#they’re holding up a snail to interview him

[revlischarm]

I don’t know what they were expecting.

#art #my art #luzo #zolu #op #one piece #roronoa zoro #they’re holding up a snail to interview him #don’t worry about it #Zoro believes in nothing except for Luffy #Zoro is Luffy’s most devout follower #his most dedicated little guy #zoro is a one-man religion sometimes #as a treat

[field--guide]

Scarien

Lauryn and I feel like a couple of snails in the July heat as we walk the five minutes from our soon-to-be-old apartment over to Darrien’s place. He opens the front door covered head to toe in skate merch: a black Palace tee with pink font, and HUF Worldwide flip-flops with pink sweatpants, and gives us both a big hug. We feel instantly welcomed—a quality that makes this speaker geek from Virginia a natural leader in Denver’s underground. At Dem Deya Sound System gatherings, attendees often approach him to chat while he’s taking breaks from fine-tuning the party, and he’s proud to hold space for them. In keeping with the sound system tradition he operates from, community doesn’t merely come first, it’s the message.

"Reggae is just so hard, depending on what area you're doing it at. Like, if you're playing towards a Caribbean crowd, or playing towards a bunch of Roots peoples, Rastas, or just playing for people who like the word ‘dub,’ which is a completely different world almost...”

Darrien guides us to his studio apartment couch and apologizes for the temperature, then steps away to grab some cans of lemon sparkling water. I notice the various Lego car builds displayed on his desk next to a few pieces of MIDI gear—looks like he doesn’t just build speakers. After taking a few sips to cool down and chatting about the futuristic car on his TV (he's been playing Final Fantasy XV), we jump into the interview. He wants to talk about genre variety; for him, it’s a prerequisite for getting people tuned in to what he’s actually doing out here. He’s a natural storyteller and shrewd conversationalist, speaking candidly about the mission while maintaining a low key demeanor and cracking plenty of jokes. Lauryn and I quickly start to feel like a couple of buddies just kicking back and catching up.

Darrien is grateful for Denver’s “built-in” electronic music scene, and feels strongly about platforming original sound system styles. But he’s also blazing his own trail—pun intended! Traditionally, sound systems don’t showcase the non-reggae styles that Dem Deya does, at least not with such regularity. But Darrien understands that dubstep, drum n’ bass, jungle, hip-hop, and even garage aren’t just logical entry points for many of Denver's scenesters—they’re a solid foundation for a sound system community. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s got outstanding taste in these styles. “There's already a community here,” he says, “and we got to throw some of these [non-dub/non-reggae] events to get some of these people to understand that this is the role of the sound system.” This part of the mission is front-of-mind for Dem Deya. It’s been simmering on their proverbial cooktop for a time, and putting in the work to get people there has been an easy choice. But the work itself is not easy—it’s almost like threading a needle. On one side, the inherent pressure of genre ‘purity’ from the cultural giants whose shoulders they stand on. And on the other, a whitewashed bass music scene generally not prone to dub and reggae unless it’s worked into 140 BPM dubstep. Darrien doesn’t harp on cultural appropriation during our interview—his work isn’t concerned with drawing lines in the sand, in fact, just the opposite. But the context in which he’s operating is important to understanding the immensity of what he’s doing in Colorado. Darrien is an educator through and through, passionate about increasing awareness of true sound system culture and the roles it can play in society. He talks at length about sound system’s inherently political nature, referencing systems in Jamaica being stolen or destroyed by the government, and Rastafarians being tortured and killed by police on Bad Friday. The message of sound system, at its core, is “unity, community, peace, love, respect, and self-liberation," says Darrien. He’s dedicated his life to spreading this message in the states, where just a handful of traditional sound systems operate.

Darrien (left) with his grandfather and little brother, circa 1999

Before Darrien became entwined with sound system, family and community sparked his love for music. When he was just seven or eight years old, his dad let him pick out some CDs from a massive home collection. He opted for “Toxicity” by System of a Down, and “Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)” by Wu-Tang Clan. “[My dad] was like, ‘Yo, pick anything you want, I think you’re old enough. Here’s a Walkman CD player. This is how it works. Don't scratch it, don't drop it.’ That's when I kind of started seeing the value of it all, but, over time, y’know?” He thoughtfully observes how songs and albums used to carry so much power, and points out that in order to really make an impact on people these days, you have to throw an entire event.

As a teen, Darrien was particularly inspired by the music he heard in skate videos. His takeaway as a youngster was that it “was easy to understand,” because it “all came from an area of self-expression,” whether the style was heavy metal, hip-hop, country, or even folk. In high school, one of his skateboarding buddies turned him on to “FabricLive.37” by Caspa & Rusko. Along with artists like Pretty Lights and an introductory festival experience at Identity, this formed the “surface level” of his foray into electronic music. But joining the Air Force at age 18 to serve as an airplane technician was what truly pulled him in deep, into contact with the UK’s diverse electronic music scene.

“I didn't want my parents to pay for my college; I wanted to see some new shit. [So I joined the Air Force] and I was like, send me wherever. So they obviously sent me to the rave capital of the world.” [laughs]

Darrien was keen to check out London’s musical underground. First, through free parties in the midlands, then Outlook festival, and eventually, weekly visits to raves and sound system events in the city.

“Next thing you know, three years passed by and me and Ky [co-founder Kyler Coates] were going to parties every week, just buying tickets left and right. … We would drive an hour to our friend Rosa’s house in London who we met at this festival Outlook. Shout out Rosa, man. Her spot would just be poppin’ every single weekend. So it was never a question of 'if', we just had to hit her up and let her know, and then we would have our own space to sleep. Afterwards, we could just drive an hour back to town.”

This kind of exposure to underground music culture instilled excitement in the pair, and their eventual involvement with local sound system culture inspired a deep sense of purpose. They proceeded to buy a short speaker stack from a high schooler in town who built custom boxes, and planned a move back to the states to spread that purpose. Initially, choosing Denver as a home base was for little reason other than weed’s legality there.

“I don't really have to explain much about the reasons I would leave the military, but it was clearly not the fucking vibe, y’know? So we decided, alright, well, let’s go here [to Denver]. See what we can do [with our own] sound system, and yeah, it's worked out, it's become like nothing I could ever really imagine. This was something where we were just trying to dedicate ourselves to this message."

And dedicate themselves, they have. Dem Deya have developed a strong presence in Denver’s sprawling music scene in just a couple of years, going on to fly out staple reggae & dub artists while platforming the local DJ community, getting the sound system to a place where, in Darrien’s words, “all two thousand of the Instagram followers are trying to buy tickets to go see Joe Schmo play, because they just know the stack is coming out, and they know they’re accepted there.” But this run hasn’t been without its challenges. Darrien isn’t shy about the pushback they’ve received from certain parts of the scene in Denver. Unfortunately, as is the case in many other cities, clubs and greedy promoters have been a particular source of frustration. He pulls no punches discussing industry commodification and monopolization, illustrating how sound system has a unique ability to disrupt that chain.

“Man, it really gets goofy sometimes. I remember the first event when we brought our sound system here. At this point, it’s a half stack. We've got a bunch of dub records, and we’re literally just looking for a space to bring it in and press play on it. And this dude was trying to charge us $600. I'm like, bro, what is.....what do you mean? And this person is an industry person and they’re like ‘Oh, I know about dub and reggae sound.’ They see the potential of charging at the door, you know, such and such. We're like cowboys with speakers, to where it does expose a lot of the fluff. What does he want $600 for? And then, it's like, y’know, tell him to go fuck himself!”

We erupt in laughter for the hundredth time that day. If Darrien hadn’t gotten into curating events and building speaker boxes, he would have made a splash in stand-up. He goes on:

“People always talkin’ ‘bout, ‘oh, this is for the community, I'm throwing this event for the community, but I'm charging $40 at 3am.’ It's like, uhhhh....that's not community! … If you want to rent some speakers and throw an event to make 30% on the dollar, then you can go ahead and do that. There's no foul play in that. … Just don’t call yourself an underground entity. ... With sound system, there's accountability. That's the best way to put it. There's accountability, and a responsibility behind it. It’s a gift just to be able to do this.”

‘Exposing the fluff’ hits the nail on the head, but Darrien doesn’t stop there. He talks about clubs in Denver turning local promoters’ communities into a product, then turning around and buying artist bookings right out from under them. He references the recent Deadbeats controversy, where the label marketed an anonymous 'underground' artist using messaging about the 'roots of the culture,' only for it to come out later that the artist was a side-project of a mainstream bass music producer. Darrien is “not bound by the music industry to be quiet about” or “turn a blind eye” to the “funny business” he perceives in how it operates and sustains itself. But absolutely none of his opinions come off as moaning or complaining. They’re principled, passionate accounts of his lived experience as a promoter, which serve to counterpoint and help define the role of the sound system to an outsider. When it comes right down to it, the message and the method are what matter most to him and Dem Deya.

“We know what we gotta do. We know what's important to us. So we just gotta do that."

The self-assurance is palpable. And you can feel it when the crew conjures a vibe at an event, keeping their focus on the sound and attendees. Their events transform into more relaxed, community-oriented experiences, where being there becomes more important than being seen. The deejay is still viewed as a guide, artist, and essential piece of the puzzle, but they’re part of the experience, rather than being the experience itself. The attention economy is replaced by groups of people, coming together to form a whole and enjoy good music on good speakers. This space is easy to exist in: intensely creative and expressive, but still low key and uniquely intent on togetherness. Being sober at their Dubamine event felt like second nature to me, rather than some sort of quest, despite the party atmosphere and weed smoke lingering in the air. Speaker stack in the back, people at the front, and Subjet spinning vinyl, gracefully moving from dub tunes into dubstep over time to an enthusiastic crowd.

Dem Deya parties are refreshing, but Darrien isn’t one to toot his own horn about that. He’s humble through and through, refusing to take full credit for events, and when he does perform at something he’s helped curate, he prefers to play early so he can “put the homies on.” This collaborative spirit is embodied in the name of the sound system (often mispronounced ‘dem daiya’ – no vegan cheese here, just tunes!), which he stumbled upon during an acid trip with co-founder Kyler:

“We're like, man, what the fuck we gon’ call this thing, and so, like any couple homies looking for creative inspiration would do, we dropped some acid.......and come up with the name in the first ten minutes! [laughs] But the name Dem Deya is just a play on words: Dem Deya, like, dem over deya, ‘them over there.’ If you’re from the culture in which all of this is talking about, it's easy, it's not even a name. It's almost stupid, kind of silly. But then when you look at it on paper and you're not from that at all, and you say the name Dem Deya, it just sounds like a thing. … I can’t do this by myself—it’s just no longer ‘dem.’ Then it’s just him deya, right? And that’s fucking wack.” His solo deejay gigs, he explains, in addition to the ‘too many styles’ events, are important to him, but ultimately, secondary—done in order to spread awareness about the sound system’s primary offering. “No one's gonna really listen to Darrien Williamson. But people will listen to Scarien, the DJ. … Getting it to that level [where people will listen to you] takes that sort of celebrity-ism, that status, y’know? Otherwise, people don't want to hear what we got to say—they wanna hear Rick Ross say it!” Perhaps this wasn’t clear to him when he moved to Denver, but through trial-and-error, he’s come to understand how to effectively spread this message and get people to show up to events focused on reggae, dub, and dancehall. In fact, Dem Deya recently collaborated to bring international dub heavyweights O.B.F. Sound System and Iration Steppas to the Aztlan Theater in Denver.

Dem Deya Sound System + Zion Souljahz Sound + Headway HiFi present O.B.F. Sound System & Iration Steppas

Listening to Darrien talk about this milestone event is just about the cutest thing ever. His old soul is completely wrapped up in the joy and validation that came from bringing together all the different people from his journey in music, for an event of this scale, and having it be received so well in the Mile High City. This was a full circle, leveling up moment for him and the crew. Since that show back in March, they’ve sustained the momentum, increasing the resonance of Caribbean and UK sound system culture for people in the West through productions, bookings, and collabs.

“This is what we've been working towards, being able to create the space for people to listen when the music speaks. … Doing all this music stuff within a genuine light and having a peace of mind to do it is one of the biggest..it's the most important thing. Because independence within the music industry is important, independence in your own life is important. I feel like sound system reflects and touches on all these things and that's why I've dedicated my..I guess, life to it, at this point. Because it just does so much for people.”

It’s enough to demonstrate this level of wisdom at such a young age, but to have such dedication to this calling, and to so patiently usher people from overlapping scenes into the rich culture of sound system makes Darrien one of a kind. His ethos of serving the sound system—not the self—is his north star, but it doesn’t just guide his way. It shines a light that allows others to see what he sees in the music, and the people that congregate around it: a great power for good that comes with a great responsibility. [Published October 22nd, 2023]

[openshearts]

you and me forever

m!Raleigh  x mc (Candace Dorian)

1.2k words 

grammy award nominations come out, and there are some suprises

a/n: a couple of things, one I used the grammys here because in my mind in the platinum universe the grammys are a real thing and the vinyls are like the american music awards if that makes any sense and two making up album titles and song titles has turned out to be just as hard as titling fics so apologies in advance 

This has to be the most painfully long livestream of all time. As she watches people appear on screen and name off categories and those nominated, she realizes just how long she’s taken for granted just being able to search the nominations after the stream has already taken place. Currently the nominees for best Jazz album are being announced, a respectable category of course but one that the announcer is taking his precious time talking about. The entire thing is very painful, not to mention the fact that Raleigh is a nervous wreck. 

He’s not showing it of course, because he’s not the kind of person to sit on the edge of his seat and clench his teeth until they announce his name. He’s spent so long building his up ‘cool guy’ persona that even a possible Grammy nomination will shake it. He sits next to her on the small couch in his apartment, squeezing her hand which is how she knows that he’s a lot more nervous than she even thought he could be. 

The room is nearly silent as the nominations come slowly rolling in. The only sounds other than the stream are Fiona in the next room, on the phone again about something that Candace can only assume she’ll start talking about as soon as this is all over. Avery, who also has a very good chance of being nominated is therefore pacing the floor behind the couch. She stops occasionally, just so that the sound of her shoes on the hardwood floor stops but eventually she starts again, most likely recognizing that this whole thing is going at a snail's pace. 

PR people from both camps are scattered about the room, typing on phones and refreshing twitter feeds trying to get any hint of how this is going to go. There’s a buzz to the whole room, a kind of hum that breaks through the tense silence, the anxiety in the air is clear, and Candace would be lying if she said it wasn’t getting to her just a little bit. She leans her head on Raleigh's shoulder just as another text from Shane comes in on her phone, which is sitting right next to the computer. He’s on set shadowing a director for school, so he can’t keep up with the news himself but he keeps texting her asking for updates. 

She looks at the stream, sees that the R&B category is next and doesn’t even make a move towards the phone, this is it. She’ll update him when Raleigh gets nominated. Avery stops pacing, and glues her eyes to the screen, Fiona finally reenters the room and is suddenly transfixed as well and everything seems to stop as the presenters start speaking. He isn’t nominated for overall performance, which is fine because there are more categories, the stream keeps going and everything is suddenly speeding up.

“The nominees for best R&B song are, I see you by Raleigh Carrera and Candance Dorian,” 

Nobody moves, nobody says anything, everyone just lets the stream continue without saying a word. Raleigh is still squeezing Candace’s hand even though as of this moment they are both Grammy nominated songwriters, but he wants more, and everyone in the room knows it. Finally the category comes to R&B album of the year. All the albums are announced but one, and everyone is holding their breath. 

“The final nominee for R&B album of the year is About Me, by Raleigh Carrera.” 

Cadence stares at the screen for a moment, dumbfounded, and when she turns to look at him she sees that he’s already looking at her. “Dude,” She says, “You’re a fucking grammy nominated artist.” 

He smiles, “So are you.” 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re entire album was nominated, this is really happening.” She hits him on the shoulder, “Stop being so cool about this! This is the one time you're allowed to go batshit.” 

He laughs, “I think you’re the one going batshit.” 

One of the press people, Carly, speaks up from across the room. “So we’re going to have to make a video later of you reacting to your nominations, because that is unusable.” She’s half joking but they both know there will have to be a video with both of them later. 

“Arguably I think my cursing adds authenticity to the entire situation,” Candace jokes, “Because someone is being scarily calm about this entire thing.” 

Suddenly the announcer moves into the next category, pop music and a hush goes over the room again. Avery continues to pace the floor, until finally she’s nominated for best pop performance and best pop song. Then the stream moves into the general categories, but the focus of the room isn't on those. Hums of conversation start to fill the room as Candace finally texts Shane back and immediately gets a flurry of all caps messages back, and outfits and awards performances are being discussed.  

All of which changes the second the words, “I see you written by Raleigh Carrera, and Candace Dorian.” 

Candace looks up, and sees that the header on the screen is song of the year. Everyone in the room stops talking and stares at Candace and Raleigh, still seated on the couch. The two of them aren't looking at anyone else, they’re just looking at eachother and suddenly they're kissing in the middle of the living room while everyone is looking at them while the rest of the nominations are still being read off. It’s a little embarrassing as Candance will admit later, but getting caught up in the moment of being nominated for an amazing award with the person that you love is a kind of ecstasy that can’t really be described. The kind of ecstasy that makes you make out said person in the middle of a room full of people. 

“How was that for a reaction video?”

“I need one thats family friendly.” 

The rest of the day is a blur of twitter notifications, interview requests, and phone calls from pretty much everyone they know. Near the end of the day, Candace decides to turn her phone off, and her computer and just try to take it all in without everyone else commenting on it. She’s more excited for Raleigh than herself, because she knows how hard he’s worked on this, and even though he won’t admit it she knows how much he wanted it.

