and yours are transformed into something monstrous.

Elder Sign Dice – Blue Aether $24.99 + Shipping

Infinite Black has been making some wonderful cosmic-horror-themed gaming products for a few years. They’ve finally gotten easy enough to nab for holiday gifts. These Blue Aether Elder Sign Dice stood out to me, but they have a robust catalog making it easy to find the right gift for the dicing Lovecraft fan in your life. (Or yourself.)

Fate of the Elder Gods $63.99 + Shipping

Cults battle cults in this race to summon your ancient order’s elder god of choice! But it’s not just the other conniving worshippers and cult leaders you need to worry about, crafty investigators are on the prowl, and they’re working to subvert everyone’s goals as well. Hasten the earth’s doom in this competitive area-control game for two to four players.

Hastur $274.99 + Shipping (Two Shipments)

I’m a big fan of the Mysterious Package Company, the quality of their products always impresses. This latest journey into the realm of Hastur is no exception. Taking place over several mailings, Hastur invites the recipient into the world of the King in Yellow, the play with the same name, and the utter madness that dwells within those words.

Not finding a game you’d enjoy? Check out the games on one of the previous guides. • 2014 Games • 2015 Games • 2016 Games • 2017 Games • 2018 Games • 2019 Games •

Housewares & Collectables

Cedric’s Eatery 11oz. Mug $16.00 + Shipping

It’s cold out, and you need a new mug. Why not pick one up from Lovat’s own Cedric’s Eatery located in the entresol between Levels Three and Four. An in-between place for in-between folks. Waldo Bell’s latest hangout. Fill your mug with 11 oz. of bad coffee, your favorite tea, or something stronger. [From the pages of the Bell Forging Cycle.]

Cthulhu Clay Idol & Letter $29.80 + Free Shipping

Alternative takes on the Cthulhu idol are rare. More often than not, we see the same shape repeated over and over. Because of that, this rawer, more original piece stood out to me. It feels more realistic in many ways, reminding me of the sort of thing one would find on an archeological dig. Plus, with the attached letter, you get a little mini-experience here.

Sea Monster Shower Curtain $32.00 + Shipping

There be dragons. And there. And there. And… well, all over the place! If you love weird old sea monsters and old maps, then this curtain will be perfect for you. Decorate your shower with this fantastic curtain featuring beasts that look lifted from early Renaissance maps. 70″ x 72″. Liner recommended.

Cthulhu Lovecraft Blanket $59.99 + Shipping

As cooler air moves into the northern hemisphere, we can all celebrate the arrival of the cozy season. To stay warm, why not cuddle up beneath this cotton and acrylic Jacquard Knit blanket featuring the squatting visage of The Great Dreamer himself? He might be cold but you don’t have to be.

Anxious Blob Original Sculpture $325.00 + Shipping (Supplies are limited.)

This weird little one-off sculpture of a nervous little entity is made with polymer clay and hand-painted. The eye sits beneath a glass dome giving this piece a unique character. Who among us hasn’t wanted an anxious blob with hundreds of teeth and a single staring eye decorating our walls?

Not finding a houseware item you like? Check out the housewares from one of the previous guides. • 2016 Housewares • 2017 Housewares • 2018 Housewares • 2019 Housewares •

Miskatonic University

Miskatonic University Pennant $15.99 + Shipping

I love seeing all the different takes for Miskatonic University collegiate gear. Here you can show your support for “Ole Misk” with a felt pennant from H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society and cheer on the “mighty Miskatonic Myrmidons” to another victory. Wave that banner proudly!

Miskatonic University Real Leather Notebook $41.40 + Shipping

Journaler? Artist? Writer? Mathematician? Norwegian sea captain? Random idea generator? If you’re one of these, odds are you need a notebook. This 8″x6″ Miskatonic-themed journal features 100 sheets of thick handmade Khadda paper and is durable enough for the dig site while still being elegant enough for the classroom.

Miskatonic University Wax Seal $48.07 + Shipping

Secure your correspondence with old friends from bygones eras who seek answers using this classic and exquisite seal. It might not stop prying eyes, but at least your old colleagues will know if someone’s been tampering with their mail. (Wax sold separately.)

Miskatonic University Hockey Sweater $109.00 + Shipping (Supplies are limited.)

Every sports fan needs a jersey. Miskatonic students are no different. It’s why when I came across this Hockey Sweater from Geeky Jerseys I knew it’d be perfect for the cosmic horror student in your life. (While this one is great, I’m hoping the superior Miskatonic 2.0 sweater becomes available once again.)

Not finding any Miskatonic University gear you like? Check out the Miskatonic University items from one of the previous guides. • 2014 Miskatonic • 2015 Miskatonic • 2016 Miskatonic • 2017 Miskatonic • • 2018 Miskatonic • 2019 Miskatonic •

  Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

So that wraps up the seventh annual List of Lists. Let’s all keep wearing our masks, socially distancing, and washing our hands so we can all do this again next year. Big thank you to everyone who has suggested items in the past to help me pad out this list. Y’all rule. If I didn’t get to your submission, fret not. There are many more holidays ahead. I appreciate the help.

Do you have a book, game, album, or other weird fiction-related items I should feature in 2021’s Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide? Leave a comment below with links to your favorite goodies for others to see, or send me an email as a potential submission for next year!

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[what-a-messsss]

2x3 rewatch

I keep forgetting that Brach is still in S2.  Oops.  Also, I apparently went to check something in S6 last time I watched something, so it started at 6x2 instead of 2x3 and I yelled.  But anyway, on with this mess.  “Death Came in Like Thunder” apparently.  It sure did.

Ah yes, let us not forget that Branch is MANLEH.  This shall be proven to us by him murdering his cousin, Trunk, with big ax.  Chop chop, Branch, kill Trunk.  But oh no, must also show that he is People Smart, so must also lose because this makes him likable.  And many white people clap.  Yaaaay.  But be sure to say, “I let him win, Ferg,” while your competitor is right next to you, so he almost surely heard you.  Good good.

Oh Ferg.  Could you look more gormless if you tried?  (I mean, probably not, since presumably that was the goal of the actor, so he would have been trying.  But still.)  Bb.

Heh, nice thematic cut to Walt also chopping wood.  And YAY, Henry’s gorgeous truck (and gorgeous self).  I’m just going to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Henry rolls up and just helps himself to some of Walt’s thermos of coffee.  Because of course he does.  But I do so love these touches that they put in that do underline the fact that they are married have been besties for going on 40 years.  Also, I love this jacket of Henry’s.  The woven top, jean jacket sort of one?  Yeah, top 5 costume pieces of his for me.  (Also on that list, all basically tied with each other, basically any pants he wears.  I am reminded, when they cut back out to a full body shot.  Because I am very shallow, and he is very pretty.)

Haaaaaa.  And of course Cady talked to Henry before she talked to Walt.  Walt is a butthead.  And, yeah yeah, she just found out that he’d been lying to her for over a year, but that just proves my point that Walt is a butthead.  And we’re back to this whole idea that she left her phone, which just... ugh.  No.  But Henry’s face when he says that she said that she is safe, and he’s so worried, but still willing to respect her boundaries.

“She is an adult, Walt.”  “She’s my daughter.”  For fuck’s sake, you jackass, your ADULT daughter; that’s the whole flipping point!  Also, that little emphasis on my daughter, pfft.  If you didn’t want to feel like she preferred her cool dad to you, maybe try being less of an AAAAAAASSHOLE.  And, like, respecting her.  Even a weensy little bit.

“Etta Place”  I don’t remember if we find out why that’s the ‘assumed name’ that Cady chose, but I’m intrigued.  Wait, I just googled.  Looooool.  She spent years with Butch and Sundance.  Nice.

Walt is such a soft touch with teens.  *snack crackle pop* that kneecap back into place.  Vic starts this scene saying, “The 911 operator,” though, which is interesting, because I was kind of under the impression that Ruby was the main dispatcher, so it would be kind of heartening if she actually had back up with that.  ...Or maybe they’re just far enough out that a cell call made would be picked up by a tower farther out and have to be routed back in to the station/them.  I have no idea how that actually works.  Another rabbit hole for me to totally not go down.  Hopefully.  Shit.  They’ve apparently upped the fine for trespass since the show, though, because it’s $750 (or 6 months in jail) now and Walt says it’s $500.

And once again, we see Vic actually wearing gloves while investigating a suspicious death, and Walt just squinting into the distance helpfully.  I suppose “things got bad” in Basque country around WWII, but there has been friction there that dates back before the Spanish Civil War, or even the Carlist Wars the previous century.  It did get gnarly with the dictatorship of Franco, and the formation of the ETA in retaliation, though, so yeah.  (Francisco Franco is also on the list of people who anybody with a time machine should go back and beat the shit out of.)

Shit, I forgot about the animal death.

Knock knock, no answer.  Better just wander in without a warrant.  I know that the guy who they know lives there is dead, but still, no fricking warrant; I suppose the worry of a poisoning could count as probably cause?  

Gods, but there are moments when I do absolutely adore Vic, and they are usually when she’s taking the piss out of Walt.  “Reclusive bachelor chic; you and Marco have the same decorator.”  Looool.  But also, sad, because Martha has only been gone for a little over a year, and Walt is not the kind of person who would, like, change stuff and get rid of her things, so that’s kind of odd.  Maybe Henry and/or Cady went though and put away some of her things to try to help Walt move on?  But damn, the ‘excuse you’ look on Walt’s face when she does say it, pffft.

AND AGAIN, Vic wearing gloves, Walt with his bare ass hands picking up the picture of Picasso’s Guernica; can you at least *pretend* you’re a cop, *some* of the time, buddy?

Lol at the barrabilak; they are pretty well by the Rocky Mountains, so it’s probably not all that surprising that Walt’s had some “Rocky Mountain oysters” before.

I had forgotten that Vic had four brothers.  But her comment about Sal going off to look after the sheep and how if someone had told her that one of her brothers were dead she “wouldn’t care about any damn sheep,” I don’t know.  It kind of annoys me.  It’s totally in character for her, which is good, but I think it’s part of what can annoy me about her character.  Different people grieve differently, but also, I know she’s only been in Wyoming for a year or two, tops, but how is it so hard to fathom that someone one would be concerned about their livelihood, even in the face of personal tragedy?  Just, seeing beyond her own very narrow experience doesn’t seem like something she’s very good at.  It would be one thing if she’d framed it as “this is suspicious, and here’s why I think so as a cop,” but it was, “I wouldn’t react that way personally, so it’s sus.”  

Sure, be suspicious because there’s a suspicious death and family members are always suspects until ruled out, but approach it like a cop.  Or at least think about it from more angles than just your own, not terribly similar experience.  You’re a white city cop who can’t (or won’t) adjust to being in BF rural-ville, but these are immigrant shepherds whose family come from a homeland where the cops were just as likely to kill you as answer questions, and you’re side-eying a guy for going to make sure that their meal ticket doesn’t get obliterated?

I need to keep reminding myself that I really did want to like Vic.  I really did.  She just... they don’t make it easy for me.  Maybe she’s serving as an avatar for audience who don’t know about some of the culture stuff, and the audience get answers from her ignorance?  But honestly, I wish they’d picked a different way to handle that, if that’s what they were trying to do.  Her response to Henry being salty about Thanksgiving still really pisses me off.  Because it was shitty and racist, and... do we really need a character basically rolling their eyes and saying, “It was so long ago, why don’t you just get over it,” about something that is intrinsically tied to the genocide of so many people?  Why are Indigenous people just supposed to “get over it” but “Remember the Alamo” and “Southern Pride,” and shit?  Fuck’s sake.  Honestly, that might have been the moment when they lost me on her character.  She has moments where she’s awesome, but they never really address her being fucking racist or give her a chance to grow into a better person.  Which sucks a lot.  Fuck.  Ok, that was a lot.  Sorry.  Back to the actual ep.

AH, nice of you to beam in from the campaign trail, Brancheroo!

Uh, so I paused it to look at pic in the newspaper, and then being me, started to look at the articles surrounding the pic.  And the one with the headline “Fans Injured At Local Game” is actually about the Stewart case?  From 1x3?  I’m guessing that somebody went to the trouble of writing up an article for that for some S1 ep after it and they just plugged it in because when not paused, you might catch “Sheriff Longmire” there and that’s all they need.  Especially since the text starts to repeat after the first paragraph.  (I am the worst pedantic little shit.)  Ooooor, maybe even though it’s S2, it’s hardly been any time since 1x3?  The date on the newspaper is March 31, 2012, so there’s a timeline hint. 

Awwwwww, once Walt points out the bird, Ferg knows exactly what it is.  Occasional twitcher, are we, my lad?  “A red-tip meadowlark,” indeed.  Oh bb; Ferg’s face when he sees Walt looking at the pic of him with Branch in the paper.

“You go too fast, you miss the little things.”  Every once in a while, he actually sort of mentors Ferg.  I wish he did more of that, especially since we see later how capable Ferg can be.

Go suck an egg, Branch.  Why does she get all the “good” assignments?  Maybe because she was actually on the job when they found the body, not campaigning.

OPE.  Lizzie’s gift.  Yeah, I’d probably choke on that coffee if I were you, too, girl.  Better hope that there wasn’t perishable food stuffs in that gift, because that has been in there for a whiiiiiile, hasn’t it.  Wait, was Ferg in the office when Lizzie dropped off the gift?  Because his face said more than just “Did somebody give Vic a present?”  Suuuuper subtle with that whole pushing the drawer closed with your foot there, Vic.  Pfffft.

“Cyrano Caballero”  How daaaare that skeeve take Cyrano’s name in vain?!?!  (I have a thing about Cyrano de Bergerac.  It’s quite possibly my favourite play, and I adore the character, and have exactly 0 chill about it at all.  I find Brian Hooker’s translation of “The Ballade of the duel at the Hotel Bourgogne Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian” with “Then, as I end the refrian, thrust home,” vastly superior to any other translation that I’ve heard or read, though for the rest of it, I will grant that there are others to be preferred.  But that version of his Ballade is exquisite, and I will not be swayed.  Holy shit, FOCUS.  That is so very much not the point.)  It’s not even a throw away line in this ep, it’s just a random, very well chosen, if utterly appallingly insulting, company name.  It’s actually incredibly clever for what the business is, and if it didn’t make me so stomping mad, I would applaud whoever came up with it heartily.

Vic’s face listening to this jackass’ spiel is a thing of beauty.  “A good woman goes a long way of easing the obvious stresses of your daily life,” the jackass says, cutting his eyes at Vic when he says “obvious stresses,” and I caaaackle.

What is it about this guys’ horrible glasses that just makes him so much more hate-able?  I’m not entirely sure, but kudos to whatever costumer put those on him, because they are perfect.  In the ‘I want to punch him’ way of perfection.

And after all of that about Walt’s “lady friend,” Vic brings Lizzie’s present.  Womp womp.  That went super well.  Yuuuup, run while you can.

Poor Ferg.  Branch manipulates him, Vic ignores him, Walt shuts him down...  Poor guy just can’t get a break.

I actually kind of like this motel manager--the one who “doesn’t judge people” and is a stickler for warrants?  At least somebody in this county cares about warrants.  Also, those doors are actually really pretty.  Nice colour, and the carved scrollwork designs are nice.

What an odd shot: the one when they’re coming out of Walt’s office after talking to Skeevy McGrossFace and Rosa.  It’s a weird sort of shaky-cam stepping back, just preceding Branch walking, and then turns to follow him when he sit’s on his desk.  But it’s a really different style of shot than I can remember, so much so that it’s a bit jarring, especially after the series of nearly stationary close ups that we just had.  Weird. [18:42-18-50]

Cady!  I haven’t made much note of her costuming before this, but it seems notable that’s she’s only in monocromatics.  Especially next to Fales in muted tones, but still some colour, and surrounded by the colourful grafitti of the alley where her mother was stabbed.  Nice way of setting her apart from everything.

SHEEPIES!  Ooooo, that wagon is so cool.  Ah dang, the way that Sal corrects Walt’s pronunciation of his brother’s name is so gloriously passive aggressive.  Good for you, my dude.  Names are important, and people should have the respect to make the effort to get them right.

Aaaaaand Walt, the definition of Do, Don’t Tell, just shoves the guy to keep him from drinking the possibly dangerous water, rather than, like, using his words.  Walt’s gonna Walt.

Iiiiiiiii am a mess, truly.  It cuts to an architectural model and I start giggling like a 6th grader, because I know it’s going to be a Jacob scene.  He’s not even on screen yet, ffs.  HANDS.  I’m fine.  Totally fine.  (That’s totally a lie.  I just rewound to the beginning of the scene because I kept giggling too much to pay attention.  What the hell.)  First time we’ve seen one of the chips, which at this point must be a marketing mock-up, since nothing is built yet.  And he actually types, not just doing the hunt-and-peck thing that is sometimes easier on a tablet.

Looking at the weaving that is up on his wall (maybe a rug?) I’m hoping that the prop people actually did buy from Northern Cheyenne artisans.  They apparently did most of their filming in New Mexico, so I hope they made the effort to get the patterns right, and buy from the actual tribe they’re supposed to be portraying, I guess?  And now I’m distracted by the fact that the random hanging light behind Jacob is at a weird angle?  

Look, ever since I realized that the “Hey,” that Jacob does is apparently just A (thanks to it also happening in That Damned Xmas Movie) I am endlessly amused (and charmed) whenever Jacob does it.  I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does.  (This is legitimately embarrassing.  How much trouble I am having focusing.  Beyond my normal focus issues, which, as shown above, are already impressive.  Because thiiiiirst.)

“My boys at the lumber yard did just throw you a campaign rally.”  I love how Jacob is basically apparently not just his secret angel-investor, but also a sneaky campaign manager.  Did Branch just think shit like the rally just happened?  He’s not fricking Ferris Bueller; somebody organizes those.  And apparently it’s either Jacob himself, or someone who Jacob appointed to do so.

“I thought you were just a casino developer.”  You have noooo clue, Brancheroo.  “I prefer to remain a silent partner.  White people get nervous when Indians start taking back their land.”  Oooooope.  Especially interesting because there are previsions for the Tribal Council to purchase land to be Tribal land (Section 6 of Article IX of the Tribal Constitution), but this seems more along the lines of personal acquisition.  Though maybe not, because “on the board” doesn’t necessarily equate to being the owner.

The set up of Jacob’s office is so interesting.  Functionally for the show, it’s probably for better shooting angles, so that we can see more of Jacob behind the desk while Branch is sitting in front of it, but from an in-the-verse decorating standpoint, bit’s fascinating.  He has this focal wall with the gorgeous wall hanging, flanked by floor to ceiling window, but instead of having his desk centered on that wall and directly facing the bulk of the room, it’s at an almost 45 degree angle on a huge rug, and it’s so unexpected.  I kind of love it, and want to analyze it for days.  Also worth noting is that pride of place is given to the  Hotamétaneo’o headdress which is on a stand centered in front of the wall hanging.

How fucking tired must Jacob be.  He’s used to Walt... Walting, but then Branch comes in, who he is literally spending his own money to support in his bid for sheriff, and he pulls the same shit of assuming that he’s behind Bad Shit.  And then Branch frames it as “bad P.R,” so he’s there to “discuss it with [him] privately.”  And then basically threatens him with Walt.  I swear.  ...there is something a little amusing about Walt being used as the stick in the carrot and a stick method of negotiating.  He certainly is enough of a blunt object most of the time.

Oh fuck you so much, Branch.  Playing the “can’t give you details about an ongoing investigation” card as though you have some professional or moral leg to stand on after basically blackmailing Jacob with Walt’s vendetta is just such shit.  You don’t get to look down your nose at Jacob’s quid pro quo pragmatism when you were the one who came to him for financial backing.  You sanctimonious little shitheel.  If you didn’t want to deal with Jacob, you shouldn’t have taken his $100k.  He’s a business man, and you’re an investment, and not a quixotic one.

“He’s probably the only person to have died from [hemlock] since Socrates.”  And then Walt’s incredulous look and her, “Alright, I googled it,” were subtle comedic gold.

Ooooooo, that was a nice little shot.  Not quite foreshadowing, but showing Branch’s suspicions and sort of inviting the audience to share them.  Walt says his bit about the Army poisoning “Indian wells” to kill them off and get their land, and then we see Branch fiddling with the Four Arrows chip and narrow his eyes considering and slip the chip into his pocket, looking suspicious.  It’s a really neat little moment of visual storytelling, no lines, literally three seconds long, just sort of snuck in there, but super effective.  Really nicely done.

And again, Cady is in monochromatics.  And, shit, just gave Fales Henry’s name.  Aaaaaand right after, she realizes that the junkie was killed and realizes that it had to have been one of her dads (or so she thinks).

Sal’s monologue in the cell is a good emotional payoff that plays off of Vic’s comments towards the beginning of the episode.  I see the narrative worth of her making them, and how the structure of the episode benefits from it; but seeing those writing elements from the outside of the show doesn’t make me able to like her as a character who said them in-universe.  And then the threat Sal makes of vengeance on someone who killed one he loves also underscores the stuff with Cady’s investigation into her mother’s death very well.  As much as I gripe about the writing *cough S6 cough finale cough* there really is some damn good writing in this show, and I don’t show enough appreciation for it.

Huh, and now there’s a sort of inverse of that weird shot preceding Branch from earlier, but this one is much more effective and less off-putting.  This one [33:00] precedes Walt as he walks back into his office, still a medium close up, but it’s much steadier, and the way it is framed, it does quite a bit to convey his mindset, and he walks out of the shot and we see the three deputies following him in like baffled ducklings, making the shot serve another purpose, too.  Which honestly makes that earlier shaky follow shot of Branch even weirder, because this one was so much better.

And then Walt has his creepy little speech about how someone would want to watch the light go out of their eyes and not caring if you get caught.  I do appreciate that when he’s talking about the psychology of killing with poison he doesn’t just call it a “woman’s method” which media so often does.  It might have been the writers keeping who the killer was abstruse, but it was still more gender neutral.  Especially since according to The U. S. Department of Justice's report on Homicide Trends in the United States (1980 to 2008) of all poison killers in that time period, 60.5 percent were male and 39.5 percent female.  (Table 5 on page 10.)  So that long held idea that even Sherlock Holmes was written to have that poison is “of course” a woman’s weapon is pretty crap.

Awwww, the good old days when Walt paid attention to animals.  ...I am still bizarrely salty about the fact that he never named his horse.  What a good pupper!  

And then we have a classic example of Sneaky!Walt, which always takes people quite by surprise, because he’s usually as subtle as Miley Cyrus.

Also because when he does this, it tends to be pretty fucked up, in a Make Someone Think They’re About To Die way.  And then he does His Thing, where he just lays out all of his suppositions, with no proof, only the terror of her thinking that she’s been poisoned and you’re withholding medical intervention to get her to confess.  And is, irritatingly, correct about his theories.  But I’m pretty sure this qualifies as coercing a confession?  She thinks she’s fucking dying.  Even Vic looks at him like it’s fucked up, and her moral compass where he’s concerned is... skewed.

They way this reveal was played out, (”How’d they find her so fast?”  “Hard to say...”) is somewhat ambiguous as to whether it’s supposed to be that Branch went there to tell Jacob or not, but I kind of doubt it?  I kind of figure that the meeting that Jacob was having when Branch rambled in was already with Rosa signing the paperwork.  Jacob is smart.  So, HAH.  Little good your “can’t comment on an ongoing investigation” schtick did.

And then the news that someone in law enforcement has been asking after Henry.

“Lizzie was waiting for you here tonight.  You should talk to her, Walt.  She seems to think she is in a relationship with you.”  ....omgs.  The tone.  I mean, yes, the blisteringly glorious SASS, but how does one not read that as incredibly shippy?  Howwwww?

“You are an honest man, Walt.  I would like you to stay that way.”  Oh Henry.  When did you decide that you weren’t?  Was it when you hired Hector?  Or was there something before?  ...I feel like there were things before that.  Hello darkness my old friend.

“It is not your job to protect me.”  “It is my job...”  THOSE WERE THE DAYS.  Those were the fucking daaaaaays.  And the emotions on Henry’s face after Walt says, “That was my right,” as though Henry cheated him of something.  I am so deep in OT3 feels I cannot even see daylight here.  The feels of them having been an OT3 and then Walt pulling this shit, and Henry having to defend his own “right” to avenge Martha?  It wrecks me.  “A good woman was murdered.  A bad man is dead.  End of story.”  

#Longmire #Walt Longmire #Cady Longmire #Henry Standing Bear #Branch is such a tool #Jacob Nighthorse #The Ferg #Victoria Moretti #Episode commentary #How many tangents did I manage to go on this time? #so many #Martha Longmire #I ramble about shots and framing and narrative too. #It took me so long to do this. #I am such a mess.

[ecoamerica]

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[bookandcover]

What I miss most: “the liminal, magical space that is the live concert venue.” ~June 8, 2021

I’m so glad to have finally read this book after it was repeatedly recommended to me by several different friends. Hanif Abdurraqib has an absolute gift for crafting essays that braid his personal experiences with the (sometimes seemingly cosmic, and therefore daunting to explain or conceptualize) forces of racism, sexism, economic inequality, and nationalism in America. He also jumps seamlessly in scale and in scope, summarizing the heart of something hugely complex—a masterpiece album, a regional sound, a decades-long relationship—without reducing the irreducibly complex, without sacrificing specificity, without sounding trite. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like this, although I haven’t read very much Creative Non-Fiction. Regardless, Hanif moves skillfully, masterfully. I love the collection’s confidence in narration, the love of language, the direct confrontation with that which makes us all deeply flawed (deeply human).

Each of these essays could stand alone. It’s a joy to read even one and Abdurraqib’s style shines through in just a couple pages. He crafts his stories with such dexterity. It’s clear that he comes from a background in poetry, as he celebrates language, builds vivid images, and thinks thematically. (I love the moments that are truly experimental—erasures of his own work, pieces without punctuation that flow on and on in one interlinked sequence). At the same time, he relies heavily on facts and content. Part of his conviction is born of research and depth of understanding. He knows his subject; yet, within this knowledge, he expresses personal preferences and sentimental love. I learned a ton from this book about music, about the history of particular musicians, about the relationship between racial inequality and self-expression within the field of music. Together, these essays form of complex tapestry of recent history in America seen through the lens of music. I absolutely loved the experience of coming to understand the interweaving of so many of our lives’ central questions and tensions through the history of music.

Art is inherently political, as many contemporary artists would agree (a viewpoint that counters the modernists before them who argued for the apolitical nature of art—art for art’s sake). Abdurraqib makes a very compelling argument for the deep integration of art with politics, social systems, economics, and trends. These things, however, are also deeply tied to the powerful forces of our choices, our identities, our love, and our compassion. It does not cheapen art of have it be so informed by, so shaped by political and social forces. In Abdurraqib’s worldview, art is the medium by which we reflect ourselves back to ourselves. And it’s also the medium by which we find freedom, by which we challenge ourselves to grow beyond the ways we understand ourselves to be. Race is the most central political and social theme that weaves throughout these essays, starting with the title of the book, which is introduced in the essay on Bruce Springsteen. “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us” are the words that hang above Michael Brown’s memorial in Ferguson, Missouri. It might be hard to imagine an essay that weaves a Springsteen concert with a trip to Michael Brown’s resting place, a task that would certainly be daunting to any other writer, yet Abdurraqib navigates this with dexterity that seems natural, fundamental to how he thinks about the world.

Within the framework of race in America, some of the themes from these essays that I most appreciated and internalized included: Black joy (when it’s expressed and what it means), the markings of wealth (in the context of a journey out of poverty), and the policing of authenticity (or other forms of self-expression/emotion). Black joy is mentioned repeatedly in these essays, as something to be commented on for its rareness, while also positing the idea that music is a space that more boldly permits Black joy. Awareness of joy seems flow underneath these essays; it’s something not taken for granted, something treasured. I found this awareness of joy in the essay on Nina Simone’s Blackness and in the contrast between how she is portrayal by Hollywood and how she lives on in Abdurraqib’s childhood memories. I found this awareness of joy in the essay “Surviving Punk Rock Long Enough to Find Afropunk,” which focused on the exclusion of Black bodies from punk rock spaces (and the disregard for the handful of Black bodies that dared to enter anyway), while emphasizing the inherent survival in the African American experience that resonants deeply with punk rock’s values. A longing for a space that is joyful for Black people was addressed beautifully in the essay on Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson, in which Abdurraqib wishes for a home in the darkness of the photo of the two of them, where he sees “a small & black eternity.”

One of my favorite essays in the collection was the piece “Burning That Which Will Not Save You: Wipe Me Down and the Ballad of Baton Rouge,” which focuses on the rise of three Baton Rouge rappers—Foxx, Lil Boosie, and Webbie—in the years that followed Hurricane Katrina, which changed the outlook of Baton Rouge and its relationship to loud neighbor New Orleans. The essay breaks down the fundamental pieces of the rapper persona (circa mid-to-late 2000s): shoulders, chest, pants, shoes. For each of these elements, the essential nature of each is discussed, particularly as they relate to signaling both wealth and self-confidence: the dream realized. I loved this essay because it brilliantly articulated something I’ve always sensed (understood in myself in certain ways), but been unable to well-articulate, which is the power of “markings of wealth” in the life of someone who has survived through poverty, or an understanding of the proximity of poverty. For this person, the possession of wealth (things that show wealth, that communicate its presence to others, whether or not there is a real depth of wealth) feels and is different. Someone wears their wealth differently if they are conscious of it. This is a different look than that of the third-generation millionaire’s son for whom a real depth of security is so deeply ingrained as to limit the frame of imagination to always include it. I loved how this essay explained that wealth is not an universally proud/cocky look, but instead braggadocios, something that has a lot of context, a lot of nuance, a lot to do with environment and habit and understanding of temporary/permanent.

Sports, another space in which the economic and political forces of America come head-to-head with the personal and lived experiences of diverse Americans, also center several of these essays. Abdurraqib has a similar appreciation of sports—spaces of fandom, spaces of mass-appeal, spaces where the struggles and triumphs of a few become the struggles and triumphs of many—as he has of music. The social discussion around sports also holds a magnifying class to systemic racism, a process which Abdurraqib unpacks and examines. Serena Williams is discussed as an example of the policing of Black self-expression (policing how she expresses anger, how she expresses confidence, i.e. “too loudly” for the white Western world), topics also addressed in depth in “On Kindness.” “Black Life On Film” tackles the way violence is romanticized and compartmentalized as part of the Black experience, allowing an observation of violence for white viewers that is unhinged from a need to alleviate it, to address it. These same tensions and problems bubble forth in the dialogue around sports, as the eyes of the nation are turned to popular topics, which are filtered through (nearly exclusively, exhaustively) the same biased lenses.

As Abdurraqib develops these complex themes, he relies on a few central tools that are essential to his literary project. To point out these common tools is not to say that Abdurraqib only has a couple tricks up his sleeve. These aren’t “tricks” at all. Instead, these seem important to how he thinks about the world, things that are inseparable from his mode of observation.

His most central tool is the “parallel events” essay structure. With this approach, Abdurraqib details what happened for him personally as events occurred elsewhere that rocked the framework and landscape of America. A collapse of time collapses distance. Abdurraqib seems to have experienced many of these such moments of collapse, as he vividly recalls where he was and what he was doing as particular significant events unfolded. The eeriness of these experiences are not lost on a reader; we’ve all been there. To say that Abdurraqib has experienced many of these is to, perhaps, point out how much current events impact and rock him (as they always do those who belong to the groups that are, time and time again, targeted and destroyed in America). But it’s also, perhaps, to point out the precision of Abdurraqib’s memory. He holds onto details like a vice, capturing for us in painful and poignant specificity the situation in which he personally broke against the tragedy of the news (as the news breaks to us, we break against it, like waves). One of the delicate powers of Abdurraqib’s use of this essay structure is the way that his personal narrative is not cheapened, nor lessened when set up against the national event, the event we all remember. Instead, one is given the right urgency and the other given the right intimacy.

This technique for framing an essay (an experience, a life) begins in the essay “A Night in Bruce Springsteen’s America” in which a white older man at a Springsteen concert tells Abdurraqib he was at another Springsteen show on the evening Lennon was murdered. While this man wishes that “no one gets killed out there during the show this time,” there’s no world in which, for Abdurraqib, someone is not killed out there during this show. The cycle of loss that is stitched into Abdurraqib’s environment, his racial identity, is too great for him to ever hold that same hope. I think that this technique of parallel events (one personal and intimate, one tectonic and tragic) is best maximized in the short piece “August 9, 2014,” a poetic erasure of Abdurraqib’s own writing. In the main text, Abdurraqib recounts something that seems, on the surface, like an every day experience: another passenger complaining on the flight he’s boarding, a mother asking to switch seats so her son can look out the window. With the bulk of the text crossed out, the secondary narrative that emerges from the remaining words is of another mother asking for her son. The date in the title clarifies that this secondary mother-son narrative centers on the shooting of 18-year-old Michael Brown. The longing, the seeking, the asking of both mothers exists in a poignant overly. Perhaps what the mother on the plane asks for is trivial, all things considered, but Abdurraqib never dismisses her impulse to shelter her son, from fear, but, at the same time, to let him see the world beyond the plane’s window. The personal and small that occurs in Abdurraqib’s unique experience takes on the sacredness, the elevation of the cosmic, the tectonic plate shifts of death/life, and also the heralding in of a new/old era in America with the birth of the Black Lives Matter movement.

My favorite, though, of all these essays was “Fall Out Boy Forever,” one of the most personal in the collection. Abdurraqib places the loss of his closest friend to suicide into the context of the rise, fall, and rebirth (as if from the ashes) of the band they both loved. Abdurraqib’s long-term fan following of Fall Out Boy works like pearls on a string, moments in time that span years, yet unite into a collective personal narrative. This narrative rang so, so true to me, as someone for whom the bulk of the past six years has been shaped by my relationship to a specific band. Their narrative contains my narrative; my narrative contains their narrative. Their concerts, their albums, their successes, their growth—these things exist like glowing points on the thread of my experience. I recall my life within this thread, anchored by it. I know the previous time I was able to see my grandparents, down to the exact date three years ago, because it followed on the heels of a particular BTS album that played in my ears over and over that week. I know when and where I traveled within the timeline of their music. I know when my friendships blossomed, pinned to the backdrop that is their musical evolution. I know the ways they challenged and changed me, changed my writing, grew my sense of myself. I know how inseparable I am from BTS, and I saw this so poignantly reflected in Abdurraqib’s journey with Fall Out Boy.

Like any true fan (the fan who is not self-interested, the fan who is there for the ups and downs, the fan who is there for the real story), Abdurraqib observes the members of Fall Out Boy with such astuteness (this made me go and listen to more Fall Out Boy songs than I ever had before). I loved the way he captures the dynamic between the band members. He’s great at this in general (his insights into the intra-band relationships in Fleetwood Mac and the production of the album Rumors was also so engaging), but there’s a different intimacy, a different kind of care with Fall Out Boy. Abdurraqib’s ability to so clearly reveal his own close relationship with Tyler in the context of Fall Out Boy’s inner life is striking and heart-breaking—from Patrick’s frantic internalization of his music (performed for himself, yet in front of a crowd) without Pete’s complimentary/conflicting (necessary) presence when Abdurraqib seems him perform solo in Austin, to Tyler’s DESTROY WHAT DESTROYS YOU patch that Abdurraqib casts into the pit at a concert after wearing it to shows for years. To me, Tyler leapt from these pages, alive in the space where Fall Out Boy and their audience come together, transcending his own life’s timeframe in the liminal, magical space that is the live concert venue. This essay made me feel less alone in my experience of life perceived through the lens of music. This essay was Abdurraqib’s project at its most intimate, where the perception that happens through the lens of music is, most fundamentally, that of one’s self.

#they can't kill us until they kill us #hanif abdurraqib #music criticism #important reading #race in the context of music #art is inherently political #writing about race #writing about music #rap #hip hop #pop music #creative nonfiction #popular culture #black lives matter #fall out boy forever

[netherlady]

I’m watching movies/TV shows I used to watch as a kid in the 90s. Specifically, non-Disney animated media. These are my thoughts as they come.

I’m on to a Filmation Associates film called Happily Ever After. It’s a continuation of what happened after the end of Snow White. I actually used to watch the Disney film and this one back-to-back because that’s how I felt things should be done.

Right off, the mirror is recounting Snow White’s story—but get this. The prince didn’t kiss Snow’s corpse to awaken her. With love in his heart, he touched her hand and it was enough to break the spell.

Can I just appreciate the fact they didn’t wanna be like kissing sleeping and/or dead people is okay if you’re supposedly in love with them. Not cool, charming.

Dom DeLuise is the mirror, and a shady bitch right off. Straight up is like lol I don’t know you.

This animation is beautiful, tho. Fluid, expressive, they’re all individual character desiiigggnnn.

Malcom McDowell is iconic in this. Also, adding the dimension that the Evil Queen has family—and not only that, but a good strong relationship to her brother? To the point that he doesn’t even know this Snow White situation other than what he’s heard from his sister over the years, day in day out, holy shit are you STILL talking about this fucking teenager give it a rest maybe? And when he learns that aforementioned teenager is RESPONSIBLE for the death of his beloved sister? No questions, not even any real monologuing; Lord Maliss really said just where is this pasty little fuck I’m gonna set fire to her entire goddamn life.

I never understood why the Bat felt sorry for the evil queen. Seriously, she spent a good week trying to murder a teenager and failed. Over vanity. Just.

Speaking of the whole teenager thing, Snow is supposed to be 14. In lore, and in the Disney film. The prince is over 18. Super not okay. However, the way Snow is animated in this film, she looks older, acts older, and is clearly not a child. She is also voiced by Irene Cara (yes, THAT Irene Cara), which lends an unmistakable maturity to her. I honestly think they mean for her to be older in this. 18 at least. And I appreciate that.

Also, damn is this child traumatized. In the span of a few months, she was nearly murdered by the huntsman, her step-mother (four times), resurrected from a hell-sleep, and when she and the love of her life finally have a moment’s peace, she gets carried off by a giant fucking dragon, chased into another dark and terrifying forrest, and her prince gets kidnapped.

Her prince looks like He-Man with red hair. By the way. That aside, my favorite moment of him is how they animated him watching Snow pick flowers for her dwarven friends. It’s not creepy or possessive. It’s so damn affectionate.

I love the dwarfelles, and every actress that voiced them. Fuck.

Low key, I always thought Sunburn and Muddy were married. Like, knew it, accepted it, moved on from it.

And again, the radical bops of 90s non-Disney animation. Gotta love this shit, sing about your feelings Thunderella.

Phyllis Diller as Mother Nature is also iconic. She is made of bitch. Good for her.

Remember when I said the Prince looked like He-Man? He got turned into Orko. I just saw it and i can’t unsee it now. Fuck.

Anyway, I always liked the Shadow Man, and while I did love that he was the prince, I also would have loved him being a separate entity. Idk.

Maliss is so fucking extra with the magic mirror, like “STFU YOU INSOLENT PIFFLE lol you right tho imma go sic demon wolves on this bitch brb”

The bat is supposed to be the moral one, right. Calling the owl, Scowl, out on his bullshit. Honestly, this bat is an asshole. Straight up a piece of shit.

Man, Snow really out here, fighting wolves, saving dwarfelle lives, being agile as hell. I think about the scene where she gets up in the morning and twirls in front of the dwarves’ mirror, happy to be safe somewhere she calls home. A lot. Like? This is the same bitch. It’s great.

There’s a lot of themes about vanity in this story. I find it so interesting that after being invited to travel with them by Snow, the prince, cursed like to be the shadow man, is so horrified at his new visage, he runs off in shame. In doing so, he leaves Snow vulnerable, and without her mystic companions—and she gets hella kidnapped by Maliss.

Who, again, is a competent villain. No speeches, no posturing, he transforms and grabs her while he has an opening. Like, Maliss legit did not fuck around.

Batso continues to be an asshole.

When Maliss/evil prince says ‘You will look out on this forever’, it always hits. I used to rewind this particular segment up here on the parapet a lot. I loved the betrayal, the final stand-off. But that? That moment? I think about that line on the daily still. Chilling.

The cloak came out of nowhere, but it’s no less terrifying.

Seriously, I want background on the cloak. We got a whole bullshit song out of the chain smoking owl, I wanna know where Maliss got this cloak, and if all the statues in his sister’s castle are because of it. That’s a fucking story.

Straight up, wtf does he do to the prince/shadow man with the eye beams. Like. Mad scary and super fucked up. Maliss is powerful AF, and he wanted the woman responsible for killing his sister to suffer so bad, he gets real angerblind real fast.

This movie went hard. Killed the prince and the dwarfelles right there. Like. They were banking hard that the Magic undo button with the death of the villain was gonna sell right.

I was always low key confused when Snow said she loved the shadow man ‘as dearly as the prince’ when she mourned him. I’m sure it was supposed to be a soulmate hand-wavey kind of thing, but still.

My brother used to make fun of the way she cried. Irene tried, okay.

Ah, yes, the 90s non-smoking PSA. Everyone had one. Now with more owl.

Happily Ever After. I wouldn’t blame Snow if she legit had a guard who’s only job was to test her food and clothing for poisons, and another to watch the sky for fucking dragons for the rest of her life.

I loved watching this again. I forgot how much I loved it. The cast is huge and stellar, with a ton of legends. And the pop ballad at the end is, of course, performed by Irene Cara.

There’s only three songs in this whole thing, and the pop song at the end. I always wished there were more.

Either way. I loved this movie as a kid. Next time I’ll probably watch the Princess and the Goblin.

#things involving me #happily ever after #non disney #90s animation #90s nostalgia #snow white #malcolm mcdowell #irene cara #phyllis diller #dom deluise #i review things for fun

[zoequeenz]

Plain Sight (Part 3)

A/N: okay okay biggest sorry ever for not posting last month. Started a new position at my job and then had to deal with some miscommunication that made me believe I was gonna lose that position. Thought I had COVID twice (no matter how safe you are you are always in danger) and that threw me through a loop. Then I started college and that was a whole crazy thing, so my August was anxiety filled and very demanding. So sorry, so I will be posting twice this month to finish this part.

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

We had Detective Martin round up all the other officers to listen to our profile. They all sat, ready with their pens and paper as Gideon began to talk.

“The Unsub brought his weapons with him. Tape, glue, wire. He did not leave them at the scene. He took them when he left. He has a kind of killing kit that he carries.” Gideon informs.

“Organized killers usually have a skilled job, likely technology related, which may involve the use of the hands. The crime scenes are far enough apart that he needs a vehicle. This will be well kept, obsessively clean, as will be his home. He’s diurnal, the attacks occurred during the day, so the vehicle may be related to his work, possibly a company car or truck.” Hotch continues.

“We believe he watches the victims for a time, learns the rhythm of the home, knows his time frame.” Derek adds on.

“You’re not gonna catch him accidentally.” Hotch says.

“He destroys symbols of wealth in the victims’ homes. He harbors envy of and hatred toward people of a higher social class.” Gideon says, walking towards the murder board.

“He feels invisible around them.”

“Class is the theme of the poem which he left at the various crime scenes. At one point in the poem, the woman attempts to bribe death, but he doesn’t accept it. He says this is the one moment when riches mean nothing. When death comes, the poor and the rich are exactly alike.” Spencer explains.

“So he’s poor.” A Detective asks.

“Probably middle class.” I answer.

“A decidedly lower class person would stick out in a highly patrolled neighborhood. This guy appears to belong there. He blends in.” Hotch elaborates.

“Why does he glue the eyes open?” Detective Martin asks.

“The Unsub is an exploitative rapist. Most rape victims close their eyes during the attack, turn their heads. For some rapists, this ruins the fantasy. For this type of rapist, the goal is more related to the victim watching him than the act itself.” Elle explains.

“He wants them to see him, he is often overlooked. The open eyes give him that satisfaction.” I add.

“The verses the staging, the aggressive language, “I am Death,” this is a guy who, while being in control at the crime scene, almost certainly feels inadequate in the rest of his life.” Hotch explains.

“That’s why he couldn’t wait for you to figure out what he’d done, why he needed to make sure all of his crimes were counted. His victims, they represent whatever it is that’s controlling him, and he wants that control back. He is under the thumb of a powerful woman who frightens him. And a final point. He is white.” Gideon clarifies.

“We have witnesses that identify him as a black male.” The same Detective argues.

“The attacker was black. He is not the Tommy Killer.” Gideon tells him.

“Mrs.Gordon’s husband came home at the same time that he always does. The Tommy Killer would’ve known that.” Hotch adds.

“And Mrs.Gordon’s attacker wore a ski mask. The Unsub knows when he walks into a house, he’s going to kill the woman who lives there. If you’re not leaving any witnesses, why wear a ski mask?” Elle asks rhetorically.