At the end of the day, all the people have finally left the apartment, all the notifications have been turned off, and there's a comfortable silence in between the two people left. Raleigh and Candace lie in the bed, both exhausted from the day. “I’m proud of you,” She says, putting her hand on his chest. 

He grasps it again and lets out a sigh, “When you said we were in this together, this was not what I had in mind.” 

“To be fair, neither did I,” She smiles. “I’m sorry, I feel like the romance of it all is distracting people from your insane amount of talent.” 

He rolls over and just looks at her. He’s enamored with her, like he always has been. If he’s being honest, none of this would mean as much as it does if she wasn’t right there with him, telling him not to give up and reminding him that he needs to stop being in his own head. He doesn’t deserve her. “I don’t want to make music if it’s not with you.” 

She smiles and presses a brief kiss to his lips. “You and me forever,” She says and she means it. 

They both do. 

#platinumweekend #vinylawardschallenge #m!raleigh x mc #raleigh carrera #raleigh x mc #platinum #im proud of this one but the one I have coming on sunday????? 20x better

[daggerzine]

Sunday Runners.....the Corvair interview.

The music of Corvair fell into my hands recently thanks to Heather Larimer, who makes up one half of the band. The Portland duo, comprised of Larimer and her husband Brian Naubert (and drummer Eric Eagle for the recordings) haven’t been around for too long but being together a lot the past year or so gave them plenty of time to work on songs. I was a big fan of Larimer’s previous band, Eux Autres, and wondered if they were still around (see the first question) so was anxious to hear Corvair. I really liked what I heard. A healthy dose of all things 1970’s, 80’s and 90’s and not quite new wave, note quite indie rock but 100% deluxe. The S/T record, which was released in February, was a co-release between their own label and WIAIWYA label in the UK.  Read on and find out the history of the band, where they’ve been and where they’re headed. Oh and make sure you listen to their music.

 Heather and Brian and Brian and Heather 

Tell us about the end of Eux Autres. Why did that band end?

It actually has not officially ended. While Sun is Sunk was coming out, we left SF because it felt like that city as we knew it was dying—all the artists we knew were moving out, and I moved back to Portland and Nick to LA. Then I had a baby and then Nick had a baby and then soon we each had another baby. With 4 little kids among us, it became really hard to fly back and forth to work on new material. We tried it for a couple years and then one day we calculated that at our pace, the record we were making would take 5 years. So we just kind of gave each other permission to prioritize other projects. Nick is working on some songs I truly love right now. They’re a real gut punch.

 …and about the beginning of Corvair. How/when did the band form?

We had known each other for many years and then we got married three-ish years ago and suddenly neither of us had other musical projects going on. So we kind of shrugged and said, what if we worked together? We would sing in the car or while cooking or whatever so we knew our voices sounded great together. Then it was just a matter of figuring out what sort of project it would be. We went into the studio with a session drummer (Eric Eagle) in late 2019 and then a few months later, the pandemic suddenly gave as a LOT of time to make progress on the tracks. So the creative center of the record was defined in a weird apocalyptic bubble. But it was helpful to have that break with reality as we knew it, because we’ve both made a lot of records, and I suppose that could have somehow blunted our ambition or our edges. But we just hit the “fuck it” button and gave ourselves over to it completely. We were very nervous to mix, because no one else in the world had heard it, and we thought it was great, but we also could have been in a shared hallucination. Really, we’d be the last to know.

 The debut....

Who came up with the name? I have always loved those cars.

Brian’s mom drove a Corvair with a hole in the floor. They would drive it on the special outings to the beach, the weekend adventures. So it was a very romantic car, and the name is just very nice to say. It makes you feel good. Both of us had been in bands with names that were a nightmare to tell someone  in a crowded club, or really anywhere (Eux Autres and Ruston Mire). You’d have to repeat it 3 times, then explain it, and then they just kind of shrug with pity. We vowed to have a band name anyone could understand the first time.

 Did the WIAIWYA label approach you about releasing the record (or co-releasing it)?

John had approached Eux Autres right after our second record and so we did an EP (Strangled Days) with him and then we were on his label ever since. Late last summer, I posted a picture of Brian and I holding the CD Master on my Instagram and John said, what the hell is this? And then I emailed him the record and he wrote right back: “It’s RAD Heather!” I’m not sure if he was making fun of me by saying “rad”--probably, actually. I think I used to say it a lot. But he immediately wanted to put out the record. Nick and I had some really great times in the UK and Europe thanks to John and he has a very devoted audience, so Corvair felt it was a great fit for us.

 Is the Pink Room your own studio?

Yes, it is literally a room in our house that is pink. Brian has been making records at home for most of his life, since he was about 14. And despite having done fancier stuff like making studio demos for Columbia several times and recording with Peter Buck in a nice place, he really prefers to work at home because he likes to spend a ton of time on overdubs—they’re not even really “overdubs,” more like a second wave of writing for him. And I had found being in the studio very stressful in the past because I’m not a technically proficient musician and that makes me self-conscious. So I was grateful to be in the privacy of my own home, in my soft pants.

 Single from last year

Did the songs on the album come fairly easily or did you feel like you labored over them?

The initial writing of them came very easily and fast. Brian did a couple of 30 day writing challenges where he wrote several songs a day. But then once we laid down the basic tracks, we spent a ton of time building them and experimenting with them. We actually recorded probably twice as many parts as we ended up using. And half of what we did in the mix was kill things. In fact, we cut five totally finished songs from the record. 

 Tell us about making those videos? Were you freezing?

Consistently very very cold, yes. Ironically, the one in the snow (Green Mean Time) was the warmest because we were properly dressed. But the ocean ones were just brutal. Especially Sunday Runner. The video was Brian’s idea, he had a very specific vision and made it sound all easy: OK, just go down to the beach and dance for 90 seconds. And I was like, huh?!? And then I kept falling down and got absolutely soaked to the bone. When we finished shooting, I couldn’t feel my hands or feet and he was steering me down the beach with his coat wrapped around me and these little kids were staring horrified, like, Mom what’s wrong with that lady?

 Prior to the pandemic had you played out live much? Done any tours?

We have never ever played live as Corvair. Which is just wild. We will likely be recording this next album before we even have a line-up for performing. But we are very excited to play together. Likely this fall. Hopefully John will bring us to England soon so we will have a great excuse to get it together.

 What are your top 10 desert island discs?

 Brian:

David Bowie - Ziggy Stardust

David Bowie - Low

Nada Surf - Let Go

Brian Eno - Another Green World

Pink Floyd - Dark Side of The Moon (yeah I know, but I don’t care)

 Heather:

GBV  - Alien Lanes

Kinks  - Village Green

Elliott Smith - Either/Or

Radiohead - Kid A

Ruston Mire - Steady Jobs and Flying Cars

  Who are some of your favorite current bands, local otherwise?

HL: I’m interested in the Dry Cleaning juggernaut. And I really dig Deep Sea Diver, Cloud Nothings, Courtney Barnett, Big Thief/Lenker. And then, I’m also very ready to embrace a new angry band whose music makes you think your stereo is broken when you play it--I’m taking suggestions.

 BN: Alt J, Elbow, Doves, Metric, Foals, Snail Mail

 What’s next for the band?

HL: We are recording this summer and trying to put some sort of live outfit together ASAP. Trying to stay out of the ocean for a while. 

 Closing comments? Words of wisdom? Final thoughts?

Thank you so much for having us! 

 www.corvair.bandcamp.com

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 11 Pt 1

Getting the twins settled at daycare was a little tedious on Monday morning but after a few reassurances of it’s was only for the week and they weren’t babies she made it to work only fifteen minutes late. Apparently seven year olds don’t need adult supervision! She was already flustered and the flowers sitting on her desk only made that worse even though her smile was wide. Plucking the card from them she read his simple words.

I miss you love.

How did this man make her feel so important, so worthy, so loved? She breathed deeply and let it out slowly. She would not cry at work she decided and chewed her bottom lip. She studied the flowers more closely, gerberas and daisies again, not roses. How did he know she wasn’t a huge fan of roses and the cliche that went with them?

She set them where she could see them throughout her day and got down to depositions. She thought of him when her mind wasn’t occupied by legal terminology. Day dreaming of what he’d be doing, where he was going next, the way he felt against her, that clever mouth. She inwardly groaned at the phantom touch to her pussy. She had to stop that or she’d never survive the day let alone six weeks.

With the day eventually done she picked the kids up and went home. She glanced at his door before stepping into her apartment, it felt different when he wasn’t here.

“Gustaf!” The boys yelled and Sildie’s head shot up to look at them.

There on the screen she’d left open at his instruction was his number calling. Impeccable timing she thought as a smile tugged at her lips. He would have been watching the clock no doubt. The boys crowded around and were telling him of all the fun activities they got to do today while Sildie changed Lily. She eventually sat just off to the side so she could join in.

“There’s miss Lily bear.” His voice made Sildies heart soar. She couldn’t put into words how much she’d missed that voice, that low tone that was seductive whether he meant it to be or not.

His look at her said all he wanted to say without the boys hearing a sound. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, touch her, be there with her. Sildie just nodded as if to say she felt the same.

The boys eventually headed off to their room to play quietly and Lily sat with Sildie and talked with Gustaf, her occasional dad dad making that grin bloom across his face.

“Thank you for the flowers.” She said quietly, suddenly emotional.

“I figured you could use a little cheer on a Monday morning. I miss you.” His eyes found hers. “I almost turned around and came home it was so bad.”

“You can’t do that.” She said shaking her head.

“I know, but I’m finding it difficult being so far away from you love.” She could see the pain in his eyes, the plea for understanding.

“It’s your job Gustaf, I understand. And thank you for the laptop, this makes it easier on them.” He cared about the kids, truly cared. “Easier on us.”

“I thought it might help later on.” His tone was that low rumble she loved.

“You’re too sweet for your own good.” She said softly, and he was. It was easy for her to see how someone could have taken advantage of that sweetness. She just hoped she wasn’t.

“I miss them too Sildie. I like hearing about their day, what they like and don’t like. My world over here isn’t quite the same and I don’t know how to handle it.” She saw the anxiety surface, the apprehension, all the things he hadn’t shared with her yet but hoped he would.

“One day at a time love. I like coming home to you.” Her voice was barely there, she didn’t know if she should divulge that to him or not. “It feels like there’s something missing, not quite right without you here.” She brushed the tear away viciously and swore. “Sorry, I’m a sap tonight. That’s what flowers at work do to me.” She chuckled. “Almost cried there too.”

“Don’t cry love, I’ll be home soon and this way at least we can talk and see each other.” His smile made her take a deep breath in and out.

“It must be late where you are.” She thought suddenly.

“It is.” His smile wide.

“I should let you go sleep.” She pulled her emotions together. She couldn’t go falling apart on him every time he called just because she missed him. It was ridiculous, she was being ridiculous.

“I’ll sleep soon enough. I wanted to make sure you were ok first.” His concern always floored her. She was concerned for him though, he wouldn’t talk about the anxiety, the lack of self worth he suddenly seemed to have, or how this all affected him. She wished he would but she knew he wouldn’t burden her with it.

“I’m ok. Just miss you. Miss Brendan too actually.” She chuckled.

“He’s back Saturday after the game right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m still working on it.” He said softly.

“It’s ok if you can’t make it.” She reassured him.

“Far from ok but I’m trying.” She saw the plea in his eyes. What had his ex put him through she wondered to put that look there, to make him second guess himself? That had to be where all this was coming from.

“I know, so does he. Go on get some sleep I have reading to catch up on.” She smiled. “I’ll text you during the week.”

“I miss you love.” His sincerity was heartfelt and it floored her. His voice said I miss you, his eyes said I love you.

“I miss you too. Be safe.”

The disconnect was rough, that sudden blank screen made him feel as if they’d been torn away from him. He had to get a grip, he had work to do, so did she, they both had careers. It had to be enough.

“Please let it be enough this time, I’m fucking trying.” He mumbled to the universe.

He couldn’t believe how all those feelings from his time with Ana had resurfaced with vengeance. He knew Sildie wasn’t Ana, they were polar opposites in fact. But it felt like he wasn’t doing enough when in reality he was doing everything he possibly could to show her he cared, that it was important for him to be in the kids lives, in hers.

“She matters.” He mumbled. “They all matter.”

The week dragged its feet and he hated it when it did. Trying to keep busy wasn’t difficult with premiers and interviews and dinners. The traveling from one place to another was time consuming and that was where he had to keep his mind occupied. So he worked on Sildies birthday present.

He knew it was on a Thursday so he would organize a Saturday sleepover for her. Even though she’d said she didn’t celebrate it he needed to do something, her birthday was important too. Birthday pancakes would happen he just needed to talk to Brendan on the how, he wanted to make sure the kids had the opportunity to celebrate Quinn’s birthday too if they wanted to. He’d give them options but he wouldn’t push.

He had to get through his own birthday and Lily’s first. That was going to be a tough week to come back home to. He stared out the car window and watched the city whiz by. He could only imagine the grief in those few days was akin to finding her drunk outside her apartment that night, maybe worse. Probably much worse he thought.

“Much fucking worse.” He muttered as he noted a few more things down, he needed a game plan.

He may not be able to bring Quinn and Dana back but he would do everything he possibly could to lessen their grief. He’d do more than move mountains, he’d move the fucking universe if he had to.

He let his thoughts wander as he stripped down in his hotel room and dressed to work the bag they had in the hotel gym. They were all doing better, happier, but he knew it was fleeting. He knew under it all there was still a deep soul crushing grief to deal with.

As fist met bag repeatedly he thought through how he’d manage it, get a handle on the situation. It was more than Sildie this time, it would be all of them. He was grateful now that the twins had decided to talk to him wanting a similar dad like relationship that he had started to develop with Brendan.

“That will make it easier.” He breathed to himself. Would it make it easier that he and Sildie were dating he wondered? Or make it worse?

Lily was the easiest, she was still too young to understand any of it but she would sense the family in turmoil, it was hard to miss. It was Sildie that concerned him the most. She had to hold it together for the kids, for work, their life. She didn’t get the luxury of falling apart which is something he hoped to give her. That safe space to crumble, to grieve, to let it out, it was why he gave her the spare key to his apartment.

“Fuck! He swore quietly. “I’m so fucking in love with you Sildie. How do I help you? The kids? Tell me how love.”

He slammed the bag harder as his thoughts drifted to Ana and how she had consistently blamed him for his schedule, missing important dates because he was away working his ass off. The fights over her excessive spending, the lies, the cheating, for her ability to make him feel insecure in his own fucking skin. The crushing self doubt and anxiety that still lingered.

“They’re not the same.” He spat and hammered the bag until his arms were aching.

“She’s not like that.” He whispered and leaned his brow against the bag momentarily.

“Sildie’s not like that.” He breathed heavily. Deep down he knew that but past traumas lingered and triggered the mind into second guessing itself.

He ripped the gloves off and went upstairs to his room to shower. Calmer he sat for meditation to clear his mind and get a grip. He was in control, not the other way around and be damned if he’d slip and lose her, lose those kids.

He saw there was a message on his phone and opened it. The video Sildie sent of her and Lily put a smile on his face. His two best girls, that little voice babbling dad dad made his heart clench.

My two best girls, how I miss you both.

Her week slowed to a crawl, a snail on Valium crawl. She was busy but her thoughts went to Gustaf whenever her mind was idle. It didn’t help that she hadn’t been sleeping well. She just hoped Lily’s molars came through sooner rather than later.

It was Friday when she heard from Gustaf again, he couldn’t make the game. She understood but it still made her heart ache a little. She wanted him here, and the fact he wanted to be here for Brendan only made that ache grow.

Brendan would understand and she’d record it for Gustaf as promised but she knew what it meant to both of them. He was trying so hard to fill a void in their lives and she loved him more for that alone.

Her mind wandered to his past once she had hung up from the call. It was his career, his paycheck, he needed to be away just like she needed to read case files at home and work late sometimes. It was life. How could she be angry with the guy for living his life, doing what he loved?

She’d talk to Brendan about it so he didn’t give Gustaf a hard time. It was a sensitive topic for both of them and she didn’t want to destroy the bond they already had established. That bond was fragile and so was Gustaf, Brendan too. She had to remember that.

He was so strong and supportive that it was easy to forget he was battling his own demons, sobriety for one. She didn’t want their shit causing him his own grief, causing him to relapse. She’d never forgive herself.

Her thoughts often drifted to his birthday, planning was progressing. She had to shelve her grief that day, no exceptions, which would be difficult considering the circumstances. She’d already put in for time off, the kids too. It would be a brutal two days and they all needed time to grieve in their own way. Was it all too much too soon? That question went around and around in her head on a consistent basis.

She sat at ice level. The rink was just for family of camp members today which suited her, not too many people to deal with or having to fight for seating. She sat the twins on the end of the row and Lily between her and Liam. She knew Lily wouldn’t stay in the seat for long as her lap was far more entertaining but it was worth a try.

She saw Brendan take the ice and look for her. She waved and he skated over to the glass as the twins rushed down to see him. She saw that huge smile on Brendans face seeing them all here for him. He looked for Gustaf and she saw his face fall slightly. Looking at her she shook her head slightly to say he couldn’t make it. He did her proud in that moment. He just nodded and smiled, he knew Gustaf wanted to be here but he also knew life happened.

The game had already started by the time his ride had pulled up outside the rink. He was trying. He would spend the fifteen hours in the air for the four hours he had here with them, and do it again and again if needed.

He knew Sildie and Ana were nothing alike, but the old wounds still bled. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Sildie, he’d promised her that. He’d make the fucking effort. It wasn’t that he didn’t with Ana, she was just clingy and needy and sucked the life out of him emotionally.

She had expected him to fix her problems, problems of her own making. The emotional blackmail, the guilt trips, the screaming. Financially and emotionally she’d drained him dry. He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, he couldn’t get worked up over this now, there was more at stake. Shoving those thought deeply he stepped into the rink. He wouldn’t let her see that side of him.

He stood at the top of the rink seating and spotted them. How could he not recognize his goddess, that mane of copper bound in that damn clip, he smirked. That gorgeous smile on her face as she turned to watch Brendans team score. He scooted along the row until he sat beside her, she was so into the game she didn’t even notice he’d sat next to her, yet.

He stretched his arm out along the back of the chairs and relaxed back. He watched the game, watched Brendan make a few really tough saves, and then Lily climbed into Sildies lap. She was bouncing on Sildies thighs, clapping her hands and chattering at her older brother on the ice, the occasional dad dad tumbling from her mouth.

“He’s not here Lily bear.” Sildie kissed her cheek and the tiny child giggled.

“Ah but he is here love.” Gustaf murmured as he leaned in and waited. He wanted to kiss that one spot below her ear that made her moan. He saw her body ripple, that acknowledgement of his words, a familiar voice. Her head turned sharply and those stunning eyes met his gaze.

“Gustaf.” Her breath whooshed out before she choked a sob.

“I’m here love.” Gustaf murmured before he kissed her tenderly.

Her hand rested on his chest as she pulled away quickly, her eyes not believing he was here. His thumb brushed the tear away.

“You came.” Her look was still one of disbelief. “But you said...”

“I did.” He glanced at the twins who were still watching the game before kissing her again how he really wanted to, with that deep love he had for her.

Lily squealed a dad dad and launched herself into Gustaf’s arms those bright blue eyes sparkling.

“Hello Lily bear.” He chuckled, bundling her into his arms. She snuggled in and hugged him.

Looking back at Sildie he smiled. “Watch the game love.” She just stared at him.

She snapped her eyes front and then back again half expecting him not to be there, just a figment of her imagination.

“I’m still here.” He chuckled. “Watch the game.” He murmured and as her head turned he kissed the nape of her neck. “I’ve missed you.” He whispered.

She looked at him, that gaze pulling him under. “I’ve missed you too.” Her fingers brushed his scruff and she kissed him.

“Thank you. This will mean everything to him.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “To all of them.” Silent tears fell.

“Don’t cry love.” He murmured and ran his knuckles down her cheek swiping those tears away.

The horn sounded for the end of the first period and that’s when Brendan saw him. He ripped off his mask and skated to the boards close to the twins. The smile on that kids face was worth the trip, the money, and the lack of sleep he’d endured to get here. His gut calmed, he’d made the right decision to push hard for this.

Deep down he knew he had but there was always that shadow of self doubt. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was pushing too hard or not enough, worried Sildie would tell him to back off because he wanted to do anything but. He wanted to sweep her off her feet, romance her, give her the world, the kids too. He wanted to show the kids he was here, in their lives, that he cared about them and what they were doing.

He talked with the twins and when they’d settled into their seats he entwined his fingers with Sildies. He rested his head against hers while they watched the second period of the game, Lily snuggled close.

“How long are you here for?” She asked quietly.

“I’m on a plane at five. I have to be back in time for the next interview. I’m sorry.” He kissed her temple.

“What are you sorry for?” She looked at him perplexed.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer love.” Those icy blue eyes looked deep into him, she’d see the pain.

“Gustaf he’s not going to forget today. Ever. You saw that smile right, when he first saw you?” He nodded and dropped his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for putting that smile on his face.” She fight for him too, against those demons that reared their heads, the insecurity he felt, she’d fight them for him if she could.

He kissed her brow and lingered breathing in that scent that calmed his soul. Her scent.

“Look at me.” She said softly and grazed her knuckles against his scruff, there was pain looking back.

“Don’t ever change.” She said softly. “Don’t ever lose that sweet caring soul you have. Don’t let her win love, she’s not worth it.” He knew what she meant by those last few words and he’d needed to hear them.

She quickly glanced at the kids and then kissed him so his heart was suddenly filled to overflowing with the love that poured out of her.

He blinked and looked at her.

“Still illegal.” He chuckled.

“Still gonna do it.” She grinned.

They waited for Brendan to come out of the locker room after the third and he tackled Gustaf in a huge bear hug.

“Ama said you weren’t coming.” He grinned.

“Wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to swing it. I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then let you down.” That was the truth he hadn’t said to Sildie. He didn’t want to let any of them down.

“I’m glad you did, means a lot.” He could see the grief in the kids eyes.

“You doing ok?” Gustaf asked as they walked to the restaurant.

“Yeah a little torn you know.” He shrugged. “Wanted my dad here.”

“But you got me instead, I get it. It’s not the same.” Gustaf felt the sting, he knew it was unintentional but it hurt.

“No it’s not that, I’m just torn.” Brendan said honestly and shrugged. “Because I want you both here and if dad was here you wouldn’t be.”

Gustaf stopped and looked at Brendan as he continued to walk away. He realized Gustaf wasn’t beside him and turned to look back. It was probably the nicest thing the kid had said to him and that statement had stunned him speechless.

“Did I say something wrong?” Brendans face was that of worry.

Gustaf shook his head. “Nope. Had something in my shoe.” He said quickly and grinned as he caught up to Brendan pulling the kid into a side brotherly hug.

Between what the twins said last week and what Brendan said just now, made his heart explode. That was as close to an I love you and approval of him being with Sildie from a thirteen year old he was going to get.

He had enough time to eat dinner with them before his ride would be here. Sildie watched them talk and relive the game, picking it apart, guy talk. She felt that pang of jealousy and buried it deep. Please let him be the one Quinn she pleaded in her mind. He’s so good with them, do you see it brother? Don’t let our baggage push him away.

“I just realized something.” Gustaf murmured into her ear. “This is the first time we’ve gone out for a meal, the six of us.”

She looked around at their disjointed family. There was no awkwardness, it was just normal.

“It’s kinda nice.” She whispered back and looked at him from under her lashes.

“It is. And you can’t look at me like that love, that’s not playing fair.” He growled.

He let his hand rest on her knee and kept an eye on the kids. He heard her breath hitch as it traveled up and squeeze her thigh. He knew there wouldn’t be time or a place they could be together alone so this would have to do. He wanted her though, that surge of desire was strong. He was here and that’s all that mattered, it had to be enough for today.

They sat there and watched as the boys talked and laughed. This was the happiest she’d seen them in a long time, it was a good day yet it made her sad. Sad that Dana and Quinn were missing out on all of it.

“I can never repay you for this.” She said softly and he squeezed her thigh.

“No need love.” His whisper was that low timbre she loved, it sent a shiver through her. “Enjoy the moment Sildie. I love seeing you and the kids so happy.”

“It fleeting.” She whispered, knowing at any moment the grief could descend and consume them again.

“It is.” He murmured and took her hand in his, a thumb gently stroking the inside of her wrist to keep her calm and focused on this moment and not the grief that was going through her mind. “But there will be many more love, that I promise you. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

They stayed talking and laughing until it was time for Gustaf to go. He helped Sildie get the kids, and Brendans hockey equipment, in the car and said his last good byes to the kids, a happy squeal of dad dad from Lily making him smile. Turning the key in the ignition, she told the kids to stay put and let it warm up. Closing her car door she’d have at least two minutes alone with him.

His lips crashed against hers, devouring her, tongue teasing.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since I sat next to you.” His grin was wide. “I’m sorry this is such a short visit.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re here, it’s enough. I haven’t seen those kids that happy in nearly a year.” There were tears in her eyes and she was struggling to keep it together. “They love having you here Gustaf, never apologize for making them happy, making the effort when no other would have.”

“Sometimes it feels as if I’m not doing enough.” He said honestly and toyed with a wisp of her hair that had escaped her beanie. That I’m not enough he thought. A thought that echoed in his eyes.

“I’m trying.” He whispered, his voice shaky.

“It’s more than enough.” She said as his head dropped. “You’re more than enough. Look at me.” Her fingers hooked him under the chin sharply forcing him to look at her. She’d read his damn mind he thought.

Something had triggered his train of thought, the somber mood and self doubt she thought and she had to snap him out of it.

He locked his gaze on hers and saw the lawyer surface.

“It’s enough, you’re enough.” She kissed him tenderly. She had to be hard on him so he didn’t sink deeper than he already had.

“I’m not her Gustaf.” She said carefully. “I know that’s on your mind. Old demons, old wounds, old habits have surfaced, I can see it.” And it killed her to see that emotional pain in his eyes. “I don’t know what triggered it but please know you are more than enough for me, for the kids. You are important to us.”

“I’m trying to put them back where they belong.” He smiled at her, she understood, those eyes didn’t lie. “For you I’m trying Sildie.”

“I know you are.” That smile lifted him. “You’re enough love and you’re wanted, needed. I need you, the kids need you.” She didn’t want to let him go like this.

“How do I take the pain away?” She whispered softening, placing her hand on his chest at the deep V in his shirt. “The anxiety, the self doubt? How do I help you?”

He shook his head slightly. “You can’t love. I won’t ever let those demons touch you.” His eyes searched hers, fingers teasing hers. “They’re mine to defeat, to keep under control and I will master them again.”

He saw the question flit across her face. “Still sober, still clean, that won’t change.” He said strongly and kissed her with the overwhelming love he had for her. “Ever.”

“You can call me if it gets too much, if you feel the control slipping. I’m here for you just as you’re here for me, don’t forget that ok? I don’t want to see you go under.”

He smiled softly. “You already keep me from going under love.” He kissed her tenderly. “Every second of every day you keep me from sinking.”

He kissed her gently. “You’re wanted Sildie, and needed. I need you love.”

“I need you too.” She kissed him gently.

“I’ll call you when I land.” His voice choked as the car pulled up next to him, it was his signal to go.

He kissed her hard, that surge of love consuming her. Just tell her, his brain said but he couldn’t, not now. He couldn’t tell her he loved her and then disappear for five more weeks. He wanted that moment to be special for her.

“Be safe.” She said softly and watched as he got in the car. I love you her heart screamed.

He waved to the kids and with one last glance at Sildie he drove away from her.

“Shit!” She choked and let the tears fall. “Fucking shit!” She let one choking sob tear out of her before sucking it all up, pushing it down, and wiping her eyes.

She stood there in the cold and watched as his car shrank into the distance and disappeared out of sight.

It’s was like her whole world had shifted in the past few weeks. Their relationship had progressed, the relationship with the kids and Gustaf had evolved into something deeper, the thought of him staying over, his work, her work, their schedules, the kids emotions, everything. It was snowballing out of control and she had to put the brakes on somehow. She wasn’t sure how she was going to handle any of it if it continued to run at its current speed.

She climbed into the car and drove home. The boys talked but Brendans hand softly squeezed hers as if to say I know you’re hurting. She’d missed him too. He was a good kid and felt things deeply enough that he probably knew her and Gustaf were already dating.

The rest of the evening went along as any normal Saturday would. She kicked back and got in some reading while the boys played, the twins happier their older brother was home and to show him the new LEGO game.

She had just kicked back with a tea and her notes well after ten when Brendan came out of his room.

“You ok kiddo?” She asked dropping her notes on the table and ripping her reading glasses off her face.

The kid didn’t surface after bed time unless it was urgent or he was upset.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked hesitantly.

“Of course.” She said as he sat at the table and she could see he was thinking over what he was going to say.

Please be good things she chanted in her head.

“Do you love Gustaf?” He asked tentatively.

“Yes I do.” She said without hesitation.

He nodded and she decided to talk with him about it all. “Can I talk to you about something?” She smiled a faint smile and he nodded.

“You know we’ve been seeing each other for a while now right?” He nodded.

“Are you dating him? He asked quickly, those eyes lighting up. A positive sign she thought.

“We went on a date the other week and I’d like to keep dating him, but you have to be ok with it, so do your brothers.” She held her breath, was this too much too soon she wondered?

“Would he come live with us? Be here all the time?” His voice shook with emotion.

“We’d start off slow but yes I’d like him to be here more, with me, with you, sleep here. He loves you Brendan and he’s trying really hard to make this a better situation for all of us. He knows he can’t replace your dad but he’s trying hard to be someone you guys can count on.”

“I want him to stay, so do the twins. We talked while you were talking with Gustaf.” He shrugged seeing her shocked look and smiled. She should have seen it coming.

“You’re sure? We can’t go back to what we have now once we take that step forward. It’s all or nothing kiddo and we need to be sure. I don’t want you guys hurt and I don’t want Gustaf hurt or lead him on either.” And that, she thought is what scared her the most. What if it didn’t work and she lost Gustaf, hurt the kids. “I don’t want to force this on you guys or hurt you.”

“What do you mean by lead on?” He asked genuinely.

“Leading someone on is like making a huge promise to someone with the intention of never keeping it. It hurts them emotionally.” She looked at him it was difficult to explain to a kid that’s never had his heart broken by a girl. “It’s not a nice thing to do and I won’t do it to him or anyone for that matter. We have to be sure. I’m in love with him B, I want him to be a part of our lives, my life.”

“I think it would be a good thing for all of us, especially you Ama. He loves you, I saw it today when he kissed you.” His smirk was cheeky.

Oh fucking shit she thought. He’d caught them out.

“I see it when you look at him, it’s just like how mum used to look at dad.” His voice dropped low.

“I’m not trying to replace them B.” She said softly. “I’m not. I’m just trying to be happy, to find someone that makes me happy and that can be there for you too. Hopefully make you guys a little happier.”

The incoming call on the laptop drew her attention and she closed the lid without a seconds hesitation. This conversation was more important.

“And you will always be my first priority. Gustaf knows that.” Hence just hanging up on him she thought.

“I know. It still stings a little but I know. It was like today. I was sad because dad wasn’t there but happy because Gustaf was and if mum and dad were still here we would never have met Gustaf.” He said simply.

Kid logic, she loved that it was so cut and dry.

“I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast B, I’m sorry for it all.” She squeezed his hand.

“Me too, but at least we have you, and now Gustaf.” He smiled.

“Does that mean you’re ok if I date him?” Her smirk was cheeky as he nodded.

She pulled him into a hug. “Thanks B.” She said quietly.

“He’s good for you, to you. Dad would have liked him.” He said and she let the sob come.

This from a boy of thirteen who had to grow up quickly. He held her tightly until the tears stopped.

“I miss him B, so much it hurts.”

“Dad or Gustaf?”

“Both. Go on back to bed and sleep champ.” She wiped her tears away.

“Night Ama.” He said, kissing her cheek and hugging her tightly.

“Night love, you give the best hugs by the way. We’ll tell the twins in the morning ok?” She wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. “We need to decide how we’re going to do this.”

“I’ll tell them.” He grinned and shut his door.

“Don’t mention it to Gustaf just yet ok?” She said quickly. “He has a lot on his mind right now with work and travel I don’t want to add to it.” She wanted to tell him in person, when he wasn’t thousands of miles away, and when his emotional state wasn’t so fragile.

Tomorrow would be bedlam with that news once the twins knew.

It was odd that the call had connected to the laptop and then cut off. He was concerned because he knew she would be home unless something had happened. He tried calling again and again but still no answer.

He sent her a quick text to say he’d landed and hoped that would get a reply, but after an hour of waiting and no return text he called her cell. Still nothing and that’s when he started to go out of his mind. What if she’d been in an accident, the kids? Those fucking what if’s started to haunt him.

“Fuck!” He scrubbed a hand over his face and head as he paced his hotel room. “They’re fine you’re just jumping to all the worst case senarios.” He told himself trying to calm his anxiety down.

With each try his concern deepened until her face finally popped on screen. He could tell she’d been crying, maybe something was really wrong. His gut clenched, fuck not now, not while I’m thousands of miles away from you he pleaded silently.

“Sorry I was talking to Brendan, bit of a heart to heart. Thank you again for today, he’s still on cloud nine that you came to see him play. I don’t think that grin is going anywhere for a few weeks at the very least.” She chuckled and he let the fear for her and the kids evaporate before she saw it. Who was he kidding, she’d seen it the moment she’d answered the call.

“Everything ok?” His voice relaxed as he could manage while the panic attack started to bubble up and threatened to consume him.

“Everything’s fine. He just needed to get a few things off his chest.” She studied him, he wasn’t though. Something was going on with him, he couldn’t hide it from her.

“Are you ok love?” She asked cautiously, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“Just tired. A little worried I couldn’t get a hold of you, but here you are.” His smile didn’t reach those eyes she loved. Vulnerability, that’s what she saw, and pain.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t pick up before.” She couldn’t tell if he was angry of just scared out of his mind for them. “We’re ok love.” Her heart ached, was that something else Ana had done she wondered, just not answered his calls, left him wondering if something was really wrong for the attention?

He shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face again, shaking his head. He was being unreasonable and it wasn’t like him to be like this.

“No, Sildie, I’m sorry. I’m exhausted, irritated, and being a needy little bitch.” His chuckle was bitter.

Let it out she asked silently, please talk to me.

“I miss you Sildie, so much it fucking hurts.” He dropped his head so she wouldn’t see the desperation in his eyes.

“What can I do?” She asked gently. “How do I help you?” She wished she was next to him so she could bundle him into her arms as he’d done countless times to her.