“And he wants the victim to see him anyway.” Derek adds.

“The attempted rapist is a garden variety disorganized young man.” Hotch explains.

“As the victim’s age goes up, generally, the attacker’s age goes down. Mrs.Gordon is about 60, which puts her rapist at about 20.” Elle informs.

“And it takes years to develop the level of calm and sophistication that Tommy displays at a crime scene, and the rapist is far too young for that.” Gideon says.

“Mrs.Gordon told me that there’s a young man who delivers groceries to their home. He fits a lot of what we’re describing here.” Elle adds.

“Great. So we’re back to zero on Tommy.” The Detective sighs.

“Not at all.” Hotch objects.

“May I see you in your office for a moment?”

They walk off.

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We had located Marcia’s rapist. Elle, Derek, and I were sent to go arrest him. He was walking back to get something from one of the trucks when Elle and I turned the corner.

“FBI. You’re under arrest.” Elle states, he then tries to run for it but Derek already knew he was gonna run and cut him off.

“You’re under arrest for the attempted rape of Marcia Gordon.” Derek tells him.

“What?!” He questions.

Though this was our rapist, he wasn’t out Tommy but this was the only way we were gonna get Tommy to contact us. We pull up as JJ is giving a press conference, just as planned. Morgan pulls him out while Elle and I follow through the crowd of reporters to get into the police station. Hotch meets us as we walk in and Elle tells him that he had already confessed. Our plan was moving accordingly. One bad guy off the street and so close to the other. We just had to wait. We were just waiting at this point. I was sitting across from Spencer and next to Derek, who had just angryily slammed his phone down.

“Chill, Derek. He will call.” I say calmly.

“I know Little One.” He sighs leaning back.

I knew better than to talk to him, and chose to listen to Elle and Spencer.

“God, I hate waiting like this.” She said.

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He asks playing with a Rubix Cube.

“I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.” She answers.

“Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?” He asks again and my heart pangs. If only he knew how many women would kill to be with him.

“You ever ask anyone out?” She asks back.

“No.” He replies.

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” She says simply.

“I’m sure there is someone waiting for you to ask them anyway…”she winks.

What does she mean by that. Her? Does Elle like Spencer. No no no, Percy. She does not. Maybe she means JJ. God it is definitely JJ. I mean, they were totally flirting and he was checking her out at his birthday thing and ugh-

The phone rings.

“Detective Martin. Hey,hey” he says grabbing our attention.

“Line 6, Penelope. Line 6.” JJ says.

“You stupid incompetent sons of bitches! I don’t make mistakes! I am Death! You hear me?! I AM DEATH! You’ll see now. Tomorrow. Mark my words, you will see. And while I am taking her, I’m gonna be thinking of you.” Tommy shouts.

JJ asks Penny if she got anything, but sadly she got nothing. Confusion was all around. How could we miss him. We all sigh in defeat. My nerves begin to rise. He was so aggressive and his threat was so terrifying. I couldn’t breathe, luckily Spencer was there. I couldn’t really register it but I knew his hand was in mine. I breathe in and out for a bit, look at Spencer and I am okay.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a very restless night for everyone. Elle and I could barely sleep so we occupied ourselves by watching whatever shitty movie was on the TV. I eventually got an hour or two of shut eye but it was all I really needed.

“We have an undercover car for each of your teams, and the entire damn department out there, too.” The Chief said.

“Remember a truck. Maybe a work truck, in excellent condition.” Gideon says.

“Everyone knows.” The Chief says.

“All right, he might make a mistake today. He’s angry, and he probably hasn’t done the kind of surveillance he’d like.” Hotch informs us. We all nod.

“Yeah, well, neither have we.” Derek adds coming up next to Spencer and I.

“Let’s go Reid, Chase.” We follow him out.

Derek drives us to our lookout spot. It was mostly quiet and I was two seconds away from sleep. I thought those couple hours were enough but the warm air and the birds singing was lulling me to sleep. At least until Derek sighs.

“It’s 10:30 already.” He says.

“All he said was tomorrow. He didn’t specify morning.” Spencer says.

“For all we know, he could strike later in the day.” I add.

“This guy’s gotta spend a lot of time in that house. A lot. He needs it to be morning.” Derek says. Spencer looks around.

“Are we sure this is a good spot?” He asks.

“Three of the victims lived within a block of this street. It’s the main artery through the neighborhood.” Derek answers.

“True, but three victims in the same block could mean he’s done with the area.” Spencer suggests.

“Or that he’s just really familiar with it.” Derek charges back.

“And comfortable in it.” Spencer adds.

“But then, on the other hand, the other victims lived more than a mile in either direction.” Derek continues.

“Right.” Spencer says.

“God,” Derek says, hitting the wheel.

“I hate not having a plan. We’re looking for a needle in a haystack here.”

“Spencer would argue a needle in a pile of needles.” I say, Spencer looks back and smiles at me. I know him so well.

“What?” Derek asks.

“A needle would stand out in a haystack.” Spencer explains making Derek laugh.

“And we’re not looking for someone who stands out?” Derek starts.

“No. We’re looking for a particular needle in a pile of needles.” Spencer further explains grabbing his binoculars.

Derek looks back at me smirking. I roll my eyes and feel my face heat up. I punch him in the arm, lightly of course, as a way to tell him to shut it. He just laughs. I rest my head on Spencer’s seat causing him to look back and smile at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face. He did his little smile and went back to looking out. It may very well be a long day but I was with my favorite boys so it didn’t matter.

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TAGLIST

@thesailbells​

#criminal minds #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid series

[everlarkficexchange]

A Taste of Rebellion

 Part II 

(For Part 1 go HERE)

A/N: Well, I’m not sure how many people will read this given that “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” was just released today, but I hope those of you who do enjoy it! I know it’s been a long time coming. FYI, the time period is the same in this, surrounding the 74th Hunger Games, but I’ve aged Katniss and Peeta about 7 or 8 years.

Prompt 68: (submitted by @oakfarmer12):  Dark Coffee Shop AU- Capitol Peeta runs a coffee/pastry shop in the poshest part of the Capitol nearby President Snow’s mansion. Capitol Katniss is a frequent customer. Things in the Capitol begin to deteriorate as the rebellion drags on. Are they sympathetic to the rebel cause?

Written by: @acpoe82​ (JHsgf82 on A03) 

Rating:  T  

Trigger Warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, and sex/prostitution

Peeta looks the necklace over thoroughly before his eyes gravitate back up to her face. “It’s very nice.”

Katniss nods. “I lost my dad, too,” she mutters, still staring down at the necklace, fingering it. When she looks up, Peeta’s blue eyes seem to shine with sympathy.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says.

He doesn’t ask how it happened, but she tells him, anyway, at least as much as was told to her. “He worked in the Nut. It was an accident,” she says, wondering if she sounds believable.

Sullenly, Peeta nods. “I’m so sorry, Katniss.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I just…it’s…” She huffs. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Peeta replies. “I felt that way, too.”

Katniss twists her lips into her best smile of appreciation, though she’s sure it comes out weak. If only Peeta knew…but of course, she’s not ready to tell him her theory. She barely knows him. She knows Peeta is trying to be helpful, but the situation isn’t really the same. Peeta’s father got sick, and while that’s terrible, at least he died of natural causes. Her father didn’t have to die. It wasn’t nature’s way. He was murdered. She feels terrible comparing the deaths‒a death is a death, after all. No matter how they went the person is still gone, and the loved ones are left dealing with the aftermath.

“He used to take me hunting,” she starts.

“Hence the talk of venison.” He gives her a small smile.

“Yeah. I go to District 7 to hunt. I use his bow.” Katniss doesn’t know why she’s telling him all this. If it was just a fair trade of information, she could have stopped at her father’s death rather than volunteering more information. That, in itself, is more information than she’s given any who didn’t directly know him themselves.

“That’s nice,” Peeta says, “being able to do something he did. Carrying on his legacy, in a way.”

His words strike a chord with Katniss. She supposes hunting was kind of her father’s legacy if anything was. That, and protecting the Capitol, of course.

“You’re doing that, too,” she tells him.

Peeta’s smile grows warmer but quickly drops off. “Trying to,” he says wryly. “Although, this place isn’t quite what I imagined it would be…”

She studies him, the twist of his lips, the slight wrinkle in his forehead, the look in his eyes‒there’s something hidden in those blues that seems painfully familiar…it feels like the look she must get when she thinks of her father. Katniss’s lips part to speak, but she presses them tightly together. And she and Peeta swap tentative glances. He must be processing, too, perhaps as uncertain as she about the exchange of so much personal information in such a short period of time.

“What do you mean, Peeta?” she asks after some time. It seems to her that the place does well enough. Peeta simply tells her to come back at night and she’ll see, and then he offers her a cheese bun.

*** She does as he suggests, and the next time Katniss visits the coffee shop, it’s evening. She’s still wondering why Peeta asked her to return at night; he was so cryptic about it. Was it just a ruse to get her here and see her again? He had expressed interest in her returning in the past. As soon as she steps inside, she has her answer…

The coffee shop is completely transformed, and Katniss nearly walks out, thinking she’s accidentally stumbled into a posh Capitol nightclub. It looks it, after all, so much so that she’s surprised no one stopped her at the entrance to check a list before allowing her inside. The interior of the space is darkened, lit by fluorescent ambient lighting, and music is playing, which she could hear from outside but thought she was imagining. She wasn’t. And it’s certainly not the gentle background music she’s become accustomed to here, but much louder and more upbeat.

The place is bustling. In some more congested areas, Katniss even has to push her way past crowds of Capitolites who are talking, drinking, laughing, and even dancing‒or, more like drunkenly swaying while sloppily attempting to hold each other up. And another thing, everyone around her seems to be way more dressed up than usual, even…Peeta? At least, she thinks it’s Peeta, but maybe it’s another stocky blond man behind the counter…

When she ventures closer, there’s no mistaking him, although he looks much different. He’s dressed all in white, in a pristine suit that seems to perfectly complement his blond hair, which, tonight, appears professionally styled. Not that Peeta’s hair doesn’t always look good, but it’s usually…messy-good, not so…coiffed.

Katniss takes a seat in one of the few open spots at the bar, a couple of seats over from her usual one which is taken. Peeta is busy and hasn’t noticed her yet, so she uses the opportunity to observe him quietly as she would a creature in the forest. He’s turned to the side, and she lets her eyes drift all the way down as far as she can see past the counter. She notices he’s wrapped his apron around his bottom half, over his suit. While it seems an odd thing to do, she imagines it’s functional, and she must admit a rather cute touch. She slides a finger across her lips as she watches him.

When Peeta turns her direction slightly, she discerns that the most uncomfortable-looking collar (possibly known to man) completes his ensemble. It’s diamond-shaped, the jagged top point pressing against his throat like a dagger. It looks like it was designed by a sociopath; it must jab him whenever he moves. How could Peeta choose to wear such a thing? Definitely more fashion than function. Capitolites do oftentimes choose to look stylish over being comfortable, but Peeta doesn’t seem like that type. It looks to be the work of a stylist‒9 times out of 10 (at least), a stylist will choose what looks good over what’s comfortable‒but, to Katniss’s knowledge, Peeta doesn’t have his own stylist. Then again, there is Cinna…

Cinna. Peeta’s partner. The brilliant former Games stylist…

When Katniss first met Cinna, she liked him right away; she could tell he was different from most Capitol citizens. Like Peeta, he seemed down to earth and easy to talk to, and he wasn’t extravagant. He wore sensible clothing like her, a dark shirt and pants, simple although made of fine materials, and just a swipe of gold eyeshadow.

She finds it hard to believe the collar could have anything to do with Cinna. Not only has he given up on being a stylist, but he would never torture Peeta so.

That aside, overall, Peeta looks good. Really good. And Katniss feels very under-dressed by comparison…

Finally, Peeta sees her, and he gets a great big smile on his face and waves. The corner of Katniss’s lips tilt slightly as she throws up a static hand. And he heads over. When he’s standing before her, she notes that he still smells as he always does, of cinnamon and dill, but tonight, she also catches a hint of some hair product. It’s coconut and another scent she can’t identify, simultaneously sweet and masculine. So then, in addition to looking nice, he smells nice, too.

“Hi,” Peeta says, a smile teasing his lips.

“Hi. Here again?”

“I could say the same of you.”

“You asked me to come,” she states plainly, folding her arms on the counter.

“So I did.” His smile broadens.

She taps one arm with a finger. “You work a lot.”

“Yeah. It’s necessary with such a small staff.”

Katniss nods, and her eyes flicker over him. “Nice suit.”

“Thanks.” He glances down, straightening his lapels.

“Oh, by the way, am I dressed okay?” she asks. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but some places have standards, and Peeta’s been so nice that she doesn’t want to offend him.

Peeta grins. “Of course. Why?”

She hopes he doesn’t think she’s fishing for a compliment. “Well, it’s just…,” she adjusts her hood around her neck, “it seems more formal here this evening…” She almost wonders if it’s some kind of special event.

“I don’t enforce any kind of dress code here, Katniss.” He gives her a quick scan and another smile‒he hands them out like candies. “Besides, as usual, you look perfect…” It seems the ‘p’ word has slipped off his tongue without him realizing because he swallows before smoothly finishing, “To me.”

“Perfect?” she scoffs. “I don’t know about that,” she mutters, glancing away.

There’s a brief silence, then Peeta clears his throat and picks the conversation back up. “I, uh, dress up in the evenings,” he explains. “And Portia did my hair,” he adds when he notices Katniss’s eyes settling there. Katniss frowns.

Peeta chuckles. “She does that sometimes. Guess you can’t take the stylist out completely.”

Katniss gives him a halfhearted smile. For some reason, the idea of the gorgeous Portia running her fingers through Peeta’s silky golden curls unnerves her a little. Maybe it was she who put him in that ridiculous suit. But what would she be doing dressing him…?

“What?” Peeta asks, smirking. “Don’t you like it?” He runs a hand through his slicked hair, and it bounces right back into position.

Katniss shakes her head. “It’s not that. Just…adjusting to it.“

“That’s right. You’re a creature of habit, aren’t you, Katniss?” He obviously thinks this because of her drink orders. “And speaking of habit, will you have your usual, or are you feeling adventurous today, Miss Everdeen?”

“Adventurous?” She nibbles on her lower lip. “Uh, what did you have in mind?”

Peeta just smiles and says, “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Peeta,” she calls out, holding up a hand. He turns to look back. “What are you going to bring me?”

“You’ll see.” She thinks he winks at her, though it’s tough to tell in the lighting.

When Peeta returns, he brings a tall glass filled with a bright yellow liquid and sets it before her.

“What’s this?” she immediately asks. She’d never put something past her lips that she didn’t know what it was. “Is it alcohol?” She’s never touched the stuff, but she sniffs it, anyway. She doesn’t catch a hint of that strong, unmistakable scent some of her mother’s medications had, which is what she imagines alcohol smells like.

Peeta laughs. “Don’t worry, Katniss. I wouldn’t spike your drink without telling you. I’m not trying to get you drunk.”

“Okay.” At his word, she brings the glass to her lips and takes a cautious sip. It’s sweet, but not like the hot chocolate; it has more of a citrusy taste. It’s good, so she takes another larger gulp. And another.

Meanwhile, Peeta leans against the counter, watching her drink in amusement. He finds it cute how she always begins eating and drinking (especially new things) so tentatively, as if she’s a wild creature being offered a handout from a stranger, but once she discovers she likes something, she becomes unquenchable.

“It’s mostly fruit juices,” he tells her. “A few different kinds. Kind of a non-alcoholic cocktail, you might say. I call it a…,” he hesitates, “a dandelion.”

“Dandelion?” Her eyes shoot straight up to his.

“Yes,” Peeta affirms, smiling almost shyly.

“Does it have dandelions…?” she begins.

“No. Not real dandelions. I just call it that because the yellow color reminds me of them.”

Katniss nods, though honestly, she’s surprised Peeta’s ever heard of one. They don’t exactly make fine Capitol floral arrangements. Her eyes drop to the liquid, and as she stares into the swirling yellow void, she drifts back to simpler, happy times in the woods with her father.

After a bit, she begins to wonder again about the decor of the coffee shop. She decides to ask. “So, Peeta, why the dandelions everywhere? Drawn on the specials board. And the lights, they’re shaped like dandelions, right? Now this drink.”

“Ah, well…,” Peeta rubs the back of his neck. “Just…a…a fond memory from my childhood.”

Katniss doesn’t ask further questions, and Peeta goes on to tell her about Mellark’s Capitol Coffee and its nightly transformation.

“So, like I was telling you…this…,” he motions around, “isn’t really what I hoped the place would be.”

“No?” she asks just before drinking up the last of her dandelion. He shakes his head. “It seems successful from what I can see.”

“Oh, that’s not really the issue.”

“Then what?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s…just not what I imagined it to be. I mean look around…”

Katniss does, and her eyes settle on a couple vigorously kissing in a corner.

Turning back to him, “What did you imagine, Peeta?” she asks.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Katniss.” He smiles so wide she imagines it must hurt his face. It would certainly hurt hers; scowling, or at least keeping a neutral expression is much less effort.

“I kind of envisioned something like a pâtisserie,” Peeta says, the French rolling flawlessly off his tongue in a strangely appealing way. He even uses an accent, and Katniss is impressed. “What I really wanted was to start a bakery, but there’s already a large chain around here, so I didn’t think it would do well.”

“You’re a baker?”

Peeta smiles. “Who did you think makes those cheese buns and pastries you’re so fond of? From scratch.”

Well, she hadn’t thought him. She doesn’t know why; she just supposed he was the face of the coffee shop and had workers back there that she hadn’t met. She tries to imagine him up to his elbows in flour, and it puts a smirk on her face.

“Speaking of which…” Peeta holds up a finger then heads back into the kitchen. He returns not long after with a plate of two cheese buns and another glass of dandelion.

“That wasn’t nec‒,” Katniss begins, but knowing it’s no use, she smiles and accepts it. She does, however, reach into her purse to pull out a tip for Peeta. When she slides it toward him, he places his hand over the money and hers. Katniss’s breath catches at his touch.

“I wouldn’t hear of it. You’re my best customer.”

Katniss’s eyes shoot briefly to the counter, her cheeks warming. “How can I be your best customer if you keep giving me free stuff?” she says, pinning him with her eyes. His cheeks are a bit rosy, too.

“Well, uh…” She smirks at his sudden lack of speech. “Because you’re a regular, and that’s what keeps us going,” he recovers nicely. “Besides, you don’t tip the proprietor of an establishment, Katniss,” he adds, giving her a wink.

Katniss doesn’t know whether he made up that rule or not, considering she’s not as versed in etiquette as say, someone like Effie Trinket, but she goes with it. Arguing with Peeta, after all, is as fruitless as arguing with a brick wall. Shaking her head slightly, she takes a bite of the cheese bun. It’s hot and fresh out of the oven, extra cheesy, too, and she wonders if he added some extra cheese today.

While Katniss eats and drinks, she listens to Peeta talk more about his beloved place.

“By day, the place is a closer approximation of what I wanted it to be,” he goes on to say, “but at night, it turns into…well, this. It becomes a hotspot. Mostly on weekends, but then there are plenty of Capitolites who either don’t work or go out partying on work nights anyway, so the place is rarely dead. Sometimes I feel like I run a nightclub instead of a coffee shop.”

She’d thought the same. “It’s certainly different,” Katniss agrees, her gaze falling on that couple again. They’ve begun pawing at each other like animals in addition to kissing. Her cheeks heat up yet again, and she looks away a moment before back to Peeta.

“Most importantly, I wanted a homey, family type of place,” he’s saying. “But of course, that didn’t work out.”

Katniss feels for him, truly.

“All this…this isn’t really my doing, you know. The patrons have kind of taken it upon themselves to change the atmosphere at night.” His mouth twists. “I suppose Cinna had a hand in it, too.”

Speaking of Cinna, Katniss hasn’t seen him tonight. She scans the room, assuming he’s out somewhere amongst the crowd. She finally spots him off in a corner, talking with a larger man in a fine suit and a couple of other particularly well-dressed patrons. Rather than being light and frivolous as most others are, their conversation appears heavy and serious.

She returns her attention to Peeta.

“The music, the alcohol, even my sudden…sense of style…” Peeta chuckles at that, although Katniss has always considered Peeta to be stylish, at least more so than her. “All Cinna’s ideas.”

So, Cinna did put him in the suit. Why would he do that? she wonders. Judging by the few times she’s witnessed, the two work so well together, and Cinna doesn’t seem like one to try and control his partner. But then again, she doesn’t really know him.

“Well, if you’re so unhappy about it, why don’t you talk to him?” is Katniss’s practical suggestion. “It’s your place mainly, right?”

“Yes, but we sort of have an agreement. I manage things during the day, and he does at night.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t discuss it with him.”

“Yeah…I could…” Peeta scratches behind his ear. “But I trust Cinna, I do. He knows what he’s doing, what’s best for the business. I mean, look,” he motions again. “He’s brought so many patrons in.”

Although it may be good for business, Katniss has decided she doesn’t like it here at night. It’s way too crowded and too loud; she can barely hear Peeta, and the whole atmosphere is giving her a tightness in her gut and a suffocating feeling as if she’s trapped in a box and slowly losing oxygen. She wishes Peeta hadn’t invited her here, yet she can’t seem to force herself out of the chair.

“It’s not like Cinna didn’t consult with me about the changes,” Peeta continues. “He proposed the ideas to me, and I-I went along with them.” He shrugs. “He did make some strong points, so I guess I should just deal with it.”

“What points?”

“Well, in addition to drumming up general business, I think he wants to get the attention of some…important people.”

“Important people? Like who?” Katniss clutches her half-empty glass and leans in slightly. She’s not normally the type to engage in gossip or really even care about other people’s business at all, but somehow, Peeta has her on the edge of her seat.

“For one, wealthy Capitolites who’ll think nothing of dropping a small fortune on alcohol and hors d'oeuvres,” Peeta says with a wry grin.

Just then, Portia passes by wearing a fuschia, skin-tight/mermaid style, sequined dress and carrying a tray of lavish-looking morsels. Peeta beckons her, and she holds the tray out to Katniss.

“You make hors d'oeuvres, too?” Katniss asks, taking one. “I didn’t know you could do any…fancy cooking.” She has to admit, she’s impressed.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Katniss.”

That’s certainly true. Up until tonight she didn’t even know he did the baking around here.