“You are helping love, you’re here talking to me.” He smiled and looked down the camera at her before looking away again.

“You can’t look at me like that when I can’t touch you. That’s unfair.” She scoffed and it got the chuckle she was after. “Look at me.” She pleaded, and smiled slightly as she saw those dusty blue eyes.

“We’ll make it work.” She would keep telling him that until her last breath. “It’ll take time, a little adjusting for both of us. You matter to me love, matter to the four kids sleeping down the hall.”

“I know. I know.” He blew out a breath and tapped his finger on the table to calm himself.

“I think I just got myself all worked up over not much, I’m sorry.” She got him, how it affected him. “The anxiety’s a little high today.” He hated to admit it, felt weak for it. “It makes me feel weak.” His quiet voice shattered her heart. “Makes me feel like I don’t matter when I know I do.”

She suddenly felt overwhelming rage at Ana. How dare she put that in your kind soul.

“You’re not weak Gustaf, so very far from it. If you were weak you would have turned to your demons for solace, but you didn’t. You phoned me instead.” Her smile lit up his world.

“And the high anxiety is understandable with the long ass day you just had. We’re home tomorrow if you have time to call, if not that’s ok.”

“I’ll try, I’m in for a long day tomorrow. Cramming in what I had to shift around to make it back for the game today, but I’ll certainly try.” He rested his head in his hand and just looked at that gorgeous woman he loved.

“Then don’t worry about tomorrow, I don’t want to add to your day. I’ll leave the laptop open just in case and if you get time great, but if not it’s ok. Maybe we can catch each other during the week, we’ll make it work. We’ll figure it out.” She hoped that would ease his mind a little.

“I don’t want to lose you Sildie.” His voice was strangled.

“You’re not going to love, I’m right here and I’ll be here when you get home.” She wanted to get on the next flight and go and hug him. “I don’t want to lose you either. You’re stronger than your demons love.”

“Yes I am. I know I am. Sometimes I need to be reminded, remind myself.”

“It’ll get easier, it has to right?” She didn’t know if that was true but she’d try for him.

“Here’s hoping.” He said quietly. “I miss having you close.” He murmured.

“Me too. Five more weeks and we have to make it fly by. We just gotta get on and do it.” She bit her bottom lip and he groaned.

“Damnit love you push me.” He smirked, but it got the reaction she was after.

“I miss your touch. The way you kiss me and my mind goes blank. I miss having you next to me when I sleep.” She watched him and saw him relax, those tense shoulders ease down.

“Your shirts aren’t enough some nights.” She chuckled.

“Neither is this.” And he held up her g string hanging from one finger with a grin, her laugh was all he needed. “It’s been in my pocket everyday since I left, a touchstone of sorts.”

Her laugh was what he needed.

“Go get some sleep love you’re exhausted.” Her voice soft.

“I need to but it’s difficult.” He said gently.

“I could always read depositions to you. That would knock you out pretty quickly.” He smiled at her, that gorgeous smile that was just for her.

“You’re beautiful love.” His words always overwhelmed her.

“Only to you.” She smiled. “Go to sleep, rest. I’ll see you in my dreams.”

“Thank you.” He said meekly, he’d never had a girlfriend he could talk to and open up to like her.

Her brow creased. “What for?”

“For being you. For being an incredible person. For listening to me flip my shit.”

“I’ll always be here for you, and I think I have you on the flipping of shit, you remember Brendans birthday yes? Getting drunk outside my front door? Go and sleep.” Her smile eased the tightness in his chest.

“Goodnight love.” His voice was almost back to normal.

“Goodnight.”

Sildie hung up. She had to or he’d never get any sleep and he’d feel worse tomorrow. She chewed her bottom lip and opened up her internet browser. She had a plan over the next few weeks for him. She couldn’t have him falling apart like this again. Whatever Ana had done still haunted him despite her reassurances. She knew she had to try harder as well, he certainly was making the effort with his schedule she would have to as well.

“Don’t lose him now you have him.” She muttered to herself. “You, Miss, need to make the effort too. Your own grief is no excuse. You’re not the only one hurting.”

She texted him the picture of him and Lily from the twins birthday which she had meant to do earlier in the week. She hoped that would cheer him up a little.

He showered and crawled into the bed, sheets cold and uninviting. He was spiraling and he knew it. The claws of anxiety and depression reaching for him from the dark abyss he had no desire to revisit. Those days were over and they needed to stay over. The lack of sleep and stress weren’t helping matters, neither was being away from Sildie.

“You survived without her before so you can do it again.” He sighed, he needed to find peace with that. “And it’s just distance. She’s just a call away.”

He needed to trust her when she said it was ok, that she understood, that she knew he was trying.

“And you, idiot, need to stop getting so wound up over it.” He muttered. “She’s not Ana.”

He needed to schedule his next five weeks so there was exercise and meditation to keep him in control. He couldn’t slip, wouldn’t slip. He would die before he let his darkness touch her, before those demons reached for her.

His mind thinking furiously he got up and found his schedule. After an hour of scribbling notes all over it he had a plan. That plan included blocks of time to skype the kids, Sildie, and to plan that first week back over his birthday. He felt the tension ease, he had a plan, he was in control. He emailed the updated schedule to Sildie so she had a copy, hopefully they could work around it. Their schedules, the time difference, and the kids bedtime wouldn’t make it any easier.

An incoming text had him frown. Who was texting him at this hour? His face lit up as that adorable face took up his screen. Sildie knew just what he needed. Lily bear in his arms happy, those eyes looking at him with all the love in the world.

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf slarsgard fanfic #all the feels

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 37)

WOW, this chapter took way longer than I meant it to. But it’s also forty pages long, so that might explain it.

CW: Brief mention of sexual assault this chapter, not graphic.

Tagging: @mysteli ; @whatmcsaid ; @xo-endlessmayhem-xo ; @endlesshero1122 @feartheendlesssummer ; @tigerbryn11

Chapter 37 : Night of the Twelve

Craig

On Christmas night, I fall asleep spooning Zahra. I wake up later and find her gone. The digital clock on our bedside table says it's a little after three in the morning. This isn't unusual, since Zahra's an insomniac. It happens a lot less these days, but it still doesn't make me panic or anything. I think I've been in the same position since I fell asleep, because my limbs are feeling crampy. I roll over, stretching, and find Zahra sitting up at the computer with a cup of coffee beside her. She's frowning at the screen, her fingers rubbing her lips absentmindedly. She looks up when she hears me moving.

“Good. You're awake. Come look at this.”

“I'm not awake,” I mumble, yawning. “Come back to bed.”

“I found something, loser. Something important.”

“So important it can't wait until morning?”

“Yes. Get over here.”

I groan, dragging myself out of bed. I shuffle over to the computer, pulling up the second chair and plop down next to her. There's an article pulled up on the screen, with a picture of an attractive blonde woman.

“What am I looking at?”

“Cassandra Chandler's obituary. Look at this.” She points to a line on the screen. I squint at it.

“Can you zoom in?” She rolls her eyes, but she enlarges the text. “...'Matthew Chandler and his wife Cassandra (nee Sullivan) of Manhattan were victims of Wednesday's deadly plane crash.' ...So...Alodia's parents were from Manhattan? Is the what you're showing me?”

“No, Craig!” she sighs, exasperated. “Sullivan! Cassandra's maiden name was Sullivan!”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. “...Wait...like Flora Sullivan?”

“Now you're catching on.”

“But...it's not like Sullivan is a rare name, right?”

“Almost three-hundred thousand Sullivans in the United States.”

“So...you think Cassandra Sullivan-Chandler is somehow related to Flora Sullivan?”

“I think there aren't many coicidences where Vaanu is concerned.”

I yawn, rubbing my hands over my face. “...Come back to bed, Z. You can worry about this more in the morning.”

“I'm worried now,” she grumbles. I wind an arm around her waist and lower my head to nuzzle her neck. She sighs, whining a little, and tips her head so that her cheek is resting on my head. “...Fiiiine. I'll come to bed...”

Everett Rourke

Throughout this month, I have been giving interviews to the Man on Fire. Of course, he uses a psuedonym with me, and why should he imagine I have any idea who he actually is, when I have been in prison for five years? I have allowed him to suspect I have been in contact with Silas Prescott, and perhaps that has led him to have suspicions that I know more about him than I am letting on.

I feel a bit of melancholy as I gaze across the table at him today. Hope has been growing within me since I first saw Silas activate his Prism Gate, but my years in this prison have changed me. I am harder, and yet I am less confident. That was inevitable, I suppose. Prison makes a person hard, because one must be hard to survive it. And no matter what happened to result in a person being locked away, the moment when the door slams shut is the moment when failure is realized. Perhaps it is the inmate's failure, perhaps it is a failure of justice. But someone has failed, and failure shatters confidence. I wonder if I haven't lost my edge in this nightmare I have lived for the last five years. I wonder if my perception is slipping, if there is any chance I have tipped my hand a little too far to this wild card. Not that there is much time to worry about it. Alodia's child is due in four months.

“Mr. Rourke,” Caleb begins after a long stretch of thoughtful silence, “what do you think about the Prism Crystal giving people superpowers?”

“What do I think about it? I think it must be quite a boon to those fortunate individuals.”

“What I mean is...scientifically. Why those people? How does it work?”

“Ahh. That, I could not tell you. Nothing like that ever came of my own work with the crystals. My old friend Silas Prescott would know more about that than I would. He surely did a great deal of research following the event.”

“...And then he attempted to take over Northbridge.”

I chuckle. “Oh, is that what you think he tried to do?”

The young man raises an eyebrow. “Seemed like it, considering he basically said as much while he was shooting up with liquid prism.”

“You don't know the man like I do. He is not a man who naturally craves power, nor is he an idiot. Liquid Prism's effects are obviously temporary, and eventually, he would have been put down, even if he had succeeded in taking out Dragonness.”

“So what do you think he was really after?”

I shrug. “Perhaps you should ask him.”

He frowns. “Yeah. Maybe I should.”

I lean back in my chair. “I suspect we are reaching the end of our time together, Mr. Harding.”

“...Yeah...yeah we are...” Caleb gathers up his supplies. As we both stand, he obligingly reaches across the table to shake my hand.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Harding.”

“Yeah. Ditto, Mr. Rourke.”

He leaves me, and I am returned to my room. When I am left alone, I find myself standing in the middle of my quarters, casting an almost wistful eye over this...cell that has been my home for the last five years. I wonder if I will miss it. When my plans come to fruition, when I have regained what I have lost, will I ever yearn for this place that has become so familiar? It is doubtful. But one never knows for sure.

Silas Prescott

The winter solstice has passed, and the daylight hours increase incrementally each day. Still, I eat my dinner alone in the dark each night, hardly bothering to put more than a candle or a single light on at one time. I feel safer, wrapped in darkness. Lately, I have been feeling vulnerable, almost paranoid. I startle whenever my phone rings, and I can always hear the quiver in my voice when I answer. Most of the time, the voice on the other end is the same one I'm listening to tonight. Everett's contact. The man who goes between us.

“Rourke has the information he needs regarding the Trojan Project. He got it from Blaire Hall.”

“Can she truly be trusted? I remember Blaire. She is ambitious, and generally pragmatic. ...But there is an idealism in her. Unless she has grown harder and colder in recent years, I can't imagine she will have any reason to get behind this plan. ...Especially because it's likely to bring her daughter into harm's way.”

“She is already tugging at her leash,” he admits. “But if she gets off that leash, she'll have reason to regret it. Rourke knows things about her. Secrets she would not like revealed.”

“I am going to trial after the new year. How shall I handle that.”

“For now, just go along with it. Do as you are advised by your lawyers. The outcome won't be of any concern. Just be prepared.”

“I will be prepared. ...As long as I can get my Helena back, I am prepared for anything.”

Raj

“I'm scared.”

Lila's voice is soft, barely dominating the cheerful pop tunes and dance music bounce out of the rental car's speakers, even though the volume is so low they're basically background noise. We're boxed in on a California expressway, traffic currently moving at a snail's pace, so I feel pretty safe taking my eyes off the road to glance over at her. She isn't looking at me, her face turned slightly toward the window.

“...She knows you're coming. She won't hurt you. I wouldn't bring you if I had any doubt about that.”

“I know. I trust you. But...after so long...after the way things ended...”

“They ended with you on our side. On her side.”

“...I don't know if Estela actually sees it that way.”

“Even if she doesn't, she moved beyond the need for revenge a long time ago. And now that she has her mom back, I'd be willing to bet she'll be a lot more likely to let go of any lingering bad blood between you. Especially because tonight is mostly about Michelle and Alodia, and she won't want to sour anything.”

Lila turns slightly toward me and I catch a glimpse of a wry smile before I turn my eyes back on the road.

“I thought this was a New Years' Eve party. Isn't it a little early for bridal and baby showers, when the wedding and the baby are both months away?”

“Possibly, but this is the one time before the wedding that we could guarantee all the Catalysts would be together. Besides, it's also their birthdays. It's a combination party, just like Elysian Lodge.”

“...The morning after the party at Elysian Lodge didn't turn out so good,” she points out softly.

“But that's behind us now. Five years behind us. And this is Laguna Beach, not Elysian Lodge. We're not being chased by Arachnid, we're not hunting Catalyst idols, and none of us have missed our birthdays thanks to a time skip. ...We still can't have fireworks, but that's because they're illegal. But we can have a bonfire on the beach.”

“...You always did plan the best parties,” Lila concedes, smiling a little wider. I grin back.

“I am good at parties. And I've been planning this New Year's Eve/double birthday party/baby shower/wedding shower for months. Do you know how much effort goes into maintaining a few surprises when you're planning a party at someone else's beach house?” Finally, she laughs, which is what I was going for. I smile as the traffic starts to inch forward. “You got the shopping list?”

“Of course I do. You know I take every mission you give me very seriously.”

“And that's why we make such a great team.” I hold out my hand for a five, and she almost shyly slaps my palm with hers. “Ahh, finally, we're getting somewhere. Look out, Laguna Beach, it's New Year's Eve!”

* * *

We reach the beach house around one in the afternoon, laden with groceries and presents. Jake and Mike must have been watching for us because they meet us in the driveway, ready to help us carry everything inside.

“Food can go in the kitchen,” Jake informs us, gathering up all the bags he can carry, “presents in the front room under the Christmas tree. Think you brought enough food for everyone, Big Guy?”

“I hope so! With luck, there'll be leftovers, and I can keep up with any sudden cravings your wife has.”

“As long as you brought peanut butter.”

“Oh, not just any peanut butter. Five flavors of gourmet peanut butter. Plus, plenty of ingredients for virgin cocktails.”

Jake whistles. “You really do think of everything. Well, come on inside. Everyone else is in the kitchen.”

Lila

The moment I step inside the beach house, I am overwhelmed by the aura of warmth and good cheer in the air. Laughter rings from the kitchen and the chatter of familiar, friendly voices. Alodia, Diego, and the Vaanti prince. Alodia is visibly pregnant by now. She looks...amazing. Beautiful. Glowing. She looks so happy as she rushes to hug Raj and show him where he can put everything. I slink along behind him, wondering if any of them are going to comment on my presence. Jake and Mike didn't say much to me beyond 'hello,' but Alodia turns her attention on me pretty quickly, moving to embrace me. It doesn't feel...stiff exactly. Her embrace is warm, but it's also...formal in its way. A little shy. But I guess that's okay, because I feel a little shy, too.

“It's good to see you again, Lila,” she says sincerely as she pulls back. “How have you been?”

“Well...better, since I got away from Mr. Rourke. You have a beautiful home, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks. But technically, it's my aunt and uncle's house. They're just letting us live here. And turn one of the bedrooms into a nursery. So...pretty generous. ...Can I get you a drink or anything? Have you had lunch yet?”

Alodia plays an anxious hostess for awhile until Jake, Diego, and Raj practically force her to sit down at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice and a sandwich. I settle into a role that has become familiar and comforting to me, helping Raj with whatever he needs done in the kitchen. As I dice and mix and whip, I feel myself relaxing. I start to participate in the conversation. I laugh. I joke. I tease, and they tease back. The kitchen fills with delicious smells. The stoves and ovens and the heat of our bodies makes the air swelter, and my cheeks feel fiery hot, but it doesn't bother me. I feel like I could stay blissfully ever after in this kitchen, delighting in the company of friends, sampling delicious foods.

Before I'm ready for it, the doorbell chimes. My blood sizzles with adrenaline. My heart spasms wildly, thumping so hard against my ribs that I when I look down I can see my left breast jumping. Alodia eagerly rushes to the door. I trail after her, afraid of who I'll see, but more afraid of being caught off guard. When I see who she's greeting, the relief that floods through my limbs leaves me feeling weak and shaky.

Sean, Michelle, Grace, and Aleister. Aleister has his son in his arms, and Murphy is curled over Michelle's shoulders. Like Alodia and the others, they greet me with equal parts reservation and warmth. I attempt to make friends with Reginald, but he's shy, and I suppose that's fair. Murphy is the only one who seems to be ready to welcome me back without hesitation. As soon as he shakes off his sleepiness, he leaps into my arms and licks at my face. We drift back into the kitchen, and Jake takes drink requests. Raj makes sure Alodia gets the first cup of his non-alcoholic cider while Michelle pesters her with questions about how she has been feeling and what were the results of all her latest tests. Everything is fine, Alodia assures her. She has ordinary pregnancy discomforts, but she and the baby are both healthy. I can't help but feel a twinge whenever I look at her belly, remembering Mr. Rourke's words, his musing that the baby might be useful to him somehow.