“I’ll bet,” she says sardonically. Right away, she realizes how that must have sounded. The comment was just her sarcastic‒bad‒personality coming out, but she hopes she hasn’t upset Peeta. Her eyes tentatively flit to him; he only seems amused. “Barista. Painter. Baker,” she nonchalantly rattles off the list. “And now a gourmet cook. Any other hidden talents?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” The wink he gives her causes her stomach to do a little flip. She hates when he does that, and when he smiles at her like he’s doing now, like she’s something special when she knows she isn’t. Ignoring him, she pops the hors d’oeuvre into her mouth and slowly chews. It’s rich and creamy as much Capitol food is.

“Well?”

She finishes chewing. “It’s good,” she says, licking the last bit of cream off her lips. She glances away when she notices Peeta staring, seemingly entranced by her action. Had she been seductive about it or something? She hadn’t realized she was even capable. “Um. Yeah, it’s good, but‒,” she chances to look at him again.

“But you’d still rather have a cheese bun,” Peeta finishes for her, a broad grin crossing his face.

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

“I figured.” He’s doing that thing again where he keeps smiling at her like he can’t stop.

“Because I’m a creature of habit, right?” she says, fiddling with her fingers.

“Right. That, and you really love them.”

Raising her eyes, Katniss smiles a little. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Loving cheese buns?”

“No,” she shakes her head at him, “being a creature of habit.”

He presses his lips together. “Not at all. But…maybe it wouldn’t hurt to broaden your horizons a little, Katniss. There’s a lot to see and do in this world.”

There is. And being born into privilege as she has been, she has the world at her fingertips. Of course, if she told Peeta where she really wants to go and what she really wants to do the most, he’d laugh in her face. Most Capitolites would, for what citizen in her right mind would want to leave the Capitol where one has everything at their feet in favor of a country cottage surrounded by nature.

“How do you know how much I’ve seen, Peeta?” she snips, unintentionally harsh. Peeta’s not fazed, though.

“I don’t. But a person can always see more, Katniss,” he says.

“What if she doesn’t want to?”

“That’s fine, then.”

She doesn’t know why she’s being argumentative because really, he’s right; there is much more she wants to see… It just…hits too close to home, she supposes‒that dream died along with her father…at least, she thought it had.

Deciding to change the subject, Katniss gently clears her throat. “So, uh, who else does Cinna hope to attract to the coffee shop?” She’s surprised herself; she never talks this much. It’s Peeta’s doing, surely. Not only is he smooth with words, but apparently, he can coax speech out of others.

“Well…,” Peeta begins.

It’s then that they’re interrupted by a shrill female cackle. They both turn to see a middle-aged woman, slightly toasted from the looks of it, wearing a huge headdress and covered in jewels. Katniss and Peeta watch her stumble over to the bar a few seats down from them, and then she beckons Peeta by curling a long, pointy finger.

“Friend of yours?” Katniss asks, sounding more disgruntled than she intended. It’s just a bit unnerving to see the woman leering at Peeta that way.

“Uh, no,” he says. “But I have seen her in here a few times. I’ll be right back.” Peeta heads over to take her order.

“What’ll it be, ma’am?” she hears Peeta ask in that sweet tone of his.

Although she’s close enough to hear everything, Katniss tries to ignore the interchange. She takes a drink from her cup, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she catches the woman leaning over. She reaches out to pinch Peeta’s bicep.

“Hmm…how much for you, honey?” Katniss hears the woman slur, and she nearly chokes on the liquid in her mouth. Okay, so she’s more than slightly toasted; she’s completely wasted.

Suddenly, Katniss has an almost sick feeling that could be jealousy, but she dismisses it, assuring herself that Peeta would never go home with some random older patron who wants to purchase him. And of course, he’s too good to take advantage of an inebriated woman. Right?

She keeps listening.

“Oh.” Peeta chuckles good-naturedly, though he’s clearly caught off guard. “I’m not for sale, ma’am,” he tells her directly.

Good boy, Katniss thinks, finding her mental response rather odd. After all, why should she care what Peeta does? He’s not her guy, and this is the Capitol. What’s a little prostitution? At least they’re both adults, which isn’t always the case…

“But how about one of our famous pastries?” Peeta deflects. He must be looking out for her, thinking eating something will help soak up the substantial amount of alcohol she must have ingested.

Yet the woman persists. “Not for sale?” she exclaims in her high-pitched, alcohol-saturated affected accent that’s like nails on a chalkboard to Katniss. “Everything’s for sale if you have enough money.” And apparently, everyone, too, according to her. Katniss discreetly watches the woman lean in to get a better look at Peeta. She flattens her palms and runs both hands up and down Peeta’s lapels. “Weren’t you the Victor a few years back, honey?”

Katniss isn’t thrilled with the fact that she’s touching him, but it is rather ridiculous. She thinks Peeta is a Victor? Either this woman is extremely misinformed‒perhaps she doesn’t even watch The Hunger Games–or she’s so incredibly drunk that Peeta has morphed into a former Victor to her. Maybe next he’ll become a mutt, and she’ll run out screaming. Whatever the case, it’s a little sad; although she’s sure Peeta will let her down easy. Katniss rolls her eyes.

“No, ma’am. I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Peeta says, still polite as can be. “But seriously, you should try one of our pastries. They’re the best around, loved Capitol-wide. A pastry and a cup of strong, black coffee can’t be beat.”

The woman groans loudly and slumps over the counter. Apparently, she’s not hungry for food right now. But Peeta is an excellent salesman and manages to tempt her with something aside from his body‒his amazing selection of sweets. She finally chooses one and he retrieves it for her, along with the coffee, but then, to Katniss’s disgust, she opens her blue-lined lips as if expecting Peeta to feed her.

Oh, God. Katniss cringes. He’s not really going to…, is he? How’s Peeta going to get out of this one?

She expected him to be more creative about getting out of it, but it works, nonetheless, when Peeta feigns being beckoned by someone. He calls out “Be right there,” pushes the plate with the pastry on it toward the woman, and darts off.

Katniss places a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing when Peeta comes over. She’s softened, however, by the look of embarrassment on his face.

“So, how often does that happen?” Katniss deadpans.

“Never.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s never happened before.”

“Well, at least she thought you looked like a Victor,” Katniss states plainly. “I guess that’s a compliment.” Although certainly not every Victor is attractive, many of them have some kind of appeal.

“Yeah. I guess so…,” he says, uncertain.

“Not that she could see straight,” Katniss quips.

“Probably not.” Peeta grins. But I wonder which one she thinks I look like?” He taps his chin, considering it a moment. “Maybe…Gloss?”

“No,” Katniss responds immediately. “You look nothing like Gloss.”

Peeta raises a brow. “I’m even more handsome, right?” And grinning, he leans forward.

Katniss is onto Peeta’s game. He’s not being arrogant; he just wants to get her to compliment him. But she’s not going to do it. Her first thought is to say something outright insulting, not because she doesn’t find Peeta attractive‒that’s definitely not it‒but because, she supposes, she doesn’t want him to know just how attractive she does find him, and also, negativity comes easier to her than sincerity.

Thankfully, Peeta digresses. “So, you were asking about important people, right? Well, as our lovely intoxicated friend mentioned, there are the Victors…”

“The Victors come in?” Katniss asks, incredulous. She’s not one of those Capitolites who gets starstricken over whoever the Victor for the year is, but it’s curious.

“Yes, we’ve had a handful of Victors in here,” Peeta says.

On second thought, it’s not really so far-fetched. Some of the more desirable Victors are frequent visitors to the Capitol, and since they’re mentors, there’s always an abundance of them around during the ceremonies leading up to the Games. It’s only natural they’d have someplace to hang out, too.

Peeta goes on to mention the Victors he’s encountered, including Johanna Mason, District 7, Victor of the 71st Hunger Games.

Katniss remembers her. She was the one who acted like a weakling in order to fool her competitors and only much later, when the numbers had substantially dwindled, revealed how skilled and vicious she actually was.

“Johanna Mason is…interesting…” Peeta raises his blue eyes skyward then proceeds to tell Katniss the story of approaching her to warn her about keeping her clothes on in his establishment…

*** Johanna Mason gives him a long look up and down and shrugs. “It’s hot in here. What’s it to you, Blondie?”

“Well, it’s my place,” he speaks politely but firmly while doing his best to keep his eyes only on the face of the half-naked woman, “and it’s a public restaurant…”

He begins to suggest he could adjust the temperature setting, but she cuts him off.

“So? It’s the Capitol, isn’t it?” she argues. “And the Capitol’s all about luxury and pleasures and debauchery and shit, right?”

“Well, that’s…”

Johanna scoffs. “What’s the big deal? I don’t hear no one complainin’. And it’s not like I’m totally naked. You a prude, Blondie? Gay?”

“No. No,” Peeta asserts. “But this is a classy place, Miss Mason…” He can tell right away what Johanna thinks of that, and she makes her discontent known by laughing in his face and flipping him off before defiantly moving to another table and turning her back on him. She keeps her clothes on, though.

*** Katniss’s mouth forms a tiny ‘o’ in response to Peeta’s tale, and then, the corner of her lips tilt slightly. It was amusing, but Katniss is glad she missed it.

“I’d add ‘spirited’ and ‘sassy’ to Johanna Mason’s list of descriptors,” Peeta says. Katniss laughs a little at that.

“Oh, and when he’s in the Capitol, Finnick Odair is a regular here.”

“Finnick Odair? From District 4?”

Katniss remembers him, too. The youngest Victor of the Hunger Games, the bronze-haired sea god with eyes to match his watery world, master of the trident. He’s handsome and his sexual prowess is rumored to rival his combat skills‒it’s always a toss-up whether he’s a better fighter or lover. Speaking of the latter, Katniss doesn’t know how many women he’s bedded at his young age (barely older than her), but she’s sure there’s throngs because he’s as good as gold here in the Capitol.

“Yeah. He comes in probably two-three times a week when he’s around,” Peeta says, “usually with a woman or two on his arm. And if he’s alone, more often than not, he finds a companion to leave with.”

Katniss nods.

“Then, of course, there’s Snow…,” Peeta goes on.

Katniss’s eyes widen a tick, and her lips part. “What about President Snow? You’ve met him?”

“Sort of, yeah. He’s been in here several times.”

Katniss hasn’t seen President Snow in person, herself. When her father was killed at the Nut, she thought Snow might have shown up to pay tribute to all her father’s years of loyal service, but he only sent one of his officials to present them with a commemorative plaque.

“Doesn’t come in often, though,” Peeta tells her. “He usually sends someone to pick up his order. But he does occasionally stop in for a drink and an appetizer. With his guards, of course. Oh, and he always has his food and drink tested before he takes even a single sip or bite.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Katniss says. “He’s clever to do so.” Because surely, a president such as Snow would have enemies‒a man doesn’t stay in power for so long by being stupid enough to trust just anyone who comes along.

The woman returns, interrupting them again. “So, if you’re not going to take care of my needs, honey, then can you direct me to someone who will?” she says to Peeta.

“Oh. Um…” He scans around then points. The woman turns her head to follow his finger, staggering a little as she does, and Peeta reaches out to steady her. Probably a mistake. The woman doesn’t try to jump him, though, and Katniss is surprisingly relieved. “There seems to be a group of handsome men over there,” he tells her. “Why don’t you head over and mingle a little, strike up a conversation.”

The woman turns back to him, her thin blue lips curling up. She reaches out to grab a hunk of the flesh of his cheek. “Thanks, honey,” she slurs. She gives his cheek a pinch before heading off in the direction of the group of men.

Peeta turns sheepishly back to Katniss; she has a baleful expression on.

“Peeta, do you run a…a prostitution ring?!” she exclaims, her face flushed.

“No!” Peeta shakes his head vigorously. “I-!” He holds up his hand in a conciliatory fashion. “That…that just happens sometimes…”

“I thought you said it never had.” Katniss eyes him suspiciously.

“Well, I mean,” he adjusts his collar, “never to me. But a lot of people hang out here at night, Katniss, and that sort of thing…is bound to happen.”

She understands. This is the Capitol, and casual sexual encounters are as commonplace as going out for a fancy dinner. She just thought Peeta’s place might have been different…

“I don’t condone it, Katniss,” Peeta begins. She shivers slightly when he touches her shoulder. “This is a prime example of what I meant, about the place turning out different than I thought.”

She listens as he goes on. “Sometimes I just feel like…I don’t know…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “A pawn. Like some kind of pawn in a game.”

That’s a bit strong. “What do you mean?”

Peeta shrugs. “I don’t know. Did you ever get a feeling…like a storm’s brewing…like something’s about to happen, but you’re completely in the dark?” He stares out across what’s become a makeshift dance floor. “That maybe something big’s going on, and you’re part of it, but a very small, expendable part?”

She has no idea what Peeta’s talking about; he’s being cryptic again, speaking nonsense, and she tells him so. He simply stares into her eyes.

“What are you saying, Peeta?” Katniss prods. She gasps when he takes hold of her arm and tugs.

Only protesting a second, she goes along willingly, allowing Peeta to drag her off to the side into a dark, quiet corner. Here, she can barely make out the outline of his facial features, but she can sense him inching closer. She catches his eyes briefly dropping to her lips when a strobe flashes across his face.

There’s no real reason for it, but she suspects he might kiss her. Maybe because he’s so close right now…or maybe because they’ve been flirting a little; at least, she thinks that’s what they’ve been doing all this time, but she’s far from an expert. She’s not sure how she feels about the idea of Peeta kissing her, but she doesn’t move away.

There’s no need to decide how she feels, though, because he only leans in, lowering his voice to just above a whisper, “You wouldn’t believe some of the things that go on here…”

“What sort of things?” she whispers back, her curiosity piqued.

“I can confide in you, right, Katniss?” he asks, those blue eyes, darker and dilated in the lighting, piercing through her.

“Yes,” she says.

Alright, what has she gotten herself into? What is he about to confide in her?

Peeta tells her of the ‘deals’ that go on here, the exchanges of goods and favors, the secret rendezvous, and the whisperings… Although she can imagine, she asks about the kind of deals, and Peeta explains that there are all kinds, from exchanges of jewelry or substances to alter the mind and body, those meant for euphoria or function to sexual favors and the direct selling of human beings for either sex or labor. He tells her that Cinna and he put a stop to any illegal transactions, but then, not much is illegal around here‒the Capitol is a place of comfort and privilege and pleasure.

Peeta pulls back to study Katniss’s face, and she’s sure it’s impassive.

Honestly, not much of this surprises Katniss. She knows the kinds of things that happen in the Capitol. Does Peeta think she’s too pure to understand? Did he really think she’d be shocked by what he’s told her? She supposes she did react kind of strongly when she thought he permitted or even encouraged prostitution here.

She’s not sure what to say to him. She can tell Peeta doesn’t like what happens in his place of business, but what could he do about it, really? He could ask people to leave, and they’d just go somewhere else to ‘conduct their business,’ that’s about it. It’s not like he can stop it from happening, altogether. Who knew Peeta had such high moral values?

“That happens everywhere,” Katniss says, deciding on honesty.

Peeta thins his lips. “Yeah. I guess so. But there’s more, Katniss…”

They’re interrupted yet again, this time by that passionate pair Katniss was watching earlier. They’re undoubtedly heading off to be alone when the giggling female bumps into Katniss, knocking her forward. Peeta wraps his arms around Katniss’s waist to catch her, and her hands end up flat against his chest.

“Sorry,” the female mutters as she clasps the man’s hand and drags him off elsewhere.

Katniss stares up into Peeta’s eyes. His head’s tilted, his lips parted slightly in surprise. There’s a look in his eyes she can’t quite place; she’s never been looked upon in quite this way; it feels somewhere in between attraction and adoration. His fingers curl at her waist, pressing in ever so slightly. A chill runs through her, and she’s cold and hot all at once, ready to completely unravel. This is all happening too fast; she should pull away, but…

Peeta sucks in his bottom lip then takes a breath. “Katniss, I‒there’s something I want to…,” he starts, still holding onto her.

Whatever he has to say, she doesn’t want to hear it. It’s all just too much. She shouldn’t be here in this place, in the arms of a stranger. She works up the motivation to yank herself away, and she puts some distance between them.

“Katniss, I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” she says, holding a hand up to prevent him from either saying something or coming closer. “But, it’s getting late…I have to go.” Before he can say a word, she spins around and is gone.

*** Katniss races home, her heart beating through her chest the entire way. She calms down a little by the time she makes it inside her high-rise apartment just off the main avenue of the Capitol, and she gets it together fully as she takes the elevator to the top floor, to the penthouse, where she resides with her family.

When she steps through the door, the place is darkened. The crystal chandelier is off, the area being lit only by moonlight coming in through the tall, glass windows and a single lamp on the table beside the snow-white, semicircular couch. Her mother isn’t around; she’s surely in bed by now as it’s nearly midnight, but from across the room, she can see that Primrose has fallen asleep on the couch, probably waiting up for her to get home.

Katniss goes over. She removes the book from Prim’s chest and places it on the end table; then she kneels on the carpet and leans over her. Brushing aside her long, golden hair, she places a soft kiss on her forehead. “Little Duck. Wake up, Little Duck,” she speaks softly.

It’s an old nickname‒one day when Prim was very small, she’d dressed up in their mother’s clothing. Naturally, they were way too big, and when she’d tucked in the shirt, the back stuck out like a duck tail, so Katniss took to calling her ‘Little Duck.’ At 19, Prim is a woman now, but to Katniss, she’ll always be her Little Duck.

Katniss gives her Little Duck a soft shake. “Mmm…” Prim stirs and opens her blue eyes. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Katniss smiles. “Why don’t you go to your bed? You’ll be much more comfortable.”

“Okay,” Prim mutters drowsily, and Katniss helps her to stand on her sleep-weakened legs. She still can’t believe she’s nearly her height now.

Prim straightens her nightdress and rubs the sleep from her eyes. “How was your night?” she asks.

“Fine,” Katniss replies. That is, if ‘fine’ means nearly kissing a guy she might (probably) likes, then running off on him like a child when he’s about to say something possibly important to her.

Prim seems to be waiting to see if she’ll say more; she’s always been attuned to her, and she does tell Prim more than anyone else. Except, now there’s Peeta… Of course, she can’t talk to Peeta about Peeta, and she’s not ready to tell Prim about him, either, so she simply tucks back Prim’s hair and says, “Goodnight, Little Duck.”

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

*** After her embarrassment, Katniss doesn’t return to the coffee shop for a few days. She’s gotten into this terrible habit of running from Peeta like a frightened fawn in the forest. She doesn’t know what’s the matter with her, but she’s decided it needs to stop.

The next time she goes, Peeta is dressed casually, this time, in earth tones, browns and tans, and likewise, he is casual with her. He doesn’t attempt to reveal any more coffee shop secrets, nor does he touch her. He’s friendly, but he keeps the flirting to a minimum. In fact, he doesn’t say anything that makes her feel remotely different from any other customer in the place, aside from his initial remarks…

When she first arrived, Peeta automatically brought her hot chocolate and her favorite accompanying sweet pastry. “I, uh, saw you coming,” he told her sheepishly. And then, more confidently, he added, “I know what you like.”

She hesitates, staring down at the drink and pastry.

“Uh, I’m sorry to assume. Would you like something else?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “this is perfect.” Perfect? Had she actually just used the word ‘perfect’ with him? It takes her back to a few nights ago when he said she looked ‘perfect…’

“Good,” he says, uncertainly. He’s beginning to tell her to enjoy when she cuts him off.

“And what about you, Peeta? What do you like?”

Peeta seems surprised. Possibly because of what happened the other day or maybe it’s because they haven’t played the ‘Real/Not Real’ game in a while, and she’s not normally the one to initiate the exchange of information when they do.

Blue eyes meet silver a moment, and a slow smile creeps up on Peeta’s face. “You aren’t playing the game correctly, Katniss.” He wags a finger.

Katniss rolls her eyes. Speaking of which…

“Fine. You like coffee. Real or Not Real?”

“Not Real. I prefer tea,” he tells her.

“You take sugar in it. Real or Not Real?”

“Not Real. No sugar.”

Damn. Maybe one of these days she’ll get one right.

Her eyes drop away, and she glances down at her feet, being reminded of what she’d carried in. Oh, right.

“Oh, Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not tea, but I brought you something,” she says, lifting the canvas sack with both hands and plunking it down on the counter.

“What’s this?” Peeta asks.

“The meat I promised. You seemed to want it so badly, so I made a point to go hunting this morning.” She smirks. Truth of the matter is, she was feeling she needed to make amends for yet again being so rude to him, so she’d left at first light, snuck into District 7, despite the increased Peacekeeper volume for the upcoming Hunger Games, and bagged him some fresh game. She doesn’t know if he’s going to like what she brought, and the whole thing did start out as a joke, but she really wants him to experience it.

“Don’t worry, they’re not bloody corpses. Just packages of meat. I skinned and cleaned them for you.

“Them?” Peeta’s mouth drops open, but she can see the relief in his face over not having a bag of mangled animal carcasses thrown onto his nice, clean counter; although he’s probably going to have to wipe that counter down, anyway, because her bag wasn’t the cleanest. “Wow. Um. You really…shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

She wants to laugh. Peeta, ever the kind, polite one, doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, but it’s obvious he’s dreading tasting the meat. “Oh, it was no trouble at all.” She attempts a genuine smile, but she’s sure it comes out devious. “Call it payment for all those free cheese buns and pastries.”

And then there’s that. This isn’t meant to torment him, though Peeta might think so. She really does feel the need to repay him in some way for all the free goodies, and she didn’t know another way.

Peeta wets his lips. “Well, great. Thanks. Deer, huh?”

She senses his hesitation as he reaches out for the bag.

“Yes. Oh, I also threw in a rabbit and a tree rat.”

“Tree rat?” Peeta’s face contorts into an expression that’s part-cringe, part-bewilderment.

“Yeah.” She cocks her head slightly to the side studying him. “Not much meat, but they’re tasty enough.”

Peeta’s trying so hard to hide his horror, but today, his typically great poker face is completely failing him. “Uh, okay. Thanks…thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” She pushes the heavy bag–which she had to drag part of the way here but made sure to brush off before bringing it inside‒toward him, and he hefts it over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

After a couple of steps toward the kitchen, he turns back. “Oh, uh, which one is which? Are they labeled or anything?”

She smirks at him.

“You’re not telling, huh?”

Katniss shakes her head slowly from side to side. “No, but I’ve numbered them. Just tell me which you like best.”

Peeta nods. “Alright. I’ll just…go freeze this.”