Another chime of the doorbell, and Craig and Zahra appear with a fresh supply of alcohol. I do a quick mental headcount of the Selected. The Catalysts. My old tour group. Alodia. Jake. Diego. Raj. Sean. Michelle. Grace. Aleister. Craig. Zahra. Ten accounted for. Two still to arrive. And one of them is Estela.

It isn't as if she doesn't know I'll be here. I know she was told, and she promised there wouldn't be trouble. Alodia wouldn't have been willing to let me come along with Raj if Estela wasn't willing to put aside any lingering hatred and play nice for the evening. But that doesn't mean I'm not still scared. I haven't spoken directly to Estela since...well, since I died at MASADA. I don't know how this is going to go. I knock back a couple of cocktails, feeling my nerves steady as I work up a pleasant buzz. We migrate into the main rooms, helping Raj lay the food and drinks out buffet-style in the massive dining room. In the main sitting room, Alodia turns on the gas fireplace, even though the temperature outside hasn't been below sixty-five all day. Zahra connects her phone to a speaker and starts up a playlist. Reginald seems to have adjusted to his surroundings somewhat, and plays with his toys on the living room floor, though he still protests when either of his parents move out of his sight.

Somehow, I miss it when the doorbell chimes again. Suddenly, I'm looking up and Jake is handing a drink to Estela while Quinn carefully transfers pastries from a tupperware box to a platter on the buffet. My eyes meet Estela's, and for a moment, everything surrounding us turns fuzzy, and the sounds of conversation are drowned by the blood pounding against my eardrums. Then Diego passes between us on his way somewhere, and the moment is broken. Next thing I know, Estela has plopped down beside me on the couch with a beer in her hand. As I try to avoid her eyes, I realize that everyone is watching us while clearly trying to pretend they aren't. I glance back at Estela as she gulps what has to be half her beer in one go.

“...We should talk privately,” she murmurs.

“If you want to,” I mumble back. “...Should...we just get it over with?”

She rolls her eyes, smirking just a little. “I'm not going to kill you. Promise. But yes. We should make sure the air is clear, or I think we run the risk of killing the mood.” She stands, nodding at me, and I follow her lead.

She leads us down a hall into what appears to be some kind of game room, with tables for chess, ping-pong, and pool. She closes the door behind her.

“It probably won't be too long before we're interrupted, knowing this crowd,” she remarks. She wanders over to the cue stands and pretends to examine the cues, running her finger absently over the smooth laminated wood.

“...If you hadn't already promised not to kill me, I might think you were planning to bludgeon me with one of those,” I quip. I hear a slight tremor in my voice, and try to cover it with a giggle. “...Or run me through. That would be particularly unpleasant.”

“For both of us,” she replies. “I would have to be in a very pure rage to summon the will and the strength to stab you with something blunt like a pool cue.”

“It could be done though.”

She turns toward me just slightly, her scarred eye regarding me thoughtfully. “...Have you ever done it?”

“Killed someone with a pool cue? No. I've never been angry enough. ...But...I think there was a time when you were angry enough at me that you could have done it.”

“Maybe,” she concedes.

“...Why didn't you kill me? In the end?”

She turns away again, and stays quiet for a long moment. “...You were already dying,” she says at last. “...But...more than that...I guess it just struck me that I couldn't really justify it. Killing you would accomplish nothing. It wouldn't bring my mother back. It wouldn't...teach you a lesson. You had turned on Rourke in the end, so I couldn't even pretend I was making the world safer by taking out his hired killer. ...The only reason I could honestly give for why I still wanted to kill you was...my own aggression. My own hurt and anger moving me to hurt someone else. ...I don't even remember exactly what Alodia said in that moment. But what I do remember is feeling like someone had held a mirror up to my face and showed me something ugly. ...If I had killed you in that moment, I would have been something I never wanted to be.”

“I never wanted to be what Mr. Rourke made me, either,” I say softly, unthinking. “I got sucked in, though. Or...he infected me. I'm not even sure how it happened. It was like...I was a frog in a pot of water, and he just kept turning up the heat, but I couldn't feel it until I was already boiling. By the time he was telling me to kill, I was his creature. He told me to kill my best friend, and it never occurred to me that he might be wrong.”

“But...being asked to kill us snapped you out of it?” She sounds...not quite skeptical, but unsure. “I believe you had a fondness for us, but that didn't exactly stop you from killing my mother.  

“It may have been a combination of triggers,” I concede. “I had been told to protect you with my life up until then. Mr. Rourke had promised Aleister he wouldn't harm you. Then he ordered me to kill you. It was enough to throw me off balance. And then when he said that he had technically told the truth because he wasn't going to hurt you, and that's what I was for... Then I saw you on your knees in front of me, and...I woke up. You look so much like your mom, Estela. And...she was so much like a mom to me when I knew her...” My voice breaks. I'm starting to realize that there are tears slipping down my cheeks. “I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Estela...I don't know if you can ever forgive me...”

Estela turns to look at me. Her expression is heavy with sorrow. “...I don't know either, Lila. I don't know if letting go of the need for revenge is the same thing as forgiveness...but I can at least offer you that much.”

“...Really?”

She smiles wryly. “It's hard to hold onto that vendetta when the person I was supposed to be avenging is alive. ...But even if she didn't come back...even if she didn't come back and you did...after five years of living with everything that happened on that island...” She trails off, sighing. “I just...I have too much going for me now to let the past drag me down. ...My mother wouldn't rest in peace knowing I was spending the rest of my life in prison for murder.”

My lips feel a little dry. I try to wet them with my tongue and find a chapped spot to worry with my teeth for a moment. I knew Olivia was alive, ressurected the way I was. Raj had broken that news to me gently, though I honestly wasn't surprised.

“...Do you think...is there any way I could...talk to Olivia?”

Estela winces. “I...don't think that's in the cards right now.”

“Oh...okay. I understand.”

“For now...why don't you and I work on getting comfortable with each other again? Make that our New Year's resolution?”

I nod eagerly. “Of course. Of course, Estela. I've been given more chances than anyone should have. I don't want to waste this one.”

She puts out her hand, and I shake it. After a moment, we seem to silently agree that it's time to head back to the party. As she opens the door to the game room, Raj, Craig, and Zahra all stumble back from it.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Estela asks, eyes narrow. Raj and Craig blush, looking away guiltily.

“Uh...Diego told us there was a pool table in here,” Raj stammers. “But the door was closed, and...uh...”

Zahra rolls her eyes. “And we saw you two go in here, and we were eavesdropping to make sure no one ruined the party. Now if you two have cleared out the bad air, do you mind letting us in? We actually want to play pool.”

Michelle

Whatever Lila and Estela said to each other, it seems to have cleared the air. The party continues without any hint of the tension that crackled in the air not too long ago. All that's left now is a feeling that all is right with the world. Twelve Catalysts—plus a few cherished friends—are all together. Just as we should be. For the most part, the party seems to be sticking together. When Craig and Zahra head into the game room to play pool, the rest of us migrate in after them. We don't all take our turn playing, but we watch the action and hold conversations above the clacking of pool balls knocking against each other. When pool loses its appeal, we migrate back out to the main sitting room. Raj figures it's time for the combination wedding/baby shower portion of the evening, and forces me and Alodia in a pair of chairs in the middle of the room so we can open presents. Sean and Jake are enlisted to take turns carrying the gifts over to us and read the cards that accompany them. Alodia and I take turns unwrapping gifts at an unhurried pace, giving everyone enough time to “ohh” and “ahh” and “aww” over every onsie, decorative towel set, baby blanket, and embroidered throw pillow. Of course, every time I break a ribbon, someone remarks that I'm destined to have another baby. Grace and Quinn, giddy on Raj's signature cocktails, decide to take it a step further, predicting the sex based on who gave the present the ribbon came from, and assigning names to my hypothetical children. Apparently, courtesy of Raj, Estela, Grace, and Diego, I am destined to have four children named Victor, Susanne, Vera, and Phillip.

“Wow, Michelle, four kids,” Alodia teases. “I can barely believe I'm going to have one.”

“Yeah, that feeling will last awhile,” Grace chuckles. “But at some point, the reality will sink in. And then you'll start thinking about whether you want more.”

“Personally,” Aleister says from where he is sitting on the floor with Reggie and a pile of building blocks, “I would love for Reggie to have a sibling, but I am hoping we wait at least another year before actively trying for a second child.”

“Well, that is the plan,” Grace assures him, but then she grins mischeivously. “But sometimes things happen.”

“I was just realizing,” Quinn says suddenly, “that Grace and Aleister are the first Catalysts to be both married, and to have a baby. I mean, technically, Alodia, Jake, and Diego were the first Catalysts to get married, but Grace and Aleister were the first to get married after the island...”

“It's true,” Alodia concedes. “And you're still the first of all of us to have kids. But given my five year absence from my own marriage, I think Diego and Varyyn definitely hold the title of the oldest Catalyst marriage.”

“Congratulations, darling,” Varyyn quips, winding his arms around Diego from behind and kissing his cheek. Diego laughs, leaning into the embrace.

“It's been an amazing five years.”

“Do you guys ever think about bringing kids into the equation?” Sean asks.

“It is something we had imagined,” Varyyn admits. “But the pair of us raising a child in your world seemed much less likely than it would have been if we had chosen to live in Elyys'tel. Since we obviously cannot conceive one of our own together...”

“Our options were either to get a surrogate or adopt. And both of those seemed dauntingly complicated when we thought about explaining Varyyn's appearance. But...” Diego reaches back to stroke the back of Varyyn's head, “now that you have that disguise, the subject might be worth revisiting.”

“If you guys want a surrogate, I'd be willing,” Alodia declares. “I mean, once I'm recovered from this pregancy, of course. And if Jake were okay with it.”

“I dunno, Princess. I gotta admit that sounds a little weird on the face of it. I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand, though, if it were important to Diego and Varyyn.”

“Well, if we went that route, I think I'd have to provide the...genetic material,” Diego muses. “I'd be paranoid about an outside volunteer giving birth to a blue or green baby. And if Allie were the surrogate, I'd worry about mixing Vaanti DNA with half-human, half-Prism alien.”

“When you put it like that, I can see where it might get weird pretty quick,” Alodia admits. “Being the aunt/bio-mom to a kid whose bio-dad I think of as my brother...”

“Adoption would help you sidestep all that weirdness,” I point out. “It's what Sean and I want to do whenever we're ready for kids.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, it's really more like Michelle wants to adopt and I don't have a preference,” Sean clarifies. “Whenever we decide we want kids, it doesn't matter to me how we get them, whether we have our own or adopt.”

“But Michelle, you definitely want to adopt?”

I nod. It's a discussion Sean and I have had more than once. In any other company, I might consider it too personal to share. I don't even plan on telling my mother until after the wedding, when I know she'll ask about the possibility of grandchildren. But I don't think twice about telling the Catalysts. I don't think there's much I would want to keep from them unless it was something I hadn't dealt with myself.

“Either adopt or get a surrogate if we decide we really want our own kids. The long and short of it is that I don't want to be pregnant. I'd love to be a mom some day, but I also still plan on being a neurosurgeon. And I don't want to be worried about pregnancy complicating my progress if my body doesn't react well to it or there are complications.”

“That makes sense,” Alodia concedes. “I might have suggested adoption myself a few years down the line if this one hadn't crept up on me.”

“So, guys...” Diego says suddenly, “I have a very important question. How long has this been going on?”

He points towards Quinn, waving his index finger in a circle, a conspiratorial grin on his lips. I look at Quinn, raising an eyebrow when I realize that she has cozied up to Estela, who seems quite content to have the other woman in her arms. Estela blushes, but she's smiling as she averts her eyes.

“Only about a week.”

Zahra snorts. “Officially maybe.”

“Huh?” Craig frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Zahra rolls her eyes. “Those two have been giving off 'vibes' around each other for months. I can't be the only one who noticed.”

The somewhat embarassed silence that ensues seems to confirm that she was in fact the only one to notice. Alodia raises one finger.

“In my defense, I'm on the other side of the country most of the time.”

“Me too,” Diego agrees. “And Jake and Varyyn and Mike.”

“And I spent a lot of time outside the country,” Raj points out. “But whether or not we noticed, it's awesome! You two'll be great together, I'm sure.”

“Well, we certainly hope so.”

Quinn suddenly sits up. “Oh! Raj! The cake! Should we do that now?”

“Right! Cake!” Raj claps his hands. “Michelle, Alodia, the part of the evening where we pamper you two isn't over yet, because Quinn baked birthday cake. Everybody into the kitchen!”

Alodia

I expected Raj to outdo himself with the cooking for this party. I expected Quinn to provide enough cupcakes to feed an army. I knew that Raj intended to make me and Michelle the focus of much of the evening, considering that we're both celebrating birthdays at the same time that she's planning her wedding and I'm twenty-seven weeks pregnant. But somehow, when I see the elegant layer cake that Quinn has prepared, smooth vanilla frosting topped with beautiful sugar roses, I feel tears clogging my throat. I manage to make it through the song and the cutting of the cake without breaking down. But in the chaos of serving that follows, I have to slip outside. I open the sliding door, hoping the chatter in the kitchen covers the soft rushing noise it makes as it glides on its runners, and slip out onto the deck.

The sun has been down for awhile, and the temperature has dropped with it. It's still nothing like the ice age side of La Huerta, or even Hartfeld this time of year. Plus, my current condition has me running hot most of the time, so the cool, salty breeze trailing over my face and tugging at my hair feels quite soothing. I wander down toward the pool. The timed lights under the water have flickered on, as have the lamps that line the pathways. My breath is hitching as I walk the perimeter of the swimming pool, heading toward the flagstone staircase that leads down to the cove. I grip the railing as I navigate the steps carefully.

I know I was already in the picture when my aunt and uncle bought the beach house, because Aunt Molly often joked about how the beach house and I were the same age because it was built the year I was born. Having a second home on the waterfront for entertaining and retreats had always been in their plans, though. They had spared no expense, choosing a brand new house that opened onto the sands of a private cove, with only a handful of neighbors sharing the shore with them.

Several of my neighbors appear to be having parties tonight. Music and laughter drift over the beach from back decks. As it gets closer to midnight, I expect the beach will fill with my neighbors and their guests and their bonfires, but for now, they're sticking inside. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, the party sounds are overpowered by the whisper of the waves breaking on the shore. I sit down to take off my shoes and socks and make my way across the soft, cold sand toward the water. Before I quite realize it, I've stepped onto wet sand, and the cool waves are washing over the tops of my feet. I gasp slightly at the chill, and that dissolves the knot of tears that has crystalized in my throat. I sob, quietly but thoroughly, the spasms coming from deep in my core. It feels almost unbearably wonderful, exciting and terrifying, to cry like this while memories flood my mind like a film montage. They're not memories of my childhood, of time spent in this house or on this beach. I was rarely allowed here, especially before I became a teenager. No, the memories flooding my head are all of my Catalysts. Of all of us together, happy and hopeful. The party at Elysian Lodge. My resolution to hold onto what mattered, to protect the people I loved, to prevent what I thought were their terrible futures that I was seeing every time we touched another amber idol together. Kissing Jake on the roof while the Lights of Vaanu shimmered in the frozen sky overhead. The desperation in his kiss was subtle, but I could taste it as clearly as my own, our fears for ourselves and each other flavoring our passion.

I remember the first party we had together, the first night we were on the island, not yet friends. I remember Raj bringing us together with a feast just a few nights later, and I remember kissing Quinn in the hours before, tasting vanilla frosting on both our mouths.

I remember my wedding day, the warmth of Jake's calloused palm against mine and the softness and pressure of the silk ribbon Seraxa wound around our hands. The way we had gazed at the cliffside from The Dorado while Jake painted pictures in my mind of a quiet little cottage just for the two of us, and the slow realization that I had nothing waiting for me on the other side of the island. That I could not even remember the faces of my family. And just hours later, the truth that Vaanu revealed to me...the way my heart had screamed in rebellion, desperately seeking a way to get back what was lost, the temptation to either give the world to Rourke or let it burn...the sinking resignation as I realized what I had to do...

“Alodia!” I turn to see Jake jogging across the sand to reach me. He stops in front of me, frowning, his brow knitting with concern. One hand cups my cheek, flushed hot with the effort of crying, while the other rests on my shoulder. “Hey...you okay?”

I cover his hand with mine, nodding. His thumb trails over the bony ridge beneath my eye, dabbing gently at my tears. I lean forward, letting my arms encircle him as I bury my face in his chest. He embraces me, stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head.

“Is it hormones again?”

“Probably,” I sniff. “...Do you think we'll ever have a normal marriage?”

“What do you mean a 'normal' marriage?”

“You know...like Diego and Varyyn have. Or Grace and Aleister.”

“...Varyyn is a hyper-evolved human with blue skin, and until a week ago, he and Diego couldn't consider things like adoption or anything that would put them under any real scrutiny for fear of what would happen if they started questioning Varyyn's appearance.”

“...Like Grace and Aleister, then.”

“I'd argue that they don't exactly have a 'normal' marriage, either. But then...I'm still not sure what you're thinking of when you say 'normal'.”

I sigh. “...I don't know.” I turn in his embrace so that I am looking at the sea as I lean against his chest. “We got married at Niala'rei. On that day, we committed to each other for a year and a day, and eternity if we were still in love after that. ...But I was gone by the next day.”

His arms tighten around my shoulders. “You're here now.”

“Yeah, but...what would the Vaanti say about our situation? Do we have to spend another year and a day living together before our souls are officially joined? Does it count that we're still in love after five years if we haven't spent all that time in each other's presence?”