“Now, don’t forget to try it,” she jabs a finger at him. A tiny smile spreads across her face as she adds, more sincerely, “I really want you to try it. I think you’ll like it.”

He smiles warmly back at her. “Okay, Katniss. I promise to try it.” And then, he does something strange…he holds three fingers up in a kind of salute… She feels like she’s seen this gesture before, but she’s not sure where.

“What’s that?” she asks, looking at his hand.

“I’m just giving you my word, Katniss.”

*** Going to Mellark’s has become part of Katniss’s day now. She always has something to drink and eats either a cheese bun or some other pastry or two, and sometimes, she even has a small lunch there. One time she teased Peeta that she was going to gain a ton of weight, and he only reassured her that it wouldn’t matter to him even if she did. She’s learned to accept Peeta’s remarks and compliments, no longer getting as embarrassed by them, though she usually pretends to ignore them altogether.

Katniss still hasn’t told her mother or even Prim about Peeta Mellark. They know she goes to the coffee shop, but they don’t know why she goes so often. And she’s too embarrassed to admit it. She’s started bringing sweets and cheese buns home, though, mainly for Prim, and those seem to satisfy and negate any need for explanation‒Peeta’s baked goods speak for themselves, and they’re loud and clear and delicious.

Still, she’s been careful not to mention the guy who made them for her, nor that he often throws in freebies when she’s not looking… Speaking of which, after a few times of arguing with him about that, Katniss gave up, knowing Peeta’s never going to change and that he even seems to get some kind of sadistic glee out of ticking her off sometimes.

Katniss shakes her head. She can’t seem to stay angry at him for long, even with as infuriating as he can be. One dimpled smile or flash of innocence in his blue puppy eyes and she’s a goner…

That being said, she doesn’t know exactly how she feels about Peeta. She could talk to Prim about her feelings, but no, it’s not the time to speak up about him. Not when there’s nothing really to tell. If this‒whatever it is‒continues, she’ll surely mention him one day, and when she does, she expects Prim will ask all sorts of questions like: ‘Is he cute?’ and ‘Do you like him?’‒questions she doesn’t want to answer and isn’t even sure she has an answer to yet…

Okay, so, yes, she’s long since decided that Peeta is cute, and as far as liking him goes, well, she doesn’t even know if he likes her. When a guy talks to you and smiles at you a lot and gives you goodies, does it mean he likes you? She feels stupid for not knowing, especially at her age, but it’s not like she’s had much (or any) experience with this sort of thing. And Peeta is, well, different than most guys. Katniss sighs. She might be a lost cause when it comes to dating and romance, but her gut doesn’t often lie to her. And her gut seems to be telling her that the odds are definitely in favor of her liking him, and there’s a strong possibility that he likes her, too…

*** And so, Katniss continues to go to the coffee shop. And she and Peeta fall into a comfortable rhythm. She drinks and eats. They talk. And when it’s slow, Peeta sketches in a notebook. Sometimes he shows her his drawings, other times, he’s careful not to let her catch a peek. It doesn’t bother her, though. She understands the need for privacy more than most.

The sketches Peeta has shown her, though, are amazing. They’re usually of nature, which she can appreciate, or of items around the coffee shop. Occasionally, he draws a person. He’s done a portrait of Cinna, Portia, and a few of the coffee shop’s more memorable patrons.

It’s nice that Peeta’s creative, thinks Katniss. Around here, the only people who really get the opportunity to be creative are stylists and Gamemakers, and then of course, there’s personal fashion, those who dye their skin and hair various hues or have plastic surgery and who seek out the most outlandish hairstyles and clothing choices. It’s become so commonplace in the Capitol that, although it might shock visitors from the districts, it never phases Katniss, no matter what she might see.

It’s been nearly a week since she brought him the venison, and presently, Katniss is seated at the counter finishing off a fluffy cream-filled croissant that Peeta whipped up. And Peeta is sketching again. She glances over to see him intently focused upon his latest creation, whatever it might be.

“Someday, I’d like to pursue my art a little more,” he speaks up out of the blue, his hand still flying across the page. “Not that I’d ever make it as an artist, but if I did, I’d want to do more than fill the coffee shop and Capitol homes with meaningless wall adornments.” He comes to a halt, closes his sketchbook, and looks up at her. “I’d want my art to have meaning, make a statement, you know.”

Katniss nods, although she doesn’t really know. She’s not sure how exactly he would go about doing that, but she understands the notion of wanting a purpose.

Peeta studies her a moment before clearing his throat. “Maybe I could…show you more of my art…someday.”

“Okay,” Katniss says automatically, wiping her hands of crumbs onto a cloth napkin.

“I have some finished paintings…,” she hears him suck in some air, “upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Katniss’s eyes land on his.

Peeta nods. “Yeah.” And all of a sudden, the rate at which he’s speaking increases. “That’s where I live. I have an apartment upstairs.” He motions in that general direction. “It’s relatively small,” he shrugs, “but at least I have it all to myself.”

“Oh.” Katniss stares down into her dandelion. It was hot today, so she’d wanted something cool. She spins the straw around, pondering what he’s saying. Was his remark leading?

“Maybe I could…show you my art, and my place…and maybe…make you some dinner sometime.”

Katniss’s eyebrows raise as her jaw drops. She finally gets it. He’s asking her on a date, isn’t he?

Clueless as she may be about romantic things, Peeta’s uncharacteristic nervousness is unmistakable, and his intent is clear. So, what if she said yes? If she said yes and went upstairs with him to look at his art and have dinner, would he expect something else from her after? It seems fast. They haven’t even kissed yet, and now he wants to take her to his place? What is he hoping for exactly? Surely, not…that. But then again, he’s a man, and she’s a woman, and they’re in their twenties. How is he supposed to know she’s never even kissed a guy, let alone been with one intimately? And she’d feel ridiculous admitting it.

But then she recalls something her father told her years ago. Before he died, as she was approaching adolescence, he had a talk with her about boys. Yes, it was her father, not her mother who’d told her everything she needed to know. He hadn’t been awkward about it or beat around the bush; he’d shot straight. He’d told her all the details, how everything worked, and then, he’d said something that really empowered her and stuck with her: He’d told her to never let a man take from her what she didn’t want to give. He’d said that it was her decision to make, that only when she was ready and willing was it okay and that no one should ever make her feel weird or wrong about saying no.

She returns her attention back to Peeta. Peeta’s jaw is set, and his cheeks have gone rosy. She watches him swallow thickly, and she’s sure he’s dying in wait of a response from her. But she doesn’t know what to say. She assumes his invite is innocent, and even if it is a date, she’s not worried about him trying to force anything on her. Peeta has shown her time and again that he’s a gentleman. Not that they’ve ever really been alone together, but her gut tells her she can trust him.

There are a couple of problems, though. One, she doesn’t want to send the wrong message. It’s not that she doesn’t like him; she’s pretty certain she does at this point, but more than that, she wouldn’t know how to act if they were alone in his place together. Not that her father hasn’t taught her the basics, but she’s never…attempted them in real life. So, if things suddenly turned…romantic, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to begin. But surely Peeta would…

Peeta suddenly groans. “Oh, Katniss, I’m sorry. That was probably the worst thing I could have said. It didn’t come out right. I was just thinking we could…get to know one another. You know, in another capacity. Outside of the coffee shop.”

She grips the edge of the bar. “You mean like a date?”

“Yes, exactly. Like a date…But we don’t have to go to my place if you’re uncomfortable,” he adds. “We can go someplace else, anywhere you want.”

A heavy silence passes…

“Well, say something,” Peeta finally pleads, his breath coming out as if he’s been holding it all this time.

“I’m not good at saying something,” she mumbles, looking away.

“Okay.” Peeta nods. “Let me put it another way, then.” He takes a deep breath. “You like me. Real or Not Real?”

Katniss’s eyes dart back and forth, her entire body beginning to tremble.

“Katniss?” he inquires, an edge of concern to his tone. He touches her forearm lightly, and she jerks back. Hesitantly, she meets his eyes, and his search hers, probably for an explanation to her strange behavior.

“I…I…I’m sorry,” she stammers.

“It’s okay…”

Clenching her fists beneath the counter, she fixes Peeta with her gaze. “I don’t…really know how I feel, Peeta. I’m just so…confused.”

She knows immediately that she’s hurt him. He looks as if she’s just ripped his heart out and stomped on it, even though she never said she didn’t like him. But of course he’d be hurt. She’s been coming around a lot, acting like she likes him this entire time, and then she goes and tells him she doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks she’s just been coy, that it was all an act. But it wasn’t. She just hasn’t been able to pin down exactly what she’s feeling or what she wants.

Tentatively, she looks at Peeta, and he thins his lips. “Well, let me know when you figure it out,” he says wearily, and with that, he turns and walks into the kitchen.

*** 

Katniss leaves that afternoon feeling confused and conflicted. Her chest aches, and remembering the pained expression on Peeta’s face only makes it worse. How many times has she run out on him now? And he’s always kind; he never gives her the cold shoulder the next time he sees her. The way he walked off on her just now is the coldest he’s been. She wonders how long he’ll put up with her. Maybe he’s already done.

She could definitely use some advice, so as much as she hates to wake Prim from a restful slumber when sleep eluded her for so many years after their father died, she decides to make an exception this time.

Prim turns on her lamp and springs into action, sitting up in bed and patting the spot beside her. “Katniss, what’s wrong? Is something on your mind?”

“Yeah.” Katniss takes a seat beside Prim. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but…can we talk?”

“Of course.”

Katniss keeps things vague, but she basically outlines her entire situation for Prim, and Prim is a great listener. She doesn’t tease her or berate her; she’s simply understanding.

“I think you’re scared, Katniss,” Prim says after she’s told her everything. “And it’s understandable considering what happened to Mom when Dad died, and the only experience you’ve really had with guys is when that boy in your high school tried to kiss you and you decked him.” They share a laugh over that.

“But seriously,” Prim goes on, “it sounds like you really like him, and he definitely, definitely likes you from the sounds of it, so maybe you should give him a chance.”

Katniss smiles and strokes Prim’s hair. “I should wake you up more often, Little Duck.”

They exchange another smile, and Katniss kisses Prim’s cheek before tucking her back in.

“You can join me if you want,” Prim suggests, holding the covers open for Katniss.

“No, that’s okay. I’m feeling much better. Thanks for everything, Little Duck.”

“Anytime.”

*** Unable to wait any longer, Katniss returns to the coffee shop a mere two days later, hoping that’s enough time for Peeta to have cooled off and forgiven her. When she sees him, he’s cordial, but something is amiss. She’s working up the courage to say what she’s come to when he speaks first.

“I’m sorry about what I said, Katniss. I didn’t think. All that just flew out of my mouth because I thought you liked me, and I’ve just liked you for a long time, and…” At that, Peeta stops short and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck

A long time? They haven’t known each other for all that long…maybe a month.

“Do you think we can…just forget it ever happened?”

He wants to forget…?

“If…if that’s what you want,” she says.

Peeta’s lips part, and he presses them together. “Well, I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to stop coming here because I misread things.” You didn’t misread things, Peeta… “I want to at least stay friends. We’re friends, aren’t we? Real or Not Real?”

She thinks a moment, and with a bob of her head, she tells him, “Real.” But she’s not answering his most recent question about friendship, but the one before, albeit a little belated, the one about liking him.

“Good,” he says with a smile, although she gets the impression he still feels bad. “Now, what would you like today?”

She attempts to be flirtatious by asking him to surprise her, but she’s awful at this stuff, and he’s not picking up on it. He simply says okay and turns toward the kitchen.

“Wait, Peeta, don’t go,” she calls out. Surprised, he turns around, and she feels utterly ridiculous. “What I mean to say is…before, when I said ‘Real,’ I wasn’t…I wasn’t talking about…” She can’t seem to force the words out of her mouth; they’re sticking like that sweet taffy she once tried when a group of traveling entertainers came into the city. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to psych herself up.

There’s a sudden voice in her head barking, ‘Say it, say it!’ And so, she does…

“Peeta, when I said ‘Real,’ I didn’t mean to say that we’re friends. Well, yes, we are, but I was referring to your other question…” Her eyes flit away. “The one about liking you.”

When she finally does look at Peeta, he appears as though he’s gone into a tracker jacker-induced haze. “Uh, Peeta, did you hear me?” She waves a hand in front of his face, and he comes out of it, his rapidly growing smile practically splitting his face.

He’s reaching out for her face now, she thinks, but it’s as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They finally land on her shoulders. “Really Katniss? You really like me?” He’s grinning like an idiot, and he sounds like a little boy, but she’s smiling, too.

“Yeah.” She nods.

She can tell he wants to kiss her, but he probably doesn’t want to embarrass her in public, so instead, his hands move to cup her face and he presses his forehead against hers. A content smile on his lips, he shuts his eyes, and hers flutter shut, too as she takes in the warmth of his hands on her cheeks. It’s been a long time since Katniss has had a moment as happy as this one. As business has been booming leading up to the Games, Peeta’s been busy, and they haven’t been able to go on their date. But Katniss drops by everyday to see him, anyway, and they steal what moments they can with one another. He’s invited her to watch the Reaping at Capitol Coffee and further extended an invitation for the Tribute Parade, the interviews, and the actual Games, but he insists that those don’t count. He’s adamant that their first date is not going to involve a hundred other people and consist of watching The Hunger Games. She has to agree with him there.

It’s the day of the Reaping, and Katniss is seated at the counter with Peeta close by. They’re watching a large projected image of Caesar Flickerman talking with Seneca Crane on the back of Peeta’s wall as is everyone else in the place. And Capitol Coffee is packed. Peeta even had to turn people out, but of course, he saved a spot for Katniss.

Along with everyone else, Katniss and Peeta watch the footage of each district’s Reaping ceremony. The group is an interesting mix this year. Of course, the Career districts garnered the typical aggressive, highly-trained eighteen-year-olds, but there seem to be some other wild cards with intriguing skills.

When it comes to District 11, and a little twelve-year-old by the name of Rue is reaped, it hits a little too close to home for Katniss. It’s because she reminds her so much of Prim. Not her look, exactly, but her size and something in her eyes… Katniss knows there’s no fear of Prim ever being reaped as a Capitolite, but it still manages to unsettle her.

Peeta senses Katniss’s unease and places a hand over hers. “You okay?” he whispers.

Katniss nods, although she isn’t exactly okay. Seeing that young, dark-skinned girl reaped just really did something to her. It put her stomach off. But why should it be so? She’s been watching the Hunger Games for years; she’s seen plenty of reapings and numerous violent deaths, more than a few being young children like Rue… In fact, they usually are the ones to be slaughtered first…

“Uh, Peeta, could I have something to eat, something…easy on the stomach?”

“Are you feeling sick?” he asks, concerned.

“No,” she half-lies. At least, it isn’t a physical sickness. She just really hates seeing young children reaped, and this one especially got to her. Why, oh why does she have to remind her so much of Prim…

“I’m okay. I just want something light,” is all she says.

“Would you like some bread, Katniss?”

“Bread?” Katniss likes bread, though she doesn’t eat it often, at least not by itself.

“Yes, Katniss, bread.” He smiles. Somehow, Peeta’s smile cheers her up a little. “As you know, I’m a baker, and bread just so happens to be my specialty.”

“Okay. Plain bread?”

He nods. “If you want. I could also add something to it.”

He starts to tell her about the types of bread he can make, but it’s too overwhelming, so she finally asks him to choose, saying she trusts him. His instincts have been good so far, after all.

Peeta goes off to bake, and not long after, Katniss can smell it. The scent seems to permeate the air, wrapping its invisible arms around her in a hug. As foolish as it might sound, the bread makes her feel lighter and happy while at the same time making her salivate. He places it before her, and she’s in awe. It’s perfect. She’s never imagined describing food so highly, aside from, perhaps lamb stew, but this bread really is…perfect. It’s hearty, the perfect shape, has the perfect smell, and it’s even covered in raisins and nuts.

“Something wrong?” Peeta asks.

She shakes her head and continues to stare at the beautiful loaf until she hears him bark out a laugh. She looks up to see him smirking, and she scowls.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you appreciating my food, Katniss, but are you just going to stare at it all day long?”

Her scowl hardens.

Peeta just chuckles. “Come on, Katniss. You act like you’ve never seen bread before. Now, you’ll want to eat it while it’s warm. Fresh out of the oven, that’s when it’s best.”

She forgets her annoyance over him making fun of her and focuses on the bread. Peeta smiles as he watches her raise it to just below her nose and sniff it before biting in.

It’s initially crispy, then soft and moist, and oh, so delectable. Katniss takes her time at first, chewing and savoring, but not long after, she’s ravenously ripping off pieces like a mutt, despite his warnings. Peeta was right. It’s as if she’s never seen bread and hasn’t had a meal in weeks. And even though she’s devouring it rapidly, it’s just light enough to calm her stomach.

“Well?” he asks hopefully, nudging her arm with his.

“It’s just right, Peeta,” she says with a smile.

How does he do it? Katniss wonders. How does Peeta always seem to know just what she needs?

She eyes up the bread, ready for another slice. It’s only then that it dawns on her that he’s brought her a whole loaf, cut up into slices.

“You really didn’t have to bring so much, though,” she says.

“Well, just eat what you want.”

“You’re not going to throw it out after, are you?” Katniss can’t stand waste.

“No, you can take whatever’s left home with you.”

That placates her. She can give the rest to her family or throw it to the animals next time she’s in the woods. But now that she’s tasted it, she’s not sure she’ll make it home with a single slice.

Peeta inches a bit closer to her. “So, what’d I miss?” He breaks off a tiny piece of her bread and shoves it in his mouth.

“Twelve,” Katniss says.

“Oh yeah, how’d that go?” Peeta asks through a bite.

“Well, Effie Trinket got mauled by that drunken former Victor, and he pulled her wig off. Then two timid-looking sixteen-year-olds were reaped.” The Tributes from 12 didn’t stand out to Katniss, but she recalls how warily they shook hands. She doesn’t know if they knew each other beforehand or not, but she could see the fear and mistrust in their eyes when the camera panned in.

*** A few days later, Katniss is back at the coffee shop, and they’re watching the Tributes Parade together. Cinna is there, too, relating tales of his days as a stylist and comments on the costumes. Lastly, District 12 shows up, and as usual, they’re in their horrible coal-mining outfits, but at least they aren’t stark naked and covered in black powder this year. It’s then that Cinna suddenly has a ‘vision,’ or at least, that’s how it appears from the look on his face. He proceeds to tell Peeta and Katniss how he would dress his tributes, and then, he starts eyeing Katniss up.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Cinna?” she glowers.

“It’s just…you have such…fire in you, Katniss. Your personality. I think I would have you be on fire. I’d put you in flames.”

“Flames?” She quirks a brow. “Real flames?” She looks to Peeta, who seems amused.

“No, not real, of course. But I know how to create a substance that would appear as flames. Portia and I were brainstorming one day, and we cooked it up.” He doesn’t laugh at his own wordplay, only grins, and it makes Katniss want to as well.

“But the costumes are supposed to reflect the character of the district. I’m from the Capitol, Cinna,” she protests.

“I know, but just go with it for a moment, Katniss. District 12. Coal-mining. Coal burns, so it’s related. Now, imagine with me that you’re a girl from District 12…”

“I don’t want to imagine I’m from District 12, Cinna,” she snips.

Cinna chuckles throatily. “See, Peeta, I’m telling you, this girl is pure fire.” Peeta bobs his head in agreement, and Cinna leans over toward Katniss, his long, thin lips curling all the way up. “If you were in the Games, Katniss, I’d definitely bet on you.”

Katniss scoffs, then chuckles a little. “Me? In the Hunger Games? That’s ridiculous. And why would you bet on me, Cinna? I have no combat training.”

“Yes, but you can shoot,” Peeta chimes in.

“Animals,” she clarifies, getting back to the matter at hand. “I know how to shoot animals, not…” And it’s as if it’s the first time she’s ever realized it, that the Hunger Games is all about people killing each other. Not just people, but kids‒many of them completely inexperienced. It’s stupid because, of course, that’s what it is, and she knew it all along, but this is the first time it gives her an unsettled feeling in her stomach.

Both Peeta and Cinna have somber expressions. They both know exactly what she’s thinking.

“Yeah,” Peeta finally says in a dire way. “Those kids lose a lot more than their lives in the Hunger Games.”

“What do you mean, Peeta?”

“Well, killing another human being…I wouldn’t know, but…it must cost everything you are.”

Peeta’s words set like a rock in Katniss’s stomach. And it reminds her…

“Cinna,” she says flatly. “I’m kind of surprised you’re so excited about my hypothetical costume, considering you gave up being a stylist.” Not that she knows much about it, but upon recollection, it seemed like he had talent.

“Yes, well,” Cinna’s gaze flicks to Peeta, then lowers for just a second. He raises his eyes to meet Katniss’s. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate fashion. There were…,” his lips quirk, but not in the amused way she’s accustomed, “let’s just say, other reasons I left.”

Katniss nods, though she doesn’t understand a bit.

“It wasn’t because I dislike the notion of designing a pretty dress for a pretty girl.” Cinna gives her a pointed look. “And one so strong shouldn’t be dressed in some stupid costume.”

Katniss feels a touch of warmth rise in her cheeks, even though it’s just Cinna who said it. And then, for some reason, she looks over at Peeta. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and he and Cinna are engaged in something akin to a staredown.

It doesn’t last long, though, because Cinna bursts out laughing and claps Peeta on the back. “Relax, Lover Boy. I’m not hitting on your Girl on Fire.”

Katniss and Peeta’s mouths simultaneously drop. Apparently, they haven’t been able to keep their interest in each other a bit secret. Geez, they haven’t even gone on a date and already they’re being teased!

A sincere smile creeps up on Peeta’s face as he looks between Katniss and Cinna. “Well, I think Katniss would look good in anything you put her in, Cinna. But you’re wrong about something.” He presses his lips together. “She’s not pretty; she’s beautiful.”

“Mm.”

Katniss barely hears Cinna’s mutter of acknowledgment because that stupid organ in her chest has gone and betrayed her; her heart’s rhythm has gone askew, and her cheeks are burning, also, and she’s uncomfortable with it, so she turns the situation around. “So, Cinna? What would you put Peeta in?”

Cinna strokes his chin thoughtfully and comes to a swift conclusion. “Well, Katniss, I’d put him in flames, too, because of course, you two would be a team.”

This floors both Peeta and Katniss, and they exchange a quick look of shock. Cinna’s clearly noticed this thing between them which Katniss can’t quite put a name to yet. But, more importantly, Katniss wants to tell Cinna how stupid that is, that even if she and Peeta were district partners, they wouldn’t be a team. They would be mortal enemies trying to kill one another.

“Cinna, that would never work,” she says instead. “That’s not what the Hunger Games are about.”

“Well,” Cinna smiles, “you never know.”

Katniss swallows a groan and pushes back her frustration over Cinna’s lofty ideals. “Let’s just…watch the rest of the Parade,” she says.

@oakfarmer12 

                               ***To Be Continued…***

A/N: I really thought I’d get to the Games this time, but alas, I didn’t. And in general, I didn’t expect this to get so long, but it has, and now I feel powerless to stop it. So, I’m just going with it. I hope you’re enjoying it so far! Hope it’s not too slow-going. FYI, there will be at least two more parts.

#springtime edition 2020 #acpoe82 #prompt 68 #oakfarmer12 #submission

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1979

Under the cut.

I discuss Michael Jackson’s life and actions a little bit underneath here. So be warned if that’s something that will upset you.

The Bee Gees -- "Too Much Heaven" -- January 6, 1979

Uugh. When The Bee Gees weren't releasing bad, bloodless, falsetto disco, they were releasing bad, bloodless, falsetto lite "rock." Also the lyrics are about how love is soooo hard to get, so they're special since they have love, and yuck. Nonsense and glop.

Rod Stewart -- "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" -- February 10, 1979

I laughed out loud when I saw this next on the list. People can't have taken it seriously in 1979, right? It was seen like "I'm Too Sexy", yes? Even though Rod Stewart was a "serious" singer -- come on, this is a ridiculous song. It isn't about the narrator; it's about two people meeting on a dance floor and then going to have what's probably a one-night stand. But when Rod Stewart sings the chorus, it sounds like it's about him. It's a highly unsexy and very silly song.

Gloria Gaynor -- "I Will Survive" -- March 10, 1979

The joy I feel listening to this song. It's the best disco song. The bright piano flourish opens to Gaynor's amazing voice and phenomenal singing ability. She sells her anger at the guy who's "back to bother" her, along with the assertion that she's now totally confident and is gonna do great without him, will all her life to live and all her love to give. The lyrics are great, which is incredibly rare for any dance song. The music is great. And Gaynor is perfect. You can belt it in the car and it drives people to the dance floor. Just an amazing, incredible song.

The Bee Gees -- "Tragedy" -- March 24, 1979

The real tragedy is that The Bee Gees shat up disco. What could it have been if not for their influence? There were disco singers and groups who escaped it, but Barry Gibb and Friends' clogging of the charts kept out so many worthy acts. Lots of synth on this song, and synth can be really cool (I'm a diehard fan of The Alan Parsons Project), but the Bee Gees made it boring and turgid. Then that damned falsetto. I don't care about the lyrics, I just want to not hear the Bee Gees again ever.

The Doobie Brothers -- "What A Fool Believes" -- April 14, 1979

The guy the song is about thinks he's going to get an ex back because she was nice when he met her again. He's a fool, and "no wise man has the power to reason away." The music's good, too, a sort of mild rock. "Yacht rock" I suppose. The sentiment is kinda country music though. Good song, anyway.

Amii Stewart -- "Knock on Wood" -- April 21, 1979

What is that in the background? A synth sound, obviously, but it sounds like -- a washboard? I have no idea, but it's annoying. This is a cover of an older soul song by Eddie Floyd that's pretty good, but they wreck it here. The amount of gunk clogging it up is painful. Also Amii Stewart doesn't modulate at all, her voice is a constant blare. Headache-inducing.

Blondie -- "Heart of Glass" -- April 28, 1979

The 80s are coming. Blondie does interesting things with synth here, the beat's irresistible, Debbie Harry's voice is unique, and the lyrics are about an ended relationship that was "a pain in the ass." Not some huge broken-hearted thing, despite the "heart of glass" lyric. Just... done, that didn't work, moving on. Not that the lyrics particularly matter here. It's all about the interesting, different-sounding music.

Peaches & Herb -- "Reunited" -- May 5, 1979

If synth can sound more synthetic than usual, that's how this song begins. It's about a couple getting back together, but it doesn't sound like they were ever in a lot of pain or that they're really excited now. There's some neat guitar stuff. It could be worse. But mostly it's bland.

Donna Summer -- "Hot Stuff" -- June 2, 1979

It's a disco song, but with a lot more rock in it than disco usually has. Maybe that's why it's survived so much better than most disco. The narrator wants one of her lovers (of whom she obviously has many) to answer the phone so that she can get laid. It's the ballad of Romance Sims. It's fun.

Bee Gees -- "Love You Inside Out" -- June 9, 1979

Well, ew. This guy's whining that the woman he loves has too many lovers but he's the one who will "love you inside out," whatever the hell that means. It sounds like a serial killer. She needs to dump him, and also probably move and change her name. And, of course, there's Barry Gibb's horrible orchestration and falsetto.

Anita Ward -- "Ring My Bell" -- June 30, 1979

Disco, of course. He's been gone for a while and she's singing to him "you can ring my bell." So, they're gonna celebrate his homecoming with lots of sex. The lines "You can ring my bell, ring my bell/ (Ring my bell/ ding-dong-ding)" repeat a couple hundred times. The background synth sounds are painfully repetitive. Like something on The Prisoner used to brainwash people. And Anita Ward sings in a Betty Boop-ish sort of childish voice that I also find annoying. It's not Bee Gees bad, but it's bad.

Donna Summer -- "Bad Girls" -- July 14, 1979

"Bad girls" are not the same as "sad girls." Sorry, this song might be fine or even good, but that one line has always bugged me way too much. So does the police whistle.

Chic -- "Good Times" -- August 18, 1979

Disco about how "happy days are here again" for now. The lyrics are obviously pretty shallow, but at least there is a line about how it won't last forever. That's not my problem anyway. My problem is that the chorus bores me, musically. Like, it hurts. There are two notes I think? And the beat is the same throughout. I always sort of ignored this song before, but on actively trying to listen to it, I have started to hate it. It doesn't interact well with my brain chemistry.

The Knack -- "My Sharona" -- August 25, 1979

This became a hit again when Reality Bites came out. So I danced in a convenience store to it my freshman year of college. We were "of the younger kind" then, considering I was 17. That made me like the song better -- it was about me! Rock isn't supposed to be clean, and you're really not supposed to take it as advice. The riff is amazing, and I love this song.

Robert John -- "Sad Eyes" -- October 6, 1979

I've never heard this song before. The music box sounding intro lasts a while and lulls you into complacency before the horrible falsetto kicks in. Not only extremely 70s white man falsetto, but an entitled brat of a man breaking up with a woman and being put out that she's looking at him with "sad eyes." Incredibly bad in an incredibly 70s way. I can see why I've never heard this song before. It's absolutely terrible.

Michael Jackson -- "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" -- October 13, 1979

Sigh. All right, now that he's an adult, gotta tackle Michael Jackson. He was a rampant and, as far as we know, unrepentant child molester. He destroyed people in the most personal way possible short of actual murder. (Phil Spector is still worse.) He was murdered through at least extreme malpractice by his doctor. He was forced into stardom as a child himself. And he was a huge, massive, incredibly gigantic star, even after he became a punchline. I was never a big fan, but like most children of the 80s, I loved some of his songs and spent a lot of time doing the moonwalk, or as close as I could get. I feel an immense amount of pity for him, along with utterly despising him, along with admiring his talent, along with being sickened by the fact that Hollywood and the music industry knew and no one did anything about what he was doing. All in all, I end up at this place: Child stardom must end.

Okay, now for the music. This song takes forever to actually start. Also I have actually never heard it before today. Probably because it's falsetto. Jackson's falsetto is obviously far superior to Barry Gibb's, but it's still falsetto the whole song. The riff is great once it starts, and everything about the music should be good -- but, falsetto. The whole time, as far as I can tell. I can't listen to all of it. Whose idea was it that falsetto should ever be anything other than an occasional few bars? Was it Frankie Valli? I'm gonna blame Frankie Valli.

Herb Alpert -- "Rise" -- October 20, 1979

It's a jazz-funk instrumental and it's pretty good. Piano, guitar, trumpet, some kind of glittering thing -- xylophone? Bells? The people laughing like it's a laid-back party are annoying, but not enough to wreck the song. If this doesn't play on every cruise ship ever, they're missing a trick.

M -- "Pop Music" -- November 3, 1979

I saw the title, and thought I didn't know the song. Then I heard the first bars of the song and went, "OH this one." It's New Wave. I love a lot of New Wave, but this one's on the purposefully shallow end, rather than the Eurythmics end. The lyrics are nonsense, but the beat is pretty irresistable. Which makes it a dance song, whatever its intent. One of the lines is, "Dance in the supermarket," so it probably was intended to be danced to. In any case, I find it pretty forgettable, but fine.

The Eagles -- "Heartache Tonight" -- November 10, 1979

I've heard this song before, but not often. I'm not sure if it's about sex before a breakup or about cheating. Don Henley does not have Elvis' voice, though he seems to be trying to reach that level. Real power is required for the chorus, and Henley lacks it. If this were sung by Freddie Mercury, we'd have something. Queen also would have brought more musical interest generally. But as-is, it doesn't work for me.

The Commodores' -- "Still" -- November 17, 1979

Lionel Richie was still the frontman/ writer for The Commodores here. Should I explore why I can't stand Lionel Richie's music? I'd have to listen to it more to fully understand. It always sounds totally insincere to me. The songs themselves are too slow. This one doesn't have a bassline. It's so polished and gloopy. And in this song, that pause between "I love you" and "still" is both highly predictable and entirely phony. I managed to listen to the entire song, and I rolled my eyes throughout, but especially at that last whispered "still." Oh he's just so sad puh-leaze. Crying his way to the bank.

Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer -- "No More Tears" -- November 24, 1979

I hate Barbra Streisand's singing and like Donna Summer's. I wish this were just Donna Summer. If it were, I'd probably like the song. It's slow for almost 2 minutes, then becomes disco. Streisand isn't able to do as much self-loving in a fast dance song, but it's still there. I tried to find a version with just Donna Summer and failed. So, I dunno, the fact that I can actually listen to the whole thing makes me think it's the most tolerable song with Barbra Streisand in existence. But it would have been so much better without her.

Styx -- "Babe" -- December 8, 1979

Styx was prog rock, but watered-down, simplified prog-rock. Lite prog rock, as weird as that is. But they still had that massive theatricality of prog rock, which I like, and they were great for places like Pine Knob. Outside of those massive arenas, they don't work for me. Dennis DeYoung, the writer and singer of this song, belts the whole way through. Yeah, he hits the notes, but he doesn't seem to realize you're supposed to sometimes modulate, even on a power ballad. Meh.

Rupert Holmes -- "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" -- December 22, 1979

If you take this song seriously, you're likely to hate it. It ain't that deep. It's a goofy song about a goofy thing -- both he and his wife are bored and want to cheat, so they write personal ads, and lo, they answer each other's personals! Though how that happens when they're the blandest Reaganite yuppies ever, I'm not sure. Maybe it's because they're both full of themselves ("if you have half a brain.") I enjoy this song because it is catchy, silly, and totally non-serious. I do not like pina coladas, btw.

BEST OF 1979: "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. WORST OF 1979: "Love You Inside Out" by the Bee Gees

#billboard number ones

[thevagueambition]

I was tagged by @antirococoreaction to talk about five male characters I love

(God, only five? However will I choose between my boys >_< ?!)

This is most certainly not going to be a literary as your offerings, lmao. When it comes to literary fiction I mostly like Kafka and Kafka, by the nature of his writing, writes thoroughly unlikable characters.

This got way too long bc I’m incapable of not gushing about my faves when given the chance lol 

Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender

It is my enduring opinion that if you want to see a redemption arc done right, look at Zuko’s arc in The Last Airbender. He’s a scared, abused kid who managed to build up personal morals in a system that discouraged them, and was harshly punished for daring to voice them. He’s someone who always wanted to be good, but struggles with defining what good is, given that his culture and upbringing has taught him one thing, but his heart (and his uncle) tells him another, and his new experiences reinforces that. After he figures out what “good” looks like, he’s always held accountable for his past actions. He makes amends, and he accepts it, for the most part, when people aren’t ready to receive them. His anger issues, as well as how he sees himself as someone who had to be hardworking because he isn’t talented (however far from the truth that may or may not be in reality) are also aspects of him that appeal to me and indeed that I relate to. 

Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars

My love for Anakin is not dissimilar to my love for Zuko, though the quality of the writing in question certainly is. I love an edgy boy, is what I’m getting at, I guess :’D More seriously, Anakin’s story is ultimately one about control, which is a subject that interests me quite a bit. Anakin is never, at any point, really in control of his own life. He’s never really truly free. He’s born a slave, he joins the Jedi Order and he becomes Palpatine’s apprentice. He always exists within rigid systems of control, until his very lasts moments with Luke before he dies. With how Palpatine essentially groomed him, thinking of Anakin as equally a victim of Palpatine and a perpetuator of his (metaphorically speaking) abuse is also interesting to me. Certainly his clearly distorted thinking (eg convincing himself he can’t trust Obi-Wan, for instance) is also hugely important to his appeal to me. Also? He’s SO EXTRA I can’t with him lol 

(That’s your LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM you turned off, Anakin!!! I know you’re depressed and dissociated and also The Drama but damn!!!!!!)

Nicodemus Ravens from The Shamer Chronicles (Skammerens børn)

The Shamer Chronicles is a series of Danish fantasy books for kids, and probably the most popular books of that type (particularly the first book, The Shamer’s Daughter). Nico is a major character, though never a POV one. 

Nico was, essentially, abused by his father for not living up to the male gender role. He didn’t want to learn to use a sword, he didn’t want to kill, and his father hated him for it. As a result, he’s a teenage alcoholic and profoundly at war with himself. He constantly have other people telling him narratives about who he is/should be: first, he’s the younger son who should bring his father glory, then he’s the heir unfit for the throne, then he’s, depending on the political position of the character in question, either a monstrous murderer who must be killed by the glorious leader or the rightful heir to throne, a hero ready to bring war to his enemy and liberate his people, then rule them in benevolence.

Nico doesn’t want to be any of those things. He knows who he is, is stubborn about it, but also can’t shake the belief that his relative pacifism is really just cowardice. I’m just going to quote one of my favourite scenes here (forgive the translation, it’s my own, I don’t have the official one at hand):

“[...] They want a hero, I think.”

“Is that so bad? It’s better than being a monster, at any rate.”

“You think? Have you noticed how often heroes die in battle? Of course everyone mourns them afterwards and write beautiful ballads about them, but the heroes remain dead. Stone-dead. And I’m in no hurry to get on my white steed and start slaughtering people until someone better or luckier than I sticks a sword in me. No, thank you.”

He looked both obstinate and shameful, as if he thought he really should get on his white steed and all of that. I could understand why he didn’t want to die, and yet… Well, I think I’d always expected him to return to the Lowlands to fight Drakan at some point.

“What do you want, then?” [...]

“I just want to be me,” he whispered. “Is that so terrible? I just want to be Nico and not a lot of other people’s hero or monster.”

Anyway there are Two Crimes when it comes to Nico: the fact he isn’t gay in canon and how so many adaptations turns him into the Generic Fantasy Hero he’s a very conscious subversion of in the books (the other principle male character is essentially someone who’s hurt by toxic masculinity as someone who buys into it, while Nico ofc is hurt by it because he doesn’t/can’t, so the series certainly had an opinion about it). 

Albus Dumbledore from Harry Potter

Dumbledore is, to me, someone who chose what was good for the world over his own happiness. He chose to be the one to dirty his hands, the one two make the terrible decisions, do the terrible things, that were necessary in the battle against facism. There is something very brave and admirable about that to me. It’s not that he never did anything wrong, he certainly did, but again, I think he was very aware of the terrible things he was doing, and part of the reason he keeps everything so close to his chest is because he doesn’t want anyone else to have to make those decisions, to have to feel that blood stain their hands. Dumbledore loves the people in his care profoundly, he loves Harry profoundly. And it kills him to have, as Snape puts it, “brought him up like a pig for slaughter”. 

Whether something is morally justified and whether it’s necessary to prevent evil are two different questions, and I don’t think Dumbledore feels particularly justified, but I do think he does what he perceives to be necessary to prevent facism. And hates himself for the decisions he takes along the way. And all of that comes back to, to some extent, his survivor’s guilt over the death of Arianna and the profound wake up call that was Grindelwald 1) turning on his family 2) being a very violent fascist, rather than just a theoretical one like teenage!Dumbledore was. In his mind, Dumbledore is already condemned for what happened when he was 18, so it’s better that it be he who takes the terrible things upon himself than an “innocent.” It’s better that he try to atone. Dumbledore is working towards a redemption he never (to his mind) arrives at. 

In regards to his sexuality, Dumbledore was certainly written with the trope of a “tragic old closeted gay” in mind, but of course JKR never made anything much canon aside from his “flamboyant” sense of style (that the movies have ROBBED us of >:( ) and hobbies, so to a certain extent, I get to ignore that homophobic intent. In the books themselves, the only thing you can really read between the lines is that Dumbledore was in love with Grindelwald, not whether it was 1) reciprocated 2) acted upon, so with only the canon, we also get to mitigate some of the Implications of “Dumbledore dated Wizard Hitler for a while”.... 

I mean I do Love Mess(tm) so Dumbledore having that terrible wake up call is certainly also part of the appeal for me. Personally I enjoy the interpretation that Grindelwald deliberately manipulated Dumbledore’s feelings. 

Captain Flint/James McGraw from Black Sails

BE GAY DO CRIME BE GAY DO CRIME BE GAY DO CRIME BE-- *coughs*

As you might guess from my description of Dumbledore, a lot of the reasons I love Flint are similar to why I love Dumbledore (and Solas, but we won’t go in to Solas rn lol). Flint is also someone who chooses to do the terrible, necessary things, who chooses the fight over his personal moral cleanliness. In a more obvious and extreme way than Dumbledore, certainly, but the principle is essentially the same. Of course, Flint’s fight is personal in a completely different way from how Dumbledore’s is. Flint’s fight is simoultaneously his revenge, a fight against the corrupt system that ruined his life and a fight for something better. Dumbledore is defensive, Flint is offensive. 

The self-integrity he has is truly amazing. He’s cast aside by everyone but Miranda, and yet he never starts thinking he has anything to apologise for. To ask for a pardon would be to ask for forgiveness, and he doesn’t think he needs to be forgiven. Not for loving Thomas, not for anything he did while he was still English. He perceives the reality of the situation, he sees what is right and what is wrong, and he knows that he is the wronged party. He stares at the behemoth of the entire social structure of his world and says: No. You move. I am not in the wrong. England should apologise to me.

Flint is my angry gay dad and I love him. 

I tag (as always, completely optional ^^ ): @teddy-stonehill​ @thebearmuse​ @andvaka​ @solitarelee​ @gallifreyanathearts​ @sinni-ok-sessi​ @melle93​ @papanden​ @seimsisk​

I feel a bit dishonest leaving Grantaire off of this list, lmao, but I talk about him enough as it is. 

Other honorables mentions go to: Enjolras (Les Mis), Captain Jack Harkness (Doctor Who/Torchwood), Solas (Dragon Age), Fitzwilliam Darcy (Pride and Prejudice), Kim Kitsuragi (Disco Elysium), Harry Potter, Remus Lupin (Harry Potter) and my soap boys Robert Sugden (Emmerdale), Richard “Ringo” Beckmann (Unter Uns) and Ben Mitchell (Eastenders). 

#someone: like a none edgy boy me: a what now #not that nico is that edgy #btw if i had been the type to name myself after fictional characters it would have 100% been nico #the movie adaptation does not deserve rights #also re dumbledore jkr is like ''he turned into a bit of a celibate after grindelwald'' and i'm like nah NAH fuck off #siggi rambles #tag meme #my meta

[humboldtfog]

Years of depression has prepared me very well for the current state of affairs which is weird but whatever here’s a list of my faves on netflix, if I’m missing something let me know cause now’s the time, right?

I'm kinda embarrassed by how long this list is but also kinda like fuck that, there have been very long periods of time where it was either sit and watch shows all day or lie down and stare at the wall in silence all day so I chose the former and it adds up and there's nothing wrong with that.

Glow (Badass ladies learn to wrestle, great 80s aesthetics and grrrrl power.)

Our Planet (Netflix version of Planet Earth, beautiful, cute, terrifying that we aren’t doing more to save us all.)

Bojack Horseman (Hilarious and “deep” critique of LA and celebrity culture for people who don’t care about LA or celebrity culture. Also very funny visual jokes about how if animals were also kinda humans, and lots of great jokes about cliches and tropes, puns, and weirdly rhyming and alliteration? I don’t know how to explain it just watch it.)

Father Brown (BBC, based on mystery novels about a priest who always meddles in police business and solves murders in his small English countryside town.)

Pose (The Ball scene in NY in the 80s, poc queer and trans writers and actors bringing their people’s stories to life. So much joy, so much beauty, but also NYC in the 80s so you will cry.)

Paris is Burning (Documentary made during the Ball scene Pose is based on.)

Sex Education (Such empowering representations of all walks of gender and sexuality, and actually very educational, like I would straight up show this in schools because everyone would be very entertained and would learn a lot more than they teach in a lot of schools.)

What Happened Miss Simone (Documentary about Nina Simone’s life, music and the activism the establishment/ government worked to suppress and used to blacklist her.)

Night on Earth (Low light camera technology has gotten hella good and they’re starting to learn stuff about animals’ behaviors at night that they’ve never been able to study before.)

Call the Midwife (Follows stories from the midwives that worked in the East End of London after the war, based on memoirs. Interesting look at the kind of life of poverty people led before there were many large hospitals or birth control, right as the British were implementing their universal healthcare program.)

The Great British Baking Show (Everyone’s so nice and everything looks so good!)

Atypical (Dramady about a high schooler with autism and his family, very funny and great representations of autism and how to be a good dude.)

Parks and Recreation (Just very funny and everyone knows it. Amazing ensemble cast, and they still keeps in touch through a group chat awww doesn’t that say something!)

Kim’s Convenience (Canadian comedy about family of first and second gen Korean immigrants that’s just a really solid funny modern day sitcom.)

Queer Eye (I feel like if everyone in this world could get a life makeover from these guys we just wouldn’t be here right now.)

Obvious Child (Jenny Slate accidentally gets pregnant and gets an abortion. It’s funny and it’s realistic, we’re not all Juno.)