“Does it matter what the Vaanti would say?”

I'm not sure why, but his question catches me off-guard. “Well...I...” I trail off, frowning. There's only one honest answer I can give. “...Yes. ...Sort of...”

“Why?” His tone is gentle, curious without being accusing or judgmental. I am quiet for a long moment, considering. Why exactly does it matter to me whether the Vaanti believe my soul is tied to Jake's already or if they would tell me that I needed to pass a year and a day by his side first?

“...I guess...maybe a part of me still believes in their power. In the power of their gods and guardians...in the power of a creature called the Endless who isn't me...” I close my eyes, pressing close to my husband. Feeling secure in his arms, I let the words flow out of me. “...A part of me is still scared. Still looking for guidance. ...When I came face-to-face with Vaanu and I learned the truth about what I was...that was the scariest thing I'd ever gone through. When I had to make that choice...it wasn't just that there wasn't a perfect option. It wasn't just that there wasn't a future where I saved the world and lived in it, too. ...The really scary part was that it was all down to me. It's like...when people say that everyone dies alone. You can die surrounded by your loved ones, but in the end, you have to take that last step alone. I was born from all of your need, your hopes, your fears. We had gone through that nightmare together, but in the end, I was the only one who could decide how it all ended. Even with all the guidance and encouragement and love that surrounded me, I was the only one who could take that final step.

“All that time, I had counted on all of you. I had trusted in the island's power, the Endless, the Vaanti, Vaanu to guide me on the right path. Even Rourke guided me sometimes, if only by showing me where I shouldn't lead us. But in the end, the power was mine. It was all in my hands. ...And I ended up losing you.”

His arms are tight around my shoulders. He presses a kiss to my cheek. “I'm right here, Princess. We're together now.”

“I know...it's just...I'm scared, you know? I'm always scared that we'll lose each other again.”

“So am I,” he admits. “...I don't know if there's a way to stop being scared of that.”

“...Maybe a part of me believes that if we can fulfil our handfasting vow...if we can be together for a year and a day and by Vaanti tradition, have our souls bound together forever... If we had faced Project Janus after being together for a year and a day, a part of me wants to believe that Vaanu couldn't have ever taken me back. That he couldn't have taken me back because our bond wouldn't have allowed me to rejoin him.”

It's Jake's turn to be silent and thoughtful. His hands trail down my arms to wrap gently around my swollen belly.

“...I don't know if that would have been true,” he says at last. “We're not immortal, Alodia. Someday, I'll die. Someday, you'll die, too. And someday, a long time after that, our baby—this little baby girl that ain't born yet? She'll die, too. ...Even the Vaanti die eventually. Even fasted Vaanti who have lived with their partners for a year and a day have to give up the ghost some day. A lot of them end up leaving their partners alone for awhile. ...Even if there is any magic to the 'year and a day' tradition, it won't stop nature taking its course. Not sure if it could have stopped you from giving yourself back to Vaanu, either. And I ain't sure I would have wanted it too. ...It tore me apart to give you up, Alodia. But the choice was yours to make. I'm your partner, not your master. I don't ever want to be a chain that keeps you from doing what you believe is right.”

“...I love you, Jake.” There's not much else I can say to that.

“I love you, too, Alodia. I don't need to wait a year and a day to know that I'm bound to you forever. I knew it long before that ribbon was wrapped around our hands.”

“...So did I,” I confess. “...I fell in love with you over two-thousand times, Jake McKenzie. I carried all those memories somewhere in my mind all through that last timeline. ...I'm yours. Now and forever.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you really know how adored you are. How much every person in that house up there loves you.”

“...If it's half as much as I love them, then I am the luckiest person on earth.”

I exhale slowly, my breath shaking as the last of my tears dry up, leaving something still and quiet at my center. The steady rolling and breaking of the waves over the shore is almost hypnotic. Since the dawn of humanity, how many have stood on this very shore under the moonlight and watched the waves roll in and out? What ancient creatures' bones lie fossilized millions of miles under my feet? Who were the first human beings to reach this cove?

In the back of my mind, I hold an image of a woman my own age, also with child, standing on this shore and watching the waves with her lover at her back. Perhaps an American settler from the east, whose husband planted eucalyptus trees. ...Or a Mexican woman in the last days of the war.  ...Was she aware of the war? Did she worry about it? Did her husband fight? Did it matter to her whether her child was born in a territory that belonged to Mexico or to America?

...Her ancestors are varied. Somewhere in her DNA is a Spanish woman who found love with an indigenous man. Further back was a woman who had secretly loved a Spanish soldier. But before her was one who had been called a savage by the Spanish soldier who marched into her village with the others and laid his hands on her as if he owned her. I can see his face, a face that might be handsome if it were not twisted with perverse pleasure...I can feel his hands...grabbing...tearing...

“...No...”

“No?”

Jake's voice makes me gasp as an electric spasm shoots down my spine. I pull myself from the arms encircling me, whipping around to face my husband. He pulls his hands back, holding them up and open as if to demostrate that he's unarmed. I feel a hot flush creep up my neck as I realize that he is looking at me with a mix of concern and confusion. I put a hand to my chest, trying to take slow breaths so that my rapid pulse will steady. He'll worry if I don't attempt to explain my sudden anxiety. I briefly consider making something up, but I did promise not to hide things from him like I did on the island.

“...I'm...I'm all right,” I assure him. “Just...something kind of weird happened just now...”

“Yeah?” He cautiously reaches out to stroke my shoulder, giving me time and room to retreat if I want to. I don't. I step closer to him.

“I was just daydreaming. Imagining all the people who might have stood on this beach throughout human history...and...I don't know if I just imagined too deeply or what, but...I started to feel like I was actually...seeing them. Feeling them...”

“...What did you see? Or feel?”

“...A Native American woman. Spanish soldiers came to her village...they...”

Jake winces, drawing me gently into his arms and cradling my head on his shoulder. “I can guess,” he says grimly. “Fucking bastards...”

I sigh. “History is full of conquests, and all of those conquests come with bastards drunk on their own power claiming the conquered women as spoils.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw bastards like that on both sides when I was in the Navy. But...shit, Alodia...were you...experiencing that just now?”

“Not...fully.”

“Even a little is too much for my liking.” He gently cups my face in his hands and kisses my forehead.

“I'm okay,” I assure him again. He pulls back slightly, examining my face in the light from the moon and the houses that line the cove.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was scary in the moment. But now, I'm more wondering why it happened like that. I mean, why I saw and felt it.” I feel my brow knitting. “...When we encountered the Endless in the cave on La Huerta, and I asked for proof that we could trust her, she listed facts about us all. And she said that wherever I am, if I stand still long enough I start to imagine all the people who have stood on that ground before me. ...That's been true for as long as I can remember. For as many timelines as I can remember. I never felt...taken in like this before.”

“You think it might have something to do with the prism half of your DNA?”

Something in either his question or the way he asks it calms me considerably. I meet his eyes, and in the depths of our shared soul, I know that he not only accepts the non-human half of me, but he embraces it. He loves it as a part of me, even knowing that it may yet reveal new ways to complicate my existence and his.

“Most likely,” I concede. “The Endless did say that I probably have powers that haven't manifested yet.”

“Well...hopefully it's something you can learn to control so you aren't just experiencing horrible things whenever your power feels like it.”

“Hopefully,” I echo. “...I think I'm ready to go back to the party now.”

“Glad to hear it.” Jake brushes my mouth with his. “You are one of the guests of honor, after all. Let's get you back to your adoring fans.”

Zahra

I guess Alodia had an attack of hormones or something because she disappeared for awhile after the cake was cut. She came back tucked under Jake's arm, her eyes tellingly puffy, but no one pressed her on it. I lost track of her for awhile after that, wandering back into the game room with Craig and Raj. Murphy follows us, jumping up to perch on the edge of the pool table and swat at the balls as they roll past him.

I get the fucking pants thrashed off me first couple games we shoot.

“Too many cocktails,” I mutter, even though my last drink was an hour ago. “Can't shoot straight.”

“Only thing to do is have a couple more!” Craig declares. “Wanna head back out to the party?”

“I'm game for it,” Raj agrees, and Murphy yips, which sounds like he's game, too. I shrug.

“Yeah, sure.”

Of course, Craig notices right away that something's up. And of course he figures out right away what it is.

“Hey, Z...are you planning on giving Alodia the...you know, the thing tonight?”

“What thing?” Raj asks.

I sigh. “Well, you might as well know. Grace's mom found some stuff out on Alodia's mom. I've been doing some digging, and I brought it along to show her.”

Raj frowns. “Is it bad?”

“No. I mean, not obviously. She worked for Mansingh Transglobal as a researcher and developer. She was a computer science major, and worked on some pretty cutting edge programming. Most prominently, some of the most advanced digital drawing/rendering programs of the early nineties. There's just some stuff that's...weird. Like the fact that her maiden name was Sullivan. Or the fact that with that advanced digital rendering, she managed to draw a chillingly realistic picture of the woman her daughter would grow up into, in spite of the fact that it was painted while Alodia was still a fetus.”

“That does sound kinda weird,” Raj agrees. “But her husband was Vaanu, remember. And if she was a descendant of La Huerta's Sullivans, she may have been exposed to the Island's Heart—or inherited exposure from her ancestors. It does make sense that Vaanu might choose a proto-Vaanti to be Alodia's mother.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too. But then there's also the matter of the Trojan Project.”

“What's that?”

“Something Cassandra Chandler was working on before she died. I've been looking into it. It's not easy to find information on it. At all. But I've been able to uncover enough to make me think it wasn't related to computers.”

“So...what was it related to?”

I meet his eyes. “Something that would make a lot of sense for the mother of the Endless to be looking into. ...Time travel.”

Estela

I help Grace and Aleister put Reggie down around eight o'clock. He's set to spend the night in the room that will be River McKenzie's in a matter of months. It is a room in progress, to be sure. A wallpaper mural of jungle flora and fauna is spread over the walls, and soft green carpet covers the floor, but most of the furniture hasn't arrived yet, so Grace and Aleister have brought along a travel crib. An air mattress has been set up and made up on the floor as well, so that Grace and Aleister can sleep in the same room. This beach house was built for entertaining and has a number of guest rooms, but there is still going to be doubling by necessity, and a few will have to camp out on the convertible sofas.

In the bathroom attached to the nursery, Aleister fills the tub with a few inches of warm water while Grace and I carefully undress him. Reggie clearly knows what's coming and does his best to help us undress him, straining eagerly toward his father and the bathtub. I laugh.

“You like bathtime, mi conejito? That's good. Makes things easier for Mommy and Daddy, doesn't it?”

“Unless we're trying to get his clothes off,” Grace chuckles as she finally tugs off the last sock.

“All right, my clever boy,” Aleister says, scooping up his son and lifting him into the tub. “Let's get you into the nice warm water.”

Reggie happily plops down in the water and immediately begins slapping the surface with his chubby little hands, and kicking his feet to feel the current swirl around his legs. While Aleister bathes him gently, Grace and I ask him questions. He can't say more than a handful of words right now, but he can point to people, objects, and parts of his own body.

“Where is your foot, Reggie?” we ask him. “Where is Daddy? Where is Tia Estela?”

Grace suddenly smiles, looking up past me and Aleister. “Who is that coming into the bathroom?” We turn to look, and find Alodia hovering shyly in the doorway, Jake standing beside her with his hands on her shoulders.

“...Sorry, are we intruding? The door was open...”

“Not at all,” Aleister assures them. “It's your home.”

“Still, I'm guessing you don't want everyone crowding around your son during his bath,” Jake remarks, even as he and Alodia slip into the bathroom. “Don't want to freak the kid out.”

“Reggie,” Aleister begins, and Reggie quickly turns to look up at his father. “Your Auntie Alodia and Uncle Jake are going to talk to Mummy and Daddy while you have your bath. Is that all right?”

I don't know if Reggie actually understood any part of that question, but he smiles at Aleister and cooes as he holds up a toy boat, so we take it to mean he isn't distressed.

“ 'Auntie and Uncle',” Alodia echoes. “Is that what we are?”

“It seems fitting,” Aleister says. “And it is hardly an uncommon term of respectful endearment to a close friend of one's parents.”

“When I was growing up, all close friends of my folks were Auntie and Uncle,” Jake says. “It was just considered respectful where I'm from.”

“It was the same for me with friends of my dad,” Grace agrees. “Mom's friends and associates were whatever they preferred to be called. Sometimes that was 'Ms. Jones ' or 'Mr. Smith,' but some let me use their first names.”

“That's how it was with any friends of my aunt and uncle,” Alodia remarks. “When it came to Diego's family and neighbors, I just used the words he used. There were plenty of tios and tias, and his parents were Mama and Papa, and I was mija to everyone...”

She lowers the lid of the toilet and sits down carefully. Jake leans against the sink.

“How's the room?” he asks. “Adequate for the night?”

“Oh, it's just fine, thank you.”

“I love the wallpaper,” Grace adds. “And the carpet is so soft.”

“I had kinda hoped the crib would be here in time for tonight, but the one we really wanted ended up being backordered. Hopefully it gets here in time for River.”

“You've still got plenty of time,” I say, absently trailing my fingers through the bath water.

“The time will pass more quickly than you think it will,” Aleister warns. “I remember when Reggie was born, it felt like no time at all between that moment and Grace telling me that she was pregnant.”

I snort. “Says the one who didn't have to carry the child for nine months.”

Grace laughs. “You might be surprised to hear that it passed quickly for me, too. At least, there were moments when I looked at the calendar and could hardly believe how close I was to my due date.”

“I'm not sure how things are going to look in hindsight once she's born,” Alodia muses, caressing her stomach. “Right now, there's a lot that sucks about being pregnant, and a lot that's wonderful. But I'm mostly eager to meet River. To hold her and rock her and give her baths...”

Aleister sighs wistfully. “Once she is born, the time will start to pass even faster.”

“That, I can definitely agree with,” Grace says, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “I can hardly believe this boy is almost a year old...”

A silence descends over us, heavy with shared sentiment. It's not hard to guess what we're all thinking about. There is joy in the anticipation of Reginald's first birthday and Alodia and Jake's first child. There is joy in seeing Reginald grow and sweet sadness in saying goodbye to his baby days. And of course, the twelve of us—plus Lila and Varyyn, I imagine—can't help but remember the last time we were all together on New Year's Eve.

It seems to me that we were all so young then. The thought makes me feel ridiculous, given that I'm not even thirty yet, but the change between who I was then and who I am now—who all of us were then and now—is almost startling to think of. I think of myself, and of my brother, how we were both bitter, angry, and lonely; motherless children abandoned and betrayed by the father we didn't even know we shared. Really, all of us were misfits, somehow out of place in the world we had come from. Even Alodia, even before the timelines repaired themselves to give her a past and a home. She was the Mystery, the one who seemed linked to the island in ways the rest of us couldn't fathom. Even before the discovery of the Island's Heart, she was the one who could understand the Vaanti. The one who the Guardians were drawn to—and the only one who could get through to Quinn when Vaanu took her over. None of us fit with the world. But we fit with each other.

We've grown since then. We've changed. We've moved on with our lives. But we haven't forgotten each other. Distance has not weakened this family. If anything, our bonds are stronger than ever. They stayed strong enough over five years to bring Alodia back to us. I hope and pray that twelve will remain as one until the last of us is laid in a grave.

“...Estela?” Aleister's voice brings me back to reality.

“Sorry, what?”

He nods over my shoulder. “Could you pass me the towel?”

I turn and find the soft yellow terrycloth hanging behind my head, draped on the rack on the wall. I tug it down and pass it to Aleister.

“Right. Sorry. Lost myself in thought for a moment.”

“What were you thinking?” Alodia asks as Aleister wraps his son in the towel and lifts him from the bath. I lean back against the wall, feeling a smile playing around my mouth.

“That it's fitting we should all be here together for New Year's Eve. And that I plan to toast to many more to come.”

* * *

When Reggie has drifted off and Grace has set up the baby monitor, we rejoin the party. At some point, Alodia dozes off on the couch, cuddled up with Jake, but she comes awake again close to eleven, when we start migrating toward the beach. With many of Alodia's neighbors having the same idea, Varyyn opts to put on his holographic disguise. Though we were all told of Dax's gift, this is the first time I've seen it demonstrated. It's more than a little strange to see Diego cozying up to someone who looks so different from the Varyyn we know, and even stranger to hear Varyyn's voice and speech patterns coming from this stranger's lips. But I suppose it's something we'll get used to.

On the beach, we build a bonfire in a portable fire pit. We might have just assembled one from scratch like we would have on the island, but I don't think we could get the materials to do so without risking stealing someone else's plantlife. It's turned cool since the sun has set, so we pull our lawn chairs into as tight a circle as we can make around the firepit and wrap ourselves up in blankets. Quinn and I lie side-by-side on a chair, a blanket draped over our legs.

“So what are everyone's resolutions this year?” Quinn asks.

“Oh, yeah!” Raj's face lights up. “We should go around the circle and say what our resolutions are!”

Diego mock-groans. “Oh, come on, do we have to be so orderly about it?”

“Yes!” Raj replies firmly. “That way everyone is sure to get their turn.”

“Come on, Raj! That's like those lame families at Thanksgiving who go around their tables announcing what they're thankful for!” Zahra whines.

“Hey, you did exactly that with my family a couple months ago,” Craig points out.

“And it was lame. I just didn't say anything out of politeness.”

“Well, you can follow your own example tonight, too,” Raj retorts cheerfully. “Quinn, why don't you start us off, since you asked the question?”