Maria Bamford: the Special Special Special (Rad lady comedian not afraid to talk about her mental health and lack thereof and very vocal about the stigma surrounding mental health problems and I very much relate to. My favorite standup probably ever. I could make a list just for standup so message me if you’d like more suggestions.)

Monty Python (Flying Circus, movies, doc, ect. “The Beatles of comedy” is the cliche but it's true.)

Easy (Very unconventional non-narrative structure and editing, following random people in Chicago in a very real life feeling way. Different story each episode, but sometimes characters show up briefly in each other’s lives or return for a second episode.)

Everything Sucks! (High school nerds and lesbians and theater geeks in the 90s! I’m so sad this only got one season I rewatched it recently and it’s just so solid.)

She’s Gotta Have It (Revival of Spike Lee’s first movie, black girl magic, art world, gentrified New York, lots of sex.)

The Office (Classic, holds up very well, totally solid throughout, worth a rewatch. Also if you're a fan Jenna Ficher and Angela Davis are doing a rewatch podcast jsyk.)

Billy on the Street (Mindless game show for laughs, amazing gay comedian runs around New York yelling questions at them. I watch this with my dad and he can’t help but snort even when it’s “inappropriate” or “juvenile” so you know it’s good.)

Good Girls (Some lower middle class family ladies that are all about to be broke decide to rob the grocery store one of them works at, but they accidentally cross a gang that stored their cash there, so they gotta pay it back, and of course can’t help but get deeper and deeper into it. Very suspenseful like your heart rate will go up and stay up. )

Arrested Development (It’s just funny, as you've probably heard, but I'm telling you it just really is.)

The Laundromat (Tells the stories of a few of the people involved in the panama papers in different ways, explains in an entertaining way how money laundering works in a way that made it mostly make sense even to me. The rich get richer, and Meryl Streep is here to tell them to fuck off and pay their taxes.)

Russian Doll (She keeps dying and coming back to the same moment over and over and can’t figure out how to stop the cycle or why so kinda sci fi, very suspenseful, big cliff hanger ending, or rather no ending, and just found out season two filming is delayed because virus which is very annoying!!)

Dear White People (Show picking up where the movie left off, after a frat hosts a black face party and the ivy league college is forced to deal with racism.)

Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings (Stories based on Dolly songs. Very Hallmark channel, you will cry.)

Episodes (Show about two British writers making a version of their BBC show for American tv. Kind of meta, very funny, Matt LaBlanc plays himself and it's great.)

Dumplin’ (Fat girl grows up with a beauty pageant winning mom and enters one herself with the help of her late aunt’s Dolly Parton drag queen friends.)

Lunatics (Chris Lilley is the best character actor ever, all his shows are just him playing different parts and you seriously forget it’s all one actor, even when he’s playing teenage girls.)

Jane the Virgin (Prime time soap opera about a girl who is engaged and waiting until marrige and is accidentally inseminated with the only sperm sample of a man who’s had cancer so decides to keep the baby, very heavy on the soap opera cliches in a meta way but also that’s what it is. So good at first but after the first three or so seasons it gets too much tbh though.)

Zumbo’s Just Desserts (Australian Bake show but with just sweet stuff and pressure to be avant garde.)

Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee (Jerry Sienfeld goes out with funny people to coffee and lunch in fancy cars and they have funny conversations.)

One Day at a Time (Very very cheesy laugh track sitcom, like the kind of thing my grandma would watch, but it makes me so happy it’s doing a great job eplaining really woke concepts like queer pronouns and ptsd and addiction and white privilege to people like my grandma!)

Orange is the New Black (Good stories about very diverse characters, I’d say by starting it off about a upper middle class white girl it tricks privileged white people into watching and then encountering the more realistic stories of women who go to prison and how the system treats prisoners. Ending of season two is super solid and you can stop it there, season three is a really great critique of the privatization of prisons. I admit it goes on and on to the point that it’s stressful and after watching it spread out over years I can’t remember/ keep up with all the different story lines, though they’re all good stories to tell.)

Space Jam (Just saw while scrolling for more ideas this was added! One of the greatest sports movies of all time obviously.)

Bonus amazon prime shows, I try to avoid Amazon in general but these are just too good if you know a prime member who you can't convince not to give their money to amazon so they might as well give you their login (like yer dad).

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (A 1950s New York upper class Jewish house wife gets dumped and starts doing stand up, so funny, great actors, and they seriously transform NY back into another era.)

Good Omens (Mini series based off Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s satirical novel about the biblical apocalypse, very funny, very smart, very British, does the book pretty solid justice.)

There are other decent things that aren’t included, I’d say these are solid recs for a general list of genres all over the map without letting it get to a ridiculously unhelpful length. I feel like I’d be good at the “if you like this then you’ll also like…” so let me know if some of these are your favorites too and want personal recs for what to watch next based on a brain instead of an algorithm.

If you want to have a remote date and watch things together on video chat or one of those watch party sites or just tell me what to watch next here’s some stuff on my list I’ve been curious about or not sure about or don’t want to watch alone or have been putting off, and now’s the time right?: Strangers Things, I Am Not Okay With This, Black Panther, The Betty White doc, John Mulaney Snack Lunch Bunch, Dead to Me, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, A Wrinkle in Time, The Little Prince, Maniac, Wet Hot American Summer reboots, and a bunch of different standup specials from comedians I like.

#netflix #list #best #favorites #self #coronavirus #covid19 #2020

[calliecat93]

(Part Two)

Another volume, done. God, I feel like I just survived a whirlwind. To say that this has been a very eventful volume of RWBY would be a /huge/ understatement. We had so, so much happen. New characters, uncovered truths, political battles, murder and chaos at every turn, just… a lot. But we once again made it to this point folks. We made it to the end and we can take it easy as we await Volume 8. But with the volume now over, how did it fare? Was it a success? A failure? Or somewhere in between? And how does it measure compared to the previous six?

We have a lot to go over folks. So much that I had no choice but to make this a two-parter. Yeah, that long folks. The last two-parter I did was twelve pages long, so… yeah.  In this section, we will cover Animation/Visuals, Audio, and the first half of the Character section (mainly the Atlas characters and villains). Part Two will cover the rest of the Characters (RWBYJNRQO), Story, Volume Stats, and my Final Thoughts. Everyone got all that? Good! With that said, let’s conclude this year’s RWBY Reviews with the biggest one of all: the full Volume Seven Review.

Animation/Visuals

Perfect as always. The design work once again proves perfect. CRWBY described Mantle and Atlas as based on different industrial ages, and it shows. Mantle is a big, but worn down city. It has some major New York vibes. Heck, maybe even some Gotham City with how bleak it is. The people are down-trodden and the place just looks dirty. It is a relic of the past, while Atlas represents the future. Clean, shades of blue and white to show how pristine it is, fancy locations like Atlas Academy or the Schnee Manor. Atlas is the future. A representation of the greatness that humanity can achieve… at least it looks that way. The two cities contrast so much, and it’s just so well done. When you compare to how we sadly saw so little of Mistral in comparison seeing this much with Atlas was a real treat.

Character stuff continues to be great. All of the new outfits of the heroes look fantastic. Even Jaune’s dumb hair ended up better in actual animation than it did in the still they showed at NYCC. Every character looks fantastic. Expressions are once more on point. One of the best cases is Ironwood. You can see how worn down the man is at every single turn, but also the steely determination. You can just look at him and you get the sense of strong authority, yet plain exhaustion all at the same time. In Chapter 11 when he goes from exhausted relief to full-blown horror, you feel it. Oh God do you feel it. You feel what all of these characters are feeling. Ruby’s despair in Chapter 11, Blake and Yang’s confliction in Chapter 7, Nora’s growing rage about Mantle all throughout the volume. How broken Ren feels in Chapter 13. The pure coldness from James form the same chapter when he shoots Oscar. The character animation was just on point.

The effects are also well done. I mean the Salem apparition in Chapter 11? Horrifying. Fria’s Maiden-charged blizzard was the best though. Powerful, yet somehow haunting beautiful. There have been some updates as well, like Neon’s rainbow trail and Neo’s Semblance look a lot better. Some new Grimm designs like the Saybers and the pterodactyl thing. There’s kind of a dinosaur/Ice Age theme with the Grimm, which fits with the Antarctica-esque environment of Solitas. The fight scenes were very well done, especially in the final chapters. The Ironwood vs Watts fight was freakin’ excellent and we finally got to see the Anti-Gravity biome! RWBY vs Ace-Ops was amazing on all fronts, both with the choreography and on a symbolic level. The best fight imo though is Cinder vs Penny and Winter, especially when it gets taken out into the open air. Pure epicness. Seriously, every fight was freakin’ fantastic, even minor ones like JNRO vs FNKI or the Bees vs Robyn. Even some that I wasn’t into, like Tyrian vs Qrow, CLover, and Robyn were fun to watch~

Overall, the animation and visuals were excellent~ Five starts!

Audio

If I went over every voice acting performance, we’d be here all day. Every actor was excellent. The regulars were excellent. The newbies were excellent. Everyone was excellent. We get people that we haven’t heard in a long while, like Taylor McNee (Penny), Elizabeth Maxwell (Winter), and Jason Rose (Ironwood). None of them have lost their touch. Taylor still captures Penny’s innocent charm beautifully, and her performance when Penny is just broken after being framed was heartbreaking. Jason was /especially/ good. He still carries the General’s strong authority while adding more weight, but when he becomes utterly unhinged? He did a masterful job with the performance. We also let Chris Sabat and Josh Grelle do more with their characters and it’s wonderful. Josh as Tyrian has always been great, but getting to hear Chris do more Watts? Excellent. I’m so used to him being the brute guy, like Vegeta in DBZ or Zoro in One Piece. But he does the calculated egomaniac very well and you can tell that he’s enjoying every single scene. Excellent job sir~ Jessica Nigri ended up stealing the show though, giving by far her most insane performance as Cinder yet and she 100% killed it.

We got some new people as well, and they were all great. I was so happy to see Cristina Vee getting cast and she does such a good job as Robyn. Playful but also determined. The Ace-Ops cast was good with Chris Wehkamp (Clover), Anaris Quinones (Harriet), and Mick Lauer (Marrow) being the stand-outs. Caitlin Glass got one episode as Willow, but she did an excellent job portraying how broken she is but also has just a spark of fight in her. She only got like… three minutes, and she did it perfectly. David Fennoy was a surprise to hear considering he was already in Grimm Eclipse, but it was a wonderful surprise. He perfectly portrays Pietro as this Gepetto-esque father figure who I fell in love with immediately. Then, of course, we have Jason Liebrecht as Qrow. To say that the guy was put into the not so flattering task of taking over due to the circumstances with Vic’s firing is putting it mildly. But he pulled it off. By the second chapter alone, I was already sold. He did an excellent job portraying Qrow and imo, already surpassed Vic. Like everything in Chapter 12? Jason /nailed/ every single emotion right on the head. I’m greatly looking forward to hearing more of him in the future~

The main cast as I said, were excellent. Some got it a bit easier this year, like Miles, Arryn, and Barbara. They still did great, but they took a bit more of a back seat and we’ll go more into that in Character. Neath and Aaron, while their characters stuff is more subdued, did an excellent job with their respective character’s viewpoints. Sam Ireland /finally/ got to do more with Nora outside ‘bubble and energetic’ with Nora’s anger about Mantle and her conflictions about Ren. She did it beautifully. Kara got much more with Weiss compared to last year, and she portrays all of Weiss’ worries and conflict perfectly. Especially in Chapter 4 when she tells her father off. I cheered so much. Lindsay with Ruby was perfect. She got a lot more serious moments with hr compared to the past, but she handled them all excellently. She goes through so many emotions in Chapter 11 alone and she hits every single one right in the head. She and Sam are tied for the standout among the mains, but all of them did an excellent job as always.

Then what’s RWBY without its soundtrack? Once more, perfect work. The scores were all excellent. Penny’s letimotif, instrumentals of songs like The Path to Isolation and Trust Love, the haunting violins at the end of Chapter 9, even the three-second bit of Indomitable in Chapter 10. Alex Abraham once more does an amazing job. I still remember the kickass guitar during the first fight in Chapter 1 and I was immediately pumped. Every score added to every scene and added so much more to them. But they also knew when to just let scenes be quiet, and it added so much weight. Once more, quality sound work.

But then we have Jeff Williams. What do you want me to say that I haven’t been saying since Volume 1? The man is a genius. He did amazing. Casey did amazing. I got nothing new to add. The songs this volume were freakin’ excellent. The opening, while kind of a tone contrast to the volume, was an excellent song and perfectly expresses the themes of the volume. Then we have things like the uplifting rock ballad Brand New Day, the badassness of Hero featuring Caleb Hyles, and the credits song as per usual. Speaking of Caleb though, it was nice to hear some new vocalists with him, Santi C, and the quartet in War, though of course, Casey remains flawless as ever. I loved all of the songs. IDK if it tops V6’s soundtrack yet, but it’s up there. Now, of course, my favorites will likely change when the full tracks are out, but here is the current ranking:

War (Chapter 12)

Hero (Chapter 11)

Fear (Chapter 13 Credits)

Trust Love (Opening Theme)

Brand New Day (Chapter 5)

Until the End (Chapter 13)

Touch the Sky (Chapter 3)

Let’s Get Real (Chapter 6)

Celebrate (Chapter 6)

Audio-wise, the volume was great. Great voice acting. Great sound effects. Great music. Just great all around~

Characters, Part One (Villains and Atlas)

There are… so many characters this volume. So, so many. Hence why I had to divide it up. We’ll cover the villains and Atlas characters here, and we’ll focus on the mains in Part 2 of the review. Since the villains won’t take too long we’ll start with them and go from there.

Not too much to say about Tyrian. He’s as terrifying and crazy as ever, and even moreso after Chapter 12, but it was nice to get some more details on his history before Salem. Him being a serial killer makes sense, as is his undying worship of Salem since she both saved him and she’s the manifestation of every twisted thing that he believes in. I think Chapter 12 also helped re-ignite his threat level with his brutal murder of Qrow, which reminded me even more than Chapter 6 of how terrifying the man is. Still, he was just there to be cray and murderous, and he did so. Watts thought was more interesting. We got some more background, like how he was a former Atlesian scientist who created Mantle’s security network and he joined Salem essentially because he felt like Ironwood put him down and he got jealous that Pietro’s project was chosen over his. It’s petty, but all the villains are petty. It helps him stand out though and he’s certainly one of the more interesting of Salem’s cult due to it. We also see that he does have some combat still, which is nice. No idea what happens with him now, but he served his role in this volume very well.

But then we have Cinder and Neo. Neither of which I was expecting anything major from this volume. Well, guess I was wrong. Cinder as of late has attracted a lot of hate… I mean yeah we /are/ supposed to hate her, but people just hate her as a character. The main thing seems to be how we don’t know Cinder’s motivations, and I get that. But really? I think that she was excellent here. Unlike in Mistral, she is once more in control and thus her smug personality is back in full. She’s only in four episodes, and she uses that time masterfully to turn everything on its head. The way she broke Ironwood alone with just a glass chess piece. She clearly learned from Salem well. I mean the way that Salem broke Ruby by just mentioning Summer’s fate? That is some master class psychological warfare. Something that Cinder has clearly mastered and when she isn’t running off rage she can pull it off excellently. But of course, at the end, she again failed to get the Maiden powers. With how she became more and more insane throughout the fight, I fear that she’s going to become even more callous than ever before.

I’m also really starting to grow fond of Neo. She started off as an overhyped character (imo) that was brought back for mere fanservice, but they are clearly trying to use her as best as possible. And I think that they’re doing a great job. Neo has an agenda against Ruby and knows that Cinder can easily obliterate her, which is the only reason why Neo is dealing with this. You can tell that unlike Emerald and Mercury, she is not happy following Cinder’s orders. She’s only following her to both get at her target and to live, not out of gratitude or feeling like it’s all that she has due to her upbringing. It’s nice to see someone who Cinder has no control over, yet Cinder can still over-power her so she has to go with it for now. But it helps give Neo a character and compared to before where I just didn’t get why she existed, I’m legit excited to see what happens with her next.

Now we can cover the Atlesian Military. They are… a complex bunch. Fitting, considering who their general is. James Ironwood has always been a very complicated character. On the one hand, we’ve seen through volumes 2-4 that he is genuinely a good person who wants to protect the people and do what’s right. But the problem with him has always been that he makes all the wrong choices. He didn’t heed Ozpin warnings in Beacon about showing off his military might, and it leads to the Fall and Atlas being made out as the villains. He hasn’t gotten any better. If anything, he’s gotten worse. He’s still well-intentioned, but as the old saying goes  “The pathway to Hell is paved with good intentions.”, and Jame is the living embodiment of it.

We see that James did genuinely want to trust the heroes. He gives them the Lamp back, he gives them their license, he has them train with his best. He was sincere and he just wants to protect people. But his own paranoia and flaws as a person have overwhelmed him. His TSD has deteriorated his mind and since he isn’t getting proper help, it’s making him lose it. He’s terrified of Salem, so much that once he saw that Black Queen chess piece and doubt was placed into his mind, he snapped. He went from taking RWBY’s secret-keeping well and keeping focused on what was important, to turning on them and leaving a city that he is just as responsible for as Atlas to die. It’s a truly tragic tale. You /want/ James to do the right thing. He’s not a bad person, and you can see the logic with all of his decisions. But they are the wrong decisions not just on a logical level when you really think about it, but especially on a moral level. You can see that he knows what he’s doing is wrong and that he isn’t happy about it, but he still does it and now hundreds will die because of it. He has gone from a flawed but heroic man, to no better than Salem herself which he seals by shooting Oscar with no hesitation. It is a sad tale, but it is a well-done arc and just shows how excellent of a character James is. I am very pleased with his character here.

The Ace-Ops are decent additions. We don’t know a lot about them, but they have personality. Clover is the nice guy leader, Harriet is the confident and competitive second-in-command, Marrow is the out-going rookie, Elm is the out-going bruiser, and VIne is the calm, logical one. On the surface, they are heroic people… but like with James, it’s more complex. None of them are bad people, Marrow especially considering his Faunus status and he is fully aware of Atlas’ bigotry/messed up class system. But they were trained to not care about emotions or relationships. Priority Number One is obeying the general’s orders without question, and if they do, to go against those urges. It’s harsh because you can see that the five are good and friendly people, but once Ironwood lost it, that conditioning came into full effect. 

You can tell that RWBY’s ‘betrayal’ hurt them. Harriet, despite saying that none of them are friends, clearly felt hurt and enraged. Same with Elm, though unlike Harriet who was practically going for the kill, Elm seemed to be trying to force herself to do so. Vine tried to solve it peacefully, clearly not wanting to fight, but no one else was willing to follow. Marrow was the biggest example. His heart was not in the fight, and I think he honestly did agree with RWBY. He tried to push himself otherwise, but it failed. Then Clover, who has stood by James’ side throughout even if he seemed unhappy with it, tried to arrest Qrow on the spot even when Tyrian re-entered the fray. That blind devotion sadly cost him his life… and I wonder how this is going to affect Ace-Ops. Despite what Harriet said, they were still all allies and I can see this messing them up. It either makes them want payback or see the light. Regardless, they were a good bunch of side-characters and I look forward to seeing what happens next.

A bigger, and much sadder, example of this Atlas conditioning is Winter. She is loyal to James because due to him and the military, she got out of her abusive home and a shot at a better life. But the sad reality is that she's really in no better position than she would have been otherwise. She’s been groomed to become the Winter Maiden and despite her choosing it to make it her own, it's still pretty much someone deciding her life for her. She internalizes her feelings and continues to obey James, despite knowing and feeling that it is wrong. Just like she was trained to do. The only person that she makes an exception for is Weiss, which seeing how much she cares and is proud of her sister and even taking her to the Winter Maiden facility was super sweet. But even then not only does she still keep a composed demeanor around Weiss, but she still stood by James even after Weiss became wanted. But hopefully, with the Maiden destiny not off the table and Weiss a fugitive, this will give Winter the chance to accept her own emotions and begin to carve her own destiny. One not chosen by anyone but herself.

But of course, the one we can blame for Winter’s state, along with James, is Jaques Schnee. I didn’t think I could hate him anymore than I already did, but I got proven wrong. The man is ambitious, willing to do anything to keep his business (well… the business he stole) running and himself in power. He runs for Council pretty much just to get rid of the embargo and takedown James. He’s despicable and I hate him and I hope he rots behind jail. Whitley doesn't really have anything new, just a bit more hammering down that he is the way he is due to the abuse and his sister’s leaving him behind. Willow though? She gets one episode, and I feel horrible for this woman. While her shutting down pretty much ruined her kids' lives, you can see why and feel sympathy for her. His is a woman worn down, and while the smallest spark of fight is in her as she gives Weiss the key to burying her father, it’s so clear that she’s broken. It’s going to take a very long time for her to recover if she does. As for Whitley, his father may be gone. But the control he had over his son is likely still firm. Which can only mean bad things for Weiss.

Opposing Atlas is Robyn Hill, Mantle’s Hometown Hero. She is very much the anti-Ironwood. She’s devoted to Mantle and wants to do what’s best for them, even if it means breaking the law. But she’s not unreasonable either. She was very friendly to Clover and Marrow, only becoming antagonistic after Penny got framed for murdering her supporters. And even then, she listened to Blake and Yang and was willing to give Ironwood a chance. One that he blew sky high. But Robyn comes off as a good person who sees the injustices with Mantle and once making a change the legal way became impossible, she resorted to the illegal route. And even then, she and her Happy Huntresses never hurt anyone and were trying to help the people that James was making suffer. Just as her inspiration of Robin Hood. She’s a very likable, inspiring character though I do wish we got some more backstory for her. But hey, she’s a good person who didn’t fall into Atlas’ conditioning trying to help those who need it, and you don’t need a motivation to do the right thing. 

This brings us to Penny Polendina and her father Pietro. I’m so, soooo happy to have Penny back. I have some issues with her return, mainly in that she and Ruby never talk about what happened, But that’s more for when I get to Ruby. But aside from that, Penny was excellent. She’s still the same quirky, sweet girl that we met back early on, but we get much more of her this time. She’s been made Mante’s protector, and it is a duty that he is full-heartedly devoted to. She wants to understand feelings more, like how to balance the things she wants to do with her duties and is confused about how Winter can shove her emotions aside to do what is clearly wrong. Penny may be a robot, but she is by far the most human of the Atlesian cast. It made how broken she was when framed by Tyrian and Watts hurt so much, as well as Ironwood’s comments about how she’s under his control. He talks as though she’s just another robot soldier, and you can see how much that hurts her. But at the very end, she proved how goodhearted she is when she calms/comforts Fria in her final moments, and due to it, Fria chooses her to be the next Winter Maiden. A title that she absolutely deserves.