“Well, okay.” Quinn sits up a little in my arms. “I resolve...to start learning a new skill. Like a musical instrument or knitting or something. Estela?”

“Hmm. I suppose...I resolve to cherish my circumstances. I was once prepared to throw away my freedom for something that I know now would have only left me hollow. So I am resolving to be grateful for my freedom and any opportunity to make real change.”

“Which, as a CEO of Rourke International, you have plenty of opportunity to do,” Aleister points out. “And with that in mind, I think I will resolve focus more of our resources on clean energy. Silas Prescott's 'clean energy' cover story for the Prism Gate may have been tripe, but it has gotten me thinking lately.”

“I'll resolve to make more of an effort to stay in contact with my dad,” Grace says. “He deserves to see more of his grandson.”

“I resolve to get more sleep,” Michelle announces, and is met with approving chuckles.

“And to help you with that resolution,” Sean adds, “I resolve to help you out more, especially with the wedding plans. Any task you need done, throw it my way and I will complete it to the best of my ability.”

“Welp, I'm gonna be completely predictable and resolve to get some more exercise,” Craig says, grinning. “Not saying I'm gonna in the kinda shape I was at Hartfeld, but Cheese Friday has gotten me a little mushy.”

“I like you mushy,” Zahra says firmly. “But I guess I like you healthy, too. So, I resolve to help you with your resolution by being your personal trainer and driving you mercilessly.”

Craig groans. “I think I'm regretting this already.”

By now we've circled around to Raj. “Okay, well. I'm resolving to be a little bit more organized. Take a little more responsibility for not just planning my shows, but paying a little more attention to logistics.”

He nods at Lila, who turns her gaze on the flames. “I resolve to let go of who I was before. To let go of Mr. Rourke and what I was to him. That isn't me anymore.”

Raj puts a hand on her shoulder. “Here, here.”

Lila smiles somewhat timidly before turning to the person beside her. “Jake? Your turn.”

“Me? Jesus, I dunno. Few more months, I'm gonna be someone's dad. Hard to think about anything beyond that. But I guess I resolve to get the nursery finished by then.”

“Which should be easy since Molly and Rob insist on letting professionals do most of it,” Diego snickers.

“Hey, if that crew is willing to come back after the way Jake was bossing them around over the wall and floors, I'll be impressed,” Alodia quips. Jake slings an arm over her shoulders, kissing her temple.

“That was my brilliant plan all along, Princess. So what's your resolution?”

“...Basically the same one I made last New Year's I experienced. I'm going to hold onto what matters. Stay in the moment and not worry about the past. Protect what I love. And...maybe look into finishing my degree, if motherhood permits me the time.”

Diego sighs. “So, am I seriously the one who's going to have the responsibility of throwing out the joke resolution? You guys are gonna make me be the one who resolves to eat more ice cream or something like that?”

“Hey!” Zahra yelps. “I'm the one who resolved to be Craig's personal trainer!”

“How is that a joke resolution?”

“Uh, because he played football, and if you haven't noticed, I have skinny T-rex arms?”

“Legs and ass, though,” Craig drawls, waggling his eyebrows. “Mmm-mm.”

“Craig, we all know your girlfriend's a snack. You can stop bragging about it.”

“Says my very gay best friend,” Alodia quips.

“Yeah, I'm gay, not blind. I'm just saying that if I had to pick a woman--”

“Thank you, Diego,” Zahra interrupts, smirking. “I'm flattered. I wouldn't kick you out of bed, either.”

“As...confusingly sweet as this little flirtation is, both of your men are sitting right here, and you should probably knock it off.”

“Yes, please do. Or I shall have to remind you who your fasted partner is.”

The dark-skinned man beside Diego pulls him playfully onto his lap. For a moment, I'm alarmed, thinking that a stranger has crept into our circle, until I remember Varyyn's disguise. Varyyn holds Diego against him, planting kisses on the back of his neck.

“Does this help improve your memory?” he asks between kisses.

“Mmm...it's getting there. I can almost remember now...”

“Okay, you two, save some of that for midnight. Varyyn, do you have a resolution for us?”

“Well...I suppose now that I can walk through the world a bit more openly, I suppose I would like to experience new things. Things I have hesitated to try for fear that I would be seen and questioned.”

“I can probably help you with some of that,” Mike remarks. “I'm planning on getting myself a little more settled in the area. Get a permanent job, possibly an apartment...try to put myself a little bit back in the world, more than I have been since I got back to the States.”

Jake reaches over to put a hand on Mike's shoulder. “...You know you're welcome here indefinitely. You're a big help, and every extra set of hands is gonna be a blessing once River's born.”

“I know. And I'm happy to help out however I can. ...But I also wanna get my own two feet back under me. ...Metaphorically speaking,” he adds ruefully, flexing one bionic foot.

“I can't say I don't get that,” Jake concedes. “And I'll fully support you. ...But you are welcome to stay with us as long as it takes.”

“Agreed,” Alodia adds. “It's a big place. It's your home until you're ready to move out.”

“Thanks. ...I feel like I should toast to that.”

“Oh! Good thinking, Mike!” Raj opens the cooler beside him, pulling out a bottle of champagne and a bag of plastic champagne flutes. “It's getting near enough to midnight to break out the bubbly. And don't worry, Alodia, I've got sparkling grape juice for you.”

“I wasn't worried. You've kept me well-stocked on mocktails this whole evening.”

“I live to serve!” Raj pops the cork and fills the glasses, passing them around the circle. When everyone has a glass, he raises his. “Here's to a New Year. Here's to Michelle and Alodia as they celebrate their twenty-eighth birthdays. Here's to Michelle and Sean as they prepare for their wedding, and here's to Alodia and Jake as they prepare to welcome the newest addition to our family. Here's to Reggie, who is almost a year old. We love you, little dude. ...Anyone have anything to add?”

“Here's to having Allie back with us,” Diego says.

“Here's to this family,” Alodia adds. “All of you mean everything to me, and I can't believe how lucky I am to have you.”

Beside me, Quinn raises her glass. “Here's to love. Eros, storge, philia, and agape.”

We raise our glasses, tapping them against the ones beside us before taking a sip. Around the other bonfires on the beach, the neighbors have begun to shift, gathering together in anticipation of the countdown.

“Two minutes until midnight, everyone!”

Couples begin pairing off, ready to ring in the new year with a kiss. I stand, carefully pulling Quinn up with me. She stumbles a little, leaning heavily on me. She grins sheepishly up at me.

“Maybe I've had one too many cocktails...”

I grin back. Jesus, she's adorable. “We'll have time enough for you to sleep it off.”

“Mm...but I hope I don't fall asleep too quickly.” She winds her arms around my neck, standing on her toes to whisper in my ear, “I've got a few ideas on how to properly ring in the new year.”

“You remember we're sharing a guest room with Craig and Zahra, right?”

“It's a big house. We can find a place to disappear.”

“Thirty seconds until midnight!” Craig calls before I can answer.

In twenty seconds, the whole cove rings out with the sound of the massive gathering counting the last ten seconds until midnight. I join in, finding myself swept up in the festive mood. As the last count dissolves into cheers and applause, I bend toward the woman in my arms and press my mouth to hers. She parts her lips to receive me, tasting me hungrily. I feel my cheeks growing warm as my belly flutters with anticipation. It isn't enough to feel her in my arms, or to trace the inside of her mouth with my tongue. I reluctantly withdraw my tongue from her mouth, though I keep my lips close.

“...Where did you have in mind for us to disappear to?”

* * *

Locked in one of the beach house's luxurious bathrooms, Quinn and I lie naked and spent in the empty whirlpool bath, our sweat-slick bodies leaving impressions on the acrylic. I'm still trembling with the exertion of my last climax, feeling heady and languid as I sink into the afterglow with Quinn panting in my arms. I can still distantly hear voices elsewhere in the house, traveling through the vents to reach the bathroom. Gradually, Quinn's breathing slows and she lays her head on my chest.

“That was...incredible,” she murmurs around a yawn.

“Very,” I agree, stroking her copper hair, damp and tangled with sweat. “You are very...skilled.”

“So are you.”

“That is generous of you, but I know I am not. I was a virgin until about three years ago. I hadn't even had my first kiss until then. ...Before you, I'd had only two partners, both of them men.”

“Then you have good instincts. Or...perhaps you have experience enough with your own body to guess what might feel good on mine?”

“I suppose that could be it,” I concede. “The first man I slept with was very experienced. Very generous, too. A considerate lover. I learned a great deal about my body from him, and I suppose it's fair to say he awakened my appetites. Even after we were no longer seeing each other, I found I had learned to enjoy exploring my own body.”

“Sounds like a good way to lose your virginity.”

“It was. I'm grateful that my first time was with an attentive partner, even if the relationship didn't last.”

“My first time was probably much less pleasant. It was all consensual, but we were both virgins, and neither of us knew what we were doing.”

“What sort of...equipment was your partner sporting?”

“Outdoor plumbing,” she giggles. “A man. Well...I use the term loosely. It was freshman year at Hartfeld, and we were both barely legal previously sheltered kids drunk on the freedom of college. ...I spent a lot of nights in other people's beds that semester. Hooking up with every attractive person who was willing. But, that meant I learned a lot about sex, too.”

I chuckle. “You know, anyone who didn't know you better would never guess you were the type to have a series of one-night stands. They would think you were too sweet and innocent for that type of behavior.”

“But you know better?”

“I and all the other Catalysts certainly. We know that a sweet disposition doesn't preclude a sexual appetite. ...And it seems natural to me that in your circumstances, you would have had a lot of wild oats to sow, as the saying goes.”

“And you're a natural warrior. But that doesn't preclude a lack of sexual experience. It makes sense to me that you would have focused everything on your mission to the point of ignoring romance or even just sex because it wasn't a priority.”

“But lately, I find myself craving it. Especially with you.” I kiss the top of her head. “...Quinn? What would you like us to be to each other?”

“Well...girlfriends, for now. …That is what we are, right?”

“Well, I hope so. But...I was thinking of in the future. We've known each other for a long time. We've been friends for a long time. I've always loved you as my friend and fellow Catalyst. I always will. But...as my girlfriend, that's...”

“...It's a new dynamic. One that might take some getting used to. ...We'll see where this goes, Estela. I love you, too. I always have. ...I think I could love you as my girlfriend, too. And...maybe someday, as my wife? As a mother to my children?”

I nod, a smile on my lips. “Yes. Yes, that's what I'm hoping for, too. ...I am hoping that this is the relationship that lasts the rest of my life. ...I want to marry. I want to have a family. ...I hope that further down the line, you and I decide we want to have that together.”

“I agree that would be the ideal outcome.” Quinn sighs happily, yawning again. “...Mmm...I think I could just sleep here.”

I laugh. “We'll wake up freezing an hour from now if we don't at least put some clothes on. Besides, I really think a bed would be more comfortable.”

“We smell like sex. Craig and Zahra will know what we've been up to.”

“Do you think they haven't been up to it themselves? Even if they haven't, I'm not ashamed of having sex with my girlfriend.”

“Me neither. But maybe it's not polite to make our friends smell it.”

“Hmm, perhaps not. ...But I have an answer to that, I think. After all...we are in a bathtub.”

When we can finally summon the energy, we stop up the tub and turn on the water, filling it up to our chests. We turn on the jets and let the water massage our tired muscles as we tenderly bathe each other. The hot water saps the last of my energy, and clearly Quinn feels the same. We lean heavily on each other as we stumble to the guest room, wrapped in soft towels, water dripping off the ends of our hair. We'll clean up our mess in the bathroom in the morning, I decide.

Craig and Zahra haven't come to bed yet, so we turn on the light as we paw through our overnight bags for sleep clothes and toothbrushes. We throw on our pajamas, hastily brush our teeth, and stumble into one of the two double beds in the guest room. I just barely manage to kiss Quinn goodnight and draw her into my arms before I've fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

We're having an earthquake. That's the next thought I am aware of as I am forced out back to wakefulness by a vigorous vibration. As my roaming consciousness is unceremoniously dumped back into my brain, my waking body struggles to make sense of my surroundings. My hand fumbles for Quinn and finds her still curled against my body. I realize there is a hand on my shoulder. That's where the shaking is coming from. And there is a person speaking.

“Estela!” My brother's voice is a whisper, but there's an urgency in it that turns the sound harsh. “Estela, wake up!”

“...Aleister?” I roll over, rubbing my eyes. Quinn stirs beside me, and past Aleister, I can see Zahra tucked in the other bed, lifting her head off the pillow. I can faintly hear Craig snoring beside her.  I try to look at the digital clock on the nightstand between the beds, but the room is still dark, and my eyes seem disinclined to focus. “...What time is it?”

“It's a little after five in the morning. But I'm afraid this can't wait.”

There's something in his voice that makes my stomach go hot and then cold before settling into a hard lump. In an instant, I am awake. I meet his eyes in the dim light of the moon that comes through the window, and nod toward the door that leads to the hall. As he gets off the bed, Quinn sleepily mumbles my name.

“Shhh. Go back to sleep, mi sirenita. I'll be right back.”

“Mmmokay...” Quinn yawns and rolls over again, her breathing deep and even within seconds. I'm not sure she was ever fully awake. I follow Aleister out into the hall.

“...What's wrong?”

“Estela, I just got a call from the mental institution in Northbridge. ...They said that...they found Father dead in his room this morning.”

#pixelberry choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #Endless Summer #hero #Jake McKenzie #sean gayle #Diego Ricardo Ortiz Soto #Craig Hsiao #aleister rourke #raj bhandarkar #michelle nguyen #zahra namazi #quinn kelly #estela montoya #grace hall #grayson prescott #kenji katsaros #eva minuet #dax darcisse #poppy patel

[hcneoctzen]

NCT on a road trip

Taeil: Listens to music the entire time. Tries to fall asleep but keeps getting elbowed in the side by Yukhei. Is forced to do acrostic poems by Johnny and Doyoung everytime they notice he hasn’t said anything for a few minutes. Highkey wishes he didn’t come but is happy when Taeyong makes everyone leave him alone.

Johnny: Commentates everything that is happening. ‘To your left you will see a tree in the shape of a snail. And, to your right you’ll see a statue of a man riding a horse.’ Takes Doyoung’s vroom vroom show microphone and tries to interview Jungwoo on multiple occasions because he is worried that Jungwoo isn’t enjoying himself.

Taeyong: The one who planned everything out and invited everyone to join. Decides to be the one driving but is too concerned with keeping the kids at bay that he makes Kun drive instead. Planned on seeing all the lame attractions on the way and forces everyone out of the car to take pictures. Slowly starts to become so stressed he wants to pull his hair out because everyone one is screaming and he just wanted to have a good time.

Yuta: Spewing out facts about everything they pass by. Didn’t look up anything he just has somehow been through this area even though none of the other members have. Pushes Jungwoo out of the way of the window to take pictures even though Jungwoo offered to take them instead. Lowkey having a great time and doesn’t notice that he’s starting to annoy Taeyong and Doyoung who are sitting close to him.

Kun: Originally was planning on staying home until Sicheng begged him to come. Was fine with being the one in charge of the map until Taeyong had them trade places. Was now worried he was going to kill 17 (mostly) innocent kids and tried his hardest not to crash. Apologizes to Renjun everytime he hits a bump. Is having a hard time trying to follow Doyoung’s directions as well as Taeyong’s pull over requests as well as Chenle’s bathroom needs.

Doyoung: Promised that his phone was fully charged but ten minutes into using the GPS on his phone, it died. Forced to use a random map that Taeyong brought and try and navigate them even though he literally has no idea what he’s doing. His vroom vroom shows ends up being taken over by Johnny and he’s salty about the fact he had to give him his microphone. Claims he could’ve done a better job if he was given the chance.

Ten: Was planning on listening to music the entire time but forgot his headphones at the dorm. Asks Taeil if he can borrow his but is immediately denied. Makes everyone play the Baskin Robbins game and by the time it gets back to him he loses because there are so many members and gets flicked in the forehead by everyone next time they stop to use the bathroom.

Jaehyun: Packed everyone a lunchbox and secretly packed himself double what everyone else got. Loves to attempt the rap parts in every song that comes on but horribly fails. Laughs whenever he hears someone talk even if it’s not funny just so the van isn’t quiet.

Sicheng: Somehow sleeping through the chaos that is happening around him. Is confused everytime they have to get out and take pictures but smiles through the pain. Watches youtube videos with Ten when he gets bored. Forgot to eat his lunch until they were almost there and found out that Jisung ate it an hour before.

Jungwoo: Doesn’t know what to do so he stares out the window the entire time. Awkwardly answers Johnny’s interview questions with one word answers and gets annoyed everytime Yuta pushes him out of the way but won’t say anything about it. The only one excited to take pictures with everyone when Taeyong makes them.

Yukhei: WILL NOT SHUT UP. Screams along to the music (especially when Mark plays NCT Dream songs and when Donghyuck puts on Justin Bieber's “Baby”). Gets excited really easily and tries to dance in the van on multiple occasions not caring for anyone he might hurt. Tries to hype up the van when it gets quiet because he hates when no one is talking.

Mark: Was originally in charge of all the music until Donghyuck complained too much and took it away from him. Tried to play a game of UNO with Jaehyun until they hit a bump and all the cards fell on the ground. Sings all the english songs and ends up making Donghyuck jealous and tell him they’re in Korea. Retorts back with the fact that Donghyuck is now controlling the music which makes him shut up for ten minutes.

Jeno: Prepares with Renjun the night before and packs his bag with stuff that he’s never going to use. Ends up having to take care of Renjun the entire time and wishes he didn’t come. Is pestered by Donghyuck every once in a while when he tries to kiss him for no reason other than the fact that Donghyuck thinks it’s funny.