We can probably thank Pietro for Penny being a good person. He’s just as lively as she is and clearly loves her with all of his heart. I mean he’s given up chunks of his Aura in order to bring her back. That is love, people. While I wish he had more of him (and Maria for that matter), Pietro was so much fun and a welcome addition to the supporting cast. He’s a genius responsible for much of Atlas’ technological achievements, but he also takes time to help those in Mantle. He wanted to create a savior with a soul, which I think says a lot about him as a person. While I wish he and Penny had more interaction, that loving father/daughter bond is there and it helps them both stand out among a cast slowly losing their humanity. I worry for them, especially with Salem having Grimm Monstro on her side, but doesn’t change how happy I was with them here.

Then we, of course, have our main cast… but that is something that we shall cover in Part Two. Stay tuned~

#rwby #rwby7 #rwby reviews #callie reviews

[birdlord]

Everything I Watched in 2019

Movies

The number in parentheses is year of release, asterisks denote a re-watch, and titles in bold are my favourite watches of the year. 

01 The Death of Stalin (17) does a neat trick of building goodwill for Steve Buscemi’s Krushchev, then brutally pays that off in the last few minutes. 

02 Sorry to Bother You (18)

03 Support the Girls (18)

04 Paddington (14)*

05 Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (16)

06 Eighth Grade (18) probably the most terrifying movie I watched all year, if you didn’t watch it through your fingers, who even are you?

07 Morvern Callar (02) much less bleak than the book, but then, nearly anything would be

08 The Favourite (18) revolting and beautiful. 

09 Columbus (17) a really lovely movie about architecture and parent-child relationships.

10 Bring it On (00)*

11 The Land of Steady Habits (18) feels wackier than your average Holofcener, but still a good watch. 

12 Spotlight (15) i was really bowled over by this, and wasn’t expecting to be. Workmanlike filmmaking, but an extraordinary story, well-told.

13 The Killing of a Sacred Deer (17) Barry Keoghan is a blank, but somehow compelling screen presence. This one has an ending that made me bark with laughter.

14 Legends of the Fall (94)

15 Moneyball (11)* if you don’t feel like watching anything in particular, you can always watch Moneyball

16 If Beale St Could Talk (18) very beautiful, but I failed to connect with it on any other level. 

17 For Keeps (88)

18 Abducted in Plain Sight (17)

19 Oscar Shorts (Animated) (18) the offerings were very sappy this year, but the winner was decent! Lots of Toronto content (weird). 

20 Oscar Shorts (Live Action) (18) *unquestionably* the worst one of these won ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

21 Velvet Buzzsaw (19)

22 Vice (18) ugh

23 Friends with Money (06)

24 Can You Ever Forgive Me (18)

25 Bohemian Rhapsody (18) haha what. was. that.

26 Mars Attacks (96)*

27 Paddington 2 (18)

28 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (92)*

29 Shoplifters (18)

30 Blindspotting (18) jacked Ethan Embry in a supporting role?! Whither? Howso? Wherefore?

31 Witness (85)

32 Harry & the Hendersons (87)*

33 The Matrix (99)*

34 T2 Trainspotting (17)

35 Blockers (18)

36 The Slums of Beverly Hills (98)

37 Can’t Hardly Wait (98)*

38 Avengers: Infinity War (18)

39 Iron Man II (10)

40 Isle of Dogs (18)

41 Chinatown (74)*

42 To Live & Die in LA (85)

43 Age of Innocence (93) Daniel Day-Lewis manages to make Newland Archer compelling, where in the novel he’s...the worst?!

44 Shopgirl (05)*

45 The House (17) didn’t sustain all the way through, but then, that’s how mainstream comedies often go. 

46 The Beguiled (17)

47 Badlands (73)*

48 Poetic Justice (93)

49 The Empire Strikes Back (80)*

50 Calibre (18)

51 The Kindergarten Teacher (18)

52 Hounds of Love (17) a nice little Aussie thriller, set in the 80s

53 Kicking & Screaming (95)*

54 Octopussy (83)*

55 Jaws (79)*

56 Lover Come Back (61)

57 Frenzy (72)

58 Always Be My Maybe (19)

59 Certain Women (16) took a while to get to this one, but it’s as great as they say it is. 

60 Baby Driver (17) all flash, little substance.

61 Sneakers (92)

62 Roadhouse (87)*

63 Bull Durham (88)*

64 Ghostbusters (84)*

65 Booksmart (19) I think this will improve on multiple viewings, though I loved the soundtrack and the mix of characters. 

66 Hereditary (18)

67 Rebecca (40) George Sanders as Rebecca’s cousin is BRILLIANT

68 Vertigo (58)*

69 The Dead Don’t Die (19)

70 Crawl (19)

71 Dazed & Confused (93)* If you don’t watch this once a summer, what is wrong with you?

72 Jackie Brown (97)

73 Talk Radio (88)

74 The Guilty (18)

75 Killing Heydrich (17)

76 Lady Bird (17)*

77 Billy Elliot (00)*

78 White House Down (13)* Channing Potatum saves the White House!

79 The Film Worker (17)

80 Whitney (18)

81 Mascot (16)

82 Apocalypse Now (79)* technically I’d only seen the Redux version from the early 2000s, so the regular cut is new to me. 

83 Apollo 13 (95)*

84 Psycho 2 (83) the twist is very guessable, but there are a couple of nice-looking scenes.

85 Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (04)*

86 The Bodyguard (92)*

87 Murder Mystery (19)

88 Wildlife (18)

89 The Stepford Wives (75)*

90 Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (71)*

91 The Natural (84)

92 The Other Boleyn Girl (08)

93 Speed (94)*

94 Opera (87)

95 That’s my Boy (12) haha what?!

96 The Big Short (15)

97 Elizabeth the Golden Age (07)

98 The Glass Castle (17) when I read the book, I genuinely thought it was fiction, it’s so insane. 

99 Dawn of the Dead (78)*

100 All About Eve (50) lady on lady violence is a special thing

101 La La Land (16)

102 Morning Glory (10) remember Rachel McAdams?

103 Casino (95)*

104 Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (06)

105 Pet Sematary (19)

106 Clue (85)*

107 Her Smell (18) amazing soundtrack and the songs were well-chosen. Heartbreaking musical moment in the final act. 

108 Bobby Sands: 66 Days (16)

109 She’s Gotta Have it (86)

110 Good Morning (59)

111 Hustlers (19) I didn’t connect with this as much as the reviews led me to believe I might. 

112 Nocturnal Animals (16)

113 Kill Bill Vol 1 (03) I’d only ever seen the second one before, being a non-Tarantino completionist.

114 Fried Green Tomatoes (91)* I watch this more than anticipated...

115 Steel Magnolias (89)

116 Notting Hill (99)*

117 A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (19) the tiny city models were inspired!

118 National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (89)*

119 Let It Snow (19)

120 Frozen (13)

121 The Irishman (19) most interesting as a sort of pastiche/reckoning on the part of Scorsese about his other gangster films. Really outmoded view of unions. Definitely could have been edited down if anyone were able to come to it without undue reverence, but I did love the bit about the fish.

122 Girls Trip (17) actual plot is beside the point. 

123 About a Boy (02)* I always think of this as the “vomit and sweaters” movie, anyone else?

124 Animal House (78)*

DOCUMENTARY : FICTION - 4:120

THEATRE : HOME - 9:115

TV Series

01 Russian Doll - I think I would have enjoyed this more if it hadn’t been bingeable - would have made a nice week-by-week discussion sort of show. I loved to watch the changes between re-ups of our major characters, and I think the actual plotting would reward re-watches. 

02 Catastrophe S4 - A satisfying ending to an excellent show, with very charismatic leads (and deeply weird supporting characters). Had to write around Carrie Fisher’s death, and I’m sure did a better job of it than Star Wars did. 

03 Friends from College S2 - More of the same, which is what I was after. A show like cotton candy (but with more infidelity). 

04 High Maintenance S3 - A lot more of this season took place outside of New York City, which was a great change of pace. And a great deal more information about The Guy and his own life; both difficulties and successes included. 

05 Losers - This was a great little docuseries on Netflix that I didn’t hear a lot of people talking about - it’s about sports losses, but unusual sports ie curling, figure skating and the like. You’d think it would get repetitive, being as it’s always about recovering after loss, but it doesn’t! I wish they would make another season….

06 Shrill - a tight six episode dramedy about an alt-weekly journalist in the Pacific Northwest, based on Lindy West’s memoir of the same name. John Cameron Mitchell as her boss (based on Dan Savage) stands out of the ensemble cast, as does Annie’s roommate played by a British standup Lolly Adefope.

07 Broad City S5 - I haven’t always kept up with Broad City, but I came back to it for its final season, and thought it did a good job of setting its characters up for big changes in their lives. 

08 I Think You Should Leave - It’s easy to assume that all sketch comedy is terrible and always will be, but then you see this, and throw your TV out the window (due to all the laffs)

09 Fleabag S2 - Everything you’ve heard is true, this season is goddamn hilarious and ridiculously sexy. A huge step up from the first season, which was already pretty fantastic and incisive. 

10 Fosse/Verdon - Musicals are not particularly my bag, so I’m sure there was a lot that I missed in terms of references, but the lead performances ably carried me through all of the time jumps and various performances. 

11 Stranger Things S3 - Say it after me: d-i-m-i-n-i-s-h-i-n-g r-e-t-u-r-n-s! Maya Hawke kills it, though. 

12 Big Little Lies S2 - Unnecessary, and (if possible) even sillier than the first season.

13 Lorena - Part of the ongoing quest to rehabilitate the maligned women of the 1990s, this gave me tons of context that I had no idea about at the time, due to being a dumb kid. 

14 Glow S3 - I felt like I was losing steam on this series this year, but episodes like the camping ep kept me coming back. A great ensemble, though some unusual character choices (like a certain kiss *cough*) took me out of it by times. 

15 Lodge 49 S1-3 - I’d kept hearing about this show, so I finally sought it out. I can’t say it was amazingly compelling (I almost dropped it after the first season) but it’s definitely an oddball of a show, slipping from setpiece to setpiece with little regard for logic. For me, a background show. 

16 Chernobyl - This show really gave me the Bad Feeling, humans were definitely A Mistake.

17 On Becoming a God in Central Florida - Kiki in a trashy mode, not as infinitely appealing as the version she pulled off in the second season of Fargo, but scrappy and industrious nonetheless.

18 Show Me a Hero - I’d put off watching this for years, it felt like it was going to be too dull (housing policy in Yonkers?) but it’s great, and larded up with Bruce Springsteen songs, obvs.

19 Great British Bake Off S9-S10 - I’d also held off on watching this for a long time, out of loyalty to Mel, Sue, and Mary Berry. But I needed some comfort viewing towards the end of the summer, and the new hosts and judge do an able job, although the show’s tropes are feeling a bit well-worn at this point. 

20 Righteous Gemstones S1 - A rollicking ride for sure, with a great cast. Your mileage/patience with Danny McBride may vary, so keep that in mind, naturally. 

21 This Way Up S1 - A small show starring the fabulous Aisling Bea, about mental health and families and some nice comic physical acting. Oh, and in case you were watching The Crown and crushing on Tobias Menzies’ version of Prince Phillip, he plays a hot dad love interest in this, which gives you all the Tobias you’re looking for, without the PP racisms. 

22 The Crown S3 - This is the first season of the big cast switchover, and I thought it stuck reasonably well, once we were in it an episode or two. This season concentrated even less on Elizabeth herself, preferring her sister, husband, and (newly!) her children.

[krahka]

The KleskizhAUs and their Poetic Styles

Under read more because lomg

SWTOR Kleskizhae

Ridiculous Sith Juggernaut. Excessively proud of his Sith ancestry but also ridiculously light side and somehow doesn’t see this as a problem. Loves lightsabers, loves the Empire but is a little less clear on whether he likes the Empire as an institution or the Empire as the people, and hint, it’s the people, he’ll pick the people if he had to.

Poetry: ALL CAPS HAIKUS FREE VERSE ASTRONOMY METAPHORS EXTREMELY VIOLENT REFERENCES TO ANCIENT SITH HISTORY BEAUTIFUL WORDS BEATEN STRAIGHT OUT OF HIS HEART OF DARK PASSION

DS!SWTOR Kleskizhae

Ridiculous and awful Sith Juggernaut. Believes himself morally and genetically superior to all others. Delights in toying with his inferiors, especially in breaking their hearts with his charm and facade of kindness. 

Poetry: Flowery and romantic and flattering. More or less copies of ancient Sith poems, but with the words changed a bit. They’re mostly for showing off how cultured he is and how much he loves you babe, so he doesn’t put in much effort. 

ESO Kleskizhae

Altmer Battlemage. A scion of the Direnni but not on great terms with his family due to his allegiance to the Aldmeri Dominion and his marrying a Bosmer because of Spinner shenanigans. Ambassador of the Queen and definitely not one of her Eyes nosir. Got pressganged into the Buoyant Armigers after impressing Vivec by exemplifying all of hir favorite virtues and vices just by accident.

Poetry: Sonnets. Ballads. Sexually explicit but it’s so purple that you can hardly tell just how sexually explicit it really is. Mostly about his own adventures and the people he knows. Melodramatic as fuck. The stuff he wrote when Vivec specifically was taking an interest in him is his best work, since he starts getting more experimental and tones down the silliness without losing that red hot emotional core that really elevates the verse to something that so many people try and fail to replicate in the future that it’s become its own genre. 

DS!ESO Kleskizhae

Altmer Battlemage what dabbles in necromancy. Believes himself the rightful king of all of High Rock with the Bretons as his rebellious subjects. Allied with Mannimarco because he promised him that when Planemeld happened, he could have his ancestral holdings all to himself, with all the people there living only to glorify him. The kinda guy you end up killing in the Daggerfall Covenant quests or in a Balfiera focused dungeon DLC. 

Poetry: Pretty similar to light side ESO!Kleskizhae, but if he thinks you didn’t appreciate his work he’ll torture you until you do. Try and critique it and he’ll just plain murder you and raise your corpse to grovel for his forgiveness and admit that you were wrong. Also his poetry is his annoying boss mechanic somehow. Didn’t read the books in his dungeon? Too bad because that’s how you defeat him. 

GW2 Klejskizae

Norn Herald. Skald, champion of Wolf, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers. A Delight unto all people of Tyria! Your new best friend who is not using your friendship with him to learn your secrets! Come and listen to him channel the spirits and the Legends next Dragon Bash!

Poetry: Actually more into prose. Veddas. Stories about heroes, exaggerated for effect. Tales that he keeps in his mind that he tells differently each time he’s asked to tell it, depending on what he thinks his audience needs to hear. The poetry tends to be more personal, often taking the form of prayers to the Spirits that are between him and them. Also will write songs, also about heroes, with calls to action for the Pact. 

TES!Specifically Klejskizae

Nord Skaald. Traveling yeller. Delighter of audiences all throughout Tamriel. Follower of the Old Ways. Probably also in the Blades. 

Poetry: SCREAMING TAVERN SONGS. Great heroes, sometimes gets kicked out of taverns in Skyrim because he’s performing songs about non-Nord heroes but how can you not be excited by EVERYONE

SWTOR!Specifically Klejskizae

Mandalorian what will scream battle poems in your ear as he faces you in glorious hand to hand combat. Has some very weird ideas of what being Mandalorian is, but they’re closer to reality than his Sith version’s ideas of being Sith. 

Poetry: You thought Sith Kleskizhae’s poetry was gory and violent? You haven’t heard Mando Klejskizae. They are ridiculous. Everything ends with lovers embracing for the last time as they die in battle and their death is described in excruciating detail.

FFXIV Kleskizhae

Ishgardian adventurer. Dragoony Bard. Got kicked out for being way too scandalous for the theocracy and for talking too much about how he thought that maybe we should just smooch the Dragons? 

Poetry: The poetry isn’t why he’s not liked back in Ishgard, though that poetry was a means to transmit his unpopular and scandalous ideas and activities. The poetry specifically is why he’s distrusted in Gridania after he met an elemental and challenged it to a rap battle and it went very poorly. (Kleskizhae won and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise or that that’s not the point and there is no winning because he definitely won)

West Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng

Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. Sort of into the whole BoS thing of keeping dangerous tech out of people’s hands but also he’s into protecting people in any way he can, since they must protect those who will inherit the past, yes? That is what we’re doing, right? Right?

Poetry: He found a book of poems about Arthurian legends and they changed his life, as did Grognak the Barbarian which he’s sure is in the same canon. He’s also read a bunch of Shakespeare and only sort of understands it. So yeah, sonnets that are Shakespeare ripoffs. Casting modern topics into medieval terms. Sometimes it’ll get weird and his BoS worldview will come in and make them anachronistic but it’s unintentional because he just wants to write like the knights of yore. 

East Coast Fallout Klaus K. Zheng

Enclave soldier, later deserter once he sees that oh shit killing everyone wasn’t supposed to be what they were going to do! He wasn’t listening to the quiet part! Ends up aiding synths because it pisses off the BoS and also saves lives. Still believes in America but it’s one that maybe never existed. 

Poetry: The Enclave did preserve a lot of good American literature in their databanks, though they’re kinda sketchy about distributing it to their soldiers since even before 2077 they realized that a lot of the American canon contains like, anti-war, anti-corporate ideas and they couldn’t have that in their new society. He read Leaves of Grass once and it blew his mind. He might just surrender to the Brotherhood if they let him have access to their books, because he needs those. But also he might not because they would probably kill him and he’s also spending his post-Raven Rock time helping synths out of the Institute and that’s something they’d kill him for. And probably also kill a lot of other people if they realized that the Railroad had ex-Enclave in there. And the Institute doesn’t care for the humanities, which is why they had to create machines to teach them how to be human and then proceed to do such terrible things to the humans they’ve created; because they are less machine than they are and they resent them for it. 

Modern Vlogger Klaus K. Zheng

Relationship advice vlogger, specifically as a counter-voice to all those shitty misogynist PUAs that are targeting lonely straight men. Also here for the lonely women and the lonely queers since he’s a queer man himself. 

Poetry: He’s got a Master’s in Poetry and he feels it was time well spent, even if he didn’t care as much for academia as he did for the writing and the reading. One of the rewards for donating to his Patreon at a higher tier is a short poem written just for you about whatever subject you wish. (Assuming that it’s not extremely objectionable. He’ll gladly write poems about all sorts of sex acts, but he won’t write one about the virtues of white power.)

HZD Kleskizhae

Carja Warrior. Participated in the Red Raids because that was what the will of the Sun was but he couldn’t take the violence and the genocide and ended up joining with Sun-Prince Avad to overthrow the murderous king literally as soon as he could. Has been on a tour of goodwill ever since. 

Poetry: Overuses the words “glinting”, “scintillating”, “resplendent”, “radiant”, “brilliant” and other words that mean A LOT OF LIGHT because he’s really into writing ridiculous songs about the Sun. A lot more personal and emotional than a lot of Carja poetry, since it’s more about love than about praising the Sun or the King. It’s a new dawn, and what the world needs is love’s shining rays to heal her wounds. With the help of some Oseram who wanted to promote the newly invented phonograph, manages to become the first real pop star after the apocalypse.

DA Kleskizhae

Tevinter Battlemage. Was sent off to the front lines against the Qunari to keep from embarrassing his family and his master. Accidentally ended up embarrassing them anyway. 

Poetry: So he’s really into bringing up the Old Gods in his poems. He doesn’t worship them, he’s a good Andrastian, but you know how in the Renaissance everyone was a huge Greeceaboo? Yeah, it’s like that. 

WtA Klaus K. Zheng

Fianna Galliard. He’s a werewolf poet who sings ballads of his pack’s glorious battles and lifts their spirits in the name of Gaia and Stag!

Poetry: He’s got a soft spot for dirty limericks. All of the Kleskizhaes will make improv poems upon request when they’re drunk enough but Fianna!Klaus is the master of the drunken on-the-spot poem. Like they get way better when he’s drunk and they’re improvised, as opposed to the usual thing where they’re charmingly bad.

VtM Klaus K. Zheng

Toreador. Got the vampire bug some time in the Victorian era, I dunno if he was actually British or what.

Poetry: Lord Byron himself once called his poems “a bit maudlin.” His sire was certainly fond of his work, but if he had more time in his peak living creative years he would have probably been a better known figure in the Romantic movement. As it is he’s fairly irrelevant and forgotten by all but a few intense scholars of the period, and even they consider him a minor figure. 

Shadowrun Klaus K. Zheng

Elven Street Samurai. Just wants to make the world a better place through the power of love and also katanas. Probably unfortunately involved with Aztechnology which is gonna end badly for him probably. 

Poetry: Machines and corporations have not yet conquered the metahuman soul, and that is why he writes. Has been banned from a couple of Runner BBSs for constantly posting about his latest runs in the form of epic poem, and that’s not what these boards are for, @GLORIOUSSAMURAI, please turn off your caps lock

Star Trek Kleskizhae

Romulan Tactical Officer. Fought in the Dominion War, joined the Romulan Republic after Romulus asplode, because they wouldn’t let him quietly desert and because he believes in the true Romulan spirit that can never be repressed!

Poetry: He’s trying to revive ancient pre-Awakening Vulcan poetic traditions whilst failing to recognize that lots of it doesn’t work in the modern Romulan language. He’s always been super into poetry but after the destruction of Romulus, he becomes obsessed with writing the perfect series of poems to describe it for the future, so that people will remember what it’s like long after everyone who remembers it is dead. He hasn’t been successful yet and it’s upsetting him but he can’t just not do it. He owes it to the dead. 

Bionicle Kleskizhae

He's a proud Skakdi warlord of Fire who is trying his best to unite his proud and noble people against the wicked deprivations of the Makuta and might also be in the Order of Mata Nui because sometimes Kleskizhae is a spy? But always he is very loud. 

Poetry: Extremely long and elaborate war chants with 40 verses that he’s trying to get his guys to chant into battle but no one else but him can remember it all and he keeps adding more verses. But also he’s written love poetry that’s gone all the way around Greg and made romance canon again! He’s done it! With the chiseling of the tablets he’s made love real!

#oc: kleskizhae #all screaming together in perfect harmony #long post