Renjun: Was excited and preparing all night will Jeno all the fun things they could do. Ends up being car sick halfway through and has to lay on Jeno and Jisung or else he’ll throw up. Whines in Chinese to Kun every time he hits a bump in the road. The only one not in the group pictures unless Jeno is holding him in his arms.

Donghyuck: One of the worst people to take on a road trip. Literally asks how much longer every five minutes and complains when Mark plays a song he doesn’t like. Ends up being in charge of the music and plays Michael Jackson and Justin Bieber songs for three straight hours. Has tried to kiss every member at least once just to annoy them and pass the time by quicker. Sings along to every song louder than everyone else.

Jaemin: Brought tons and tons of snacks but refuses to share with anyone. Is stuck between Donghyuck and Chenle, the two noisiest, the entire times and regrets coming back to join them. Will willing hit anyone that tries to take his food and acts innocent when they tell on him to Taeyong.

Chenle: Has to use the bathroom every five minutes. Acts like he was trapped in the van for fifteen years each time they stop and pushes past everyone to be the first one out. Is hyper the entire time and makes sure everyone is clearly aware of it. Gets mad at Jisung when Jisung takes some of his food and refuses to talk to him for the rest of the trip there.

Jisung: Twenty minutes into the trip, he makes everyone play Yaja time just so he can tell Donghyuck that he’s ugly and finally be able to tell Yukhei to shut up. Once it’s over, the members tell him to watch out next time they make a bathroom stop. Quietly sings along to the music while laughing at everyone who is screaming out the lyrics. Has no sense of time and halfway through he thinks they’d been on the road only an hour when in reality they’d been driving for four hours already.

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #kpop #nct scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct imagines #nct u imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct dream imagines #taeil #johnny #taeyong #yuta #kun #doyoung #ten #jaehyun #sicheng #jungwoo #yukhei #mark #jeno #renjun #jaemin #donghyuck #chenle

[taiblogcomics]

Fortune Favours the Bowled

Hey there, Mr. Fancycakes. Still got my big stack. What should we do next? I guess to keep things most interesting, let's not do the next issue of My Little Pony. Let's do a new Ponyville Mysteries instead, yeah? Either way, it's the only one I've read in the stack, so we're stuck with it~

Here's the cover:

Like the first issue, the use of negative space is striking. You have the bowling guys sobbing in the foreground, Sweetie Belle and Applebloom inspecting the crime scene in the background, and Scootalock Holmes right there standing in the even-more-foreground. It's good stuff! I hope this trend in the covers continues~

So, the last issue left off with the Cutie Mark Crusaders deciding to make their detectiving an official hobby of theirs. And just in time, too, since the Big Lebowski ponies come in with their own troubles. The brush-cut fellow with the glasses is Walter, while his skinnier companion is Jeff Letrotski. Just for clarity, for those of us (including yours truly) who haven't seen The Big Lebowski. Anyway, the Crusaders accept the case, which seems to be an incident of sabotage. Somepony's been stealing bowling pins from the alley at night, and thus preventing their bowling team from practising for an upcoming tournament. A Ponyville record is on the line, even, so it's a very important game~

The group heads to the bowling alley to look for clues, and meet the rest of their bowling league. By the time this issue is over, we're going to be pretty tired of looking at the word "bowling", I bet you. Their other teammates are Mayor Mare, Cranky Doodle Donkey, and Big Macintosh, just for reference. Sweetie theorises that maybe birds have stolen the pins, since that's how their previous case was solved, but alas that it's not that easy. Anyway, Cranky's only in the issue so they can make a "Donkey, you're out of your element!" joke. ("But Tai," you ask, "how do you know that reference if you haven't seen the movie?" Well, dear reader, because I watch Homestar Runner~)

After a quick interview, they conclude that none of their teammates are secretly doing evils behind their back. Nopony in town would be sabotaging their home team, so they decide to investigate the other teams in the league. There's a brief interlude where the Crusaders pass by their other friends and remind you that this is based on a book series. Dude, if these books really did involve Twist having a bout of lycanthropy, I might have to read them. Anyway, the Crusaders have a snack at Sugar Cube Corner to recharge, which ends up being a lucky thing that all their respective guardians have business in specifically the towns where the other league teams live. Detective work involves a lot of coincidence, I've noticed~

Applebloom investigates Dodge Junction, where it turns out Cherry Jubilee and Marian the Librarian run their team. Turns out none of them have left town in several weeks because they're all working so hard to compete in the league, thus dropping them as suspects. And so it goes in Cloudsdale and Canterlot as well. The Cloudsdale team is literally just the Wonderbolts and Spitfire's running the team just the same, while the Canterlot team consists of Fancypants, Upper Crust, Moondancer, and Twilight's parents. And as we know, Fancypants has always been a stallion of integrity, to the point that he's insisting the team use no unicorn powers. So with none of them available to be suspects, who's left~?

With all of their leads dried up, the Crusaders don't really have anything left to do but go to school. Applebloom observes, however, they're clearly not the only ones who stayed up all night working on something, since Snips and Snails are asleep at their desks. Before class can begin, though, suddenly Letrotski bursts into the classroom. Seems the saboteur has struck again, and the Crusaders abandon class to check it out, to Cheerilee's consternation. Once at the bowling alley, they confirm there's no witnesses or evidence. What is here, though, is an old stallion named K.P. (short for Kingpin). Oh no, Wilson Fisk is behind this!

Turns out K.P. here is the one who holds the current strike record in Ponyville, the one Walter is about to break. He's not bitter about it or anything, as he's held it for a really long time. Long enough to retire, even! However, he offhandedly mentions that his grandson Snips is less than thrilled. (Note on "grandson": they say "grandpony", but doesn't that sound more like a grandparent? "Grandcolt" might work better, but "pony" is too ambiguous.) They rush back to class, only to find Snips and Snails have already absconded. They head for Snips' house, where he refuses to let them in. But in their panic to cover up their crime, Snails is unable to keep their entire closet full of pins to stay closed, spilling their load and revealing their crime.

With their villainy now exposed, the other ponies show up to see what Snips has done. Snips apologises, explaining that he was just so proud of his grandpa. The record meant a lot, and he didn't want that taken from him. K.P. understands, but as previously stated, he's not a bitter fellow. He's okay with letting the record go, and so Snips agrees to also do so. And you know what the benefit of having Mayor Mare on your bowling team is? She's able to do things like officially renaming the bowling alley after Kingpin, to stand as an honour even longer than his record. And of course, none of them could've done it without the Crusaders~

Another simple mystery, and a rather well done one at that. All the key parts are established early on. They even introduce you to Snips in an otherwise unimportant scene, just to establish him in the story so he doesn’t come out of right field. Honestly, when my only complaint about a story is the ambiguity of the word “grandpony”, it’s probably a pretty good story. Can’t wait to see what they do next.

Speaking of what they do next: Looks like issue 3 is about old people. Well, they’ll have to work really hard to make that concept fun~

#comics #reviews #My Little Pony Ponyville Mysteries #Taiblog #Cutie Mark Crusaders

[bleederziine]

“I’m Compelled To Do It”; an Interview w/Lisa Jane Persky, Photographer, Writer, and Artist

In high school I was going to move to New York and grab the city by its throat. I was going to have at least 500 friends, own a punky couture boutique, and hold gothic open mics there every night and maybe date a Stroke for a few months. My imagination was like an entire universe of different identities, with tiny planets for NYC, Paris, 90s Seattle, 20s Greenwich Village. My favorite magazine was Pitchfork Review, and when I read Lisa Jane Persky’s piece, “X Offenders: A Typical Day in the Life of an NYC Proto Punk”, I got really jealous of her and then I got over that and wanted to know more. So I sent her a pouring my heart out email about how boring my neighborhood was, and how her story gave me hope for my own “New York story.” Sappy, right? Also, it was likely the truest thing I had ever written, before or since. As an over emotional messy artist, I’ve learned that the only way for me to get anything done is to rip open my heart and be as (healthily!) vulnerable as I can. In my experience, this has led me to knit a sweater for my favorite lead singer (Luke of the Walters) throw pads at Mario of the Orwells, and interview one of the coolest people I know.

Hi Lisa! How are you?

Lisa Jane Persky: I’m fine, just doing so many things at once! How are you?

I’m good! What are you working on right now?

LJP: I’m going to do a ten-day residency in London in June with my friends at Underground, a subculture inspired brand that makes some cool favorite stuff of mine. We found each other in 2015 and have been plotting something to do together ever since. June is Music Month in the UK and the residency will first of all be a show of my early photography, mostly of the Blondie days, and CBGB's time, really early, like 74-75. Along with that I’m programming various events, so different artists will come, DJs, musicians, underground comic book illustrators, all along the lines of subculture and music.

What made you want to photograph Blondie, since you were already familiar with them as friends?

LJP: Mostly it was access to a camera! I had a camera my dad used to use, and the band was just so cool looking, and I was going out with Gary Valentine at the time. Chris and Debbie were living in my friends loft, which is now known as the Blondie loft on the Bowery, where the band also rehearsed, and up there on the fourth floor was a big, torn white backdrop for portraits. It all started with an *official* session where I took 5 rolls of film in the loft, and those were pretty cool so I just kept going.

What is a good picture to you?

LJP: I like looking at people, studying them and observing what they do. When I shoot portraits we create an atmosphere together. I try to make a comfortable space for the subject to play, to be who they are with me, in spite of my lens I really enjoy seeing that, and the collaboration of it. It has to mean

something to me and I try to frame in the camera, and not edit it later. My eyes really were the frame then. Everyone looks so beautiful, was so young. When you’re young, you think, “we’re all so that!” And they were. Debbie’s a beautiful woman. She makes a picture look good, without much effort. I’m all

about making Instagram a place for my work right now. I like the shooting for that square shape. I love seeing other people’s photography evolve there.

Who were some of your other musical subjects?

LJP: I photographed Martin Rev of Suicide, I did a series on keyboard players, Cherry Vanilla’s, Zecca, and Richard Sohl, Patti Smith’s keyboard player, Kristian Hoffman of the Mumps, Lance Loud and the other Mumps, The Fast, mostly my friends and mostly portraits. I prefer to see live music rather than photograph it.

Yeah! I photograph shows sometimes and I prefer to ask to take pictures of the band after because I feel like the subject will give me more than when they’re thinking I’m just an anonymous photographer. What motivates you as an artist?

LJP: I’m compelled to do it, I want to do it. That said, writing is harder for me than all the other things I do. I’m not really sure why. I think it’s because there’s a loneliness to it that the others don’t have. Even when I’m out photographing my landscapes, which I call Lonescapes because there are no people in them, I never feel lonely. But there’s some kind of foreboding loneliness in writing that keeps me away from it. But I love having written, which is how most people probably feel.

”The picture of me is a photo booth pic. I’m wearing an Eagle’s Nest T-Shirt. The Eagle’s Nest was a gay hardcore leather bar in the Meatpacking District (no girls allowed) and their symbol was that Eagle on the shirt, which is the eagle that in part inspired Arturo Vega to design the Ramones Eagle. There are all kinds of other stories out there about Arturo's art but he loved America and being in it, had a great sense of humor about its hypocrisies. The Bicentennial was coming up and that was a very big deal in New York City with sailors from the fancy wooden Tall Ships arriving and all. Anyway, I thought you might like to see that and know about it. The Eagle's Nest is now called The Eagle and it has moved uptown from its old location.”

What do you get out of making art?

LJP: The most important thing is what connects me to different people. I like being able to be in the world with others to share stories with people who aren’t necessarily like myself. Each of these things I do connects me to others in different ways. I value that, making and having friends and exploring the world through art and music together more than anything. But I also have no idea what else I’d do. I really don’t.

So the way we met online was through me reading your piece in Pitchfork; what made you want to write that?

LJP: Every year my husband and I go to a conference that highlights music writing of all types, a very eclectic mix of people and papers, and I one year presented a paper on my interview with the Ramones, which I did the day after their first record came out. And then I wanted to write another paper, since everyone had been asking me, “what was it like back then?” And I had read something Tommy Dean (Mills), who owned Max’s at that time in the 70s had said in an interview. He said that all the girls who came to the club with or to see the bands back then were either hookers or groupies. And I read that and it made me really mad, because all of us had been working our tails off, we were not hookers or groupies! Not that there is anything wrong with being a hooker or groupie, it’s just that way he characterized all the women. It said more about him than us but that quote coupled with people asking what it was like, made me decide to write what it was like for me. So I wrote that and presented it at the conference, and used photos I had or had taken or found that went with the text, so people could get a three dimensional look at what a day in the life in downtown New York back then was like.

What was writing for the New York Rocker like?

LJP: Well, that is why I was interested in what you’re doing, because it’s very similar. It was just a bunch of us going to these shows. Early on there was hardly anyone going, just us, the people in the bands and the neighborhood, other artists, our friends and then Alan Betrock. He was older and always a superfan of rock music, especially pop and girl groups. He had a zine before there were zines. I don't know what you'd call them but it was amateur publishing by smart people and he and others like Greg Shaw would

write to each other about records newsletter style sometimes on mimeograph paper because they didn’t even have Xerox machines then and they’d snail-mail it around because it was the only way. So he showed up and we knew he was a kind of force and then it was like “Lets have a newspaper!” and he gave birth to New York Rocker with us as his staff and we wrote about each other and it was much more representative of the downtown music scene in the early '70s than PUNK magazine was. PUNK magazine was great but was its own more specific world.

What do you think was the most interesting thing one of these musicians said to you?

LJP: One of my favorite answers, when I asked the Ramones in July of 1976 what they liked to do when they weren’t making music, they all agreed, and I think it was Johnny who said it, “we like to hang out in stairwells.” And he wasn’t kidding; they liked to hang out in stairwells in Queens. One of the things that was good about being there and these early interviews was you got an idea of who everyone was in an unguarded way except for Patti Smith who always seemed strategic and cautious. It was before anyone else there was famous or known, and no one knew whether they were going to be anyone or not. We were all hanging out with our pants down, there was no hiding going on.

What do you think were punk’s biggest inspirations back then?

LJP: In the beginning, they were all pop bands, really. Everyone really liked pop, and everyone was a fan of real rock n roll, and what we heard on the radio was more like Bread and yacht rock before it was called that, and it didn’t feel like what we grew up with and times were tough and a lot of us were just furious, had a ton of energy that needed an outlet. And then, too, we all liked glam. These things, the pop sensibility, the love of glam and the performative aspects of that and the furious energy was the most visible, in many of the Max's and CBGB'S bands 74-76. In 76 the Sex Pistols who had been influenced by The Ramones but had their own kind of fury and other UK bands started to have an effect. There was a lot of discussion, which I wrote about in the New York Rocker and the LA Weekly, about whether our New York music was punk. And we didn’t think so. We were, most of us, a bunch of punk kids but Punk wasn’t a good moniker for most NY bands.

A lot of your Pitchfork article was also about your acting career. How did you get into acting?

LJP: Yeah, that article was about the time when you could still get an apartment for $65 a month in Greenwich Village. There was a lot of experimental theater in the neighborhood, and this guy who lived in my building was a wonderful, known playwright and all around character in The Village named Harry (H.M. Koutoukas), and he came up to me on the street one day and said, “Darling I've written a play for you. Rehearsals start on Sunday. The pay is $25 a week. I’m sending someone to pick you up.” And I didn’t really have anything better to do, I wasn’t sure what I was doing. It was right after I graduated from high school. The guy he sent to pick me up, came to my apartment, walked me from there to the East Village to La Mama Experimental Theater Club and we started rehearsals, and that got my career started. I was enthusiastic and had a passion for it and even more important, I got laughs. The guy who picked me up and walked me to the first rehearsal of the play was the same person who let Chris and Debbie move into the loft on the Bowery with him. The theaters I worked in were right around the corner from CBGB’s so it was convenient to go to shows after I’d perform. The acting part of my career went on until about 2005. I haven’t done much of it since then but I'd welcome the opportunity to play some juicy part with fun people.

What was your favorite acting role? LJP: Well, that’s a hard question to answer because I’d almost always think, “this is the best job, this is the most fun I’ve ever had!” I loved the film The Big Easy, because I had worked with the director Jim McBride before, and we knew each other pretty well. And there was a preponderance of male characters in that script and I said to him, “you should make one of these detectives a woman. It would be so much more interesting.” We had to convince the producer, and we did, and I basically got to write my own role. And you were in the Golden Girls! What was that like? LJP: Well, those ladies are pretty amazing and admirable, as you might imagine. Bea didn’t like to talk very much. She would come in every morning and say “good morning everyone” and not really talk to anyone all day, unless she had a note for you about your performance. It was quite odd. It was fun, but there were more fun jobs. It was more fun to watch them work. What music/art/other stuff do you like today? LJP: Theres a band called Shame that’s from the UK, and they just put out a record called Songs of Praise. I’ve seen them live and they’re fantastic. They have the spirit that I saw back then, in the mid 70s from all the punk bands that we didn’t call punk. I love Mary Epworth who is putting her own unique ethereal spin on psychedelia. She has a beautiful voice. I love so many artists and musicians that I don’t know where to start listing but I’ll tell you this, at any given time you might find me listening to Rhys Chatham’s Guitar Trio Is My Life! I’ve been listening to Simple Minds again lately. I like Orwells, who I learned about from you. When I was growing up I was the only girl that I knew who had a record player and records. My father worked at a newspaper, so I got a lot of free records. My stepfather was a violinist and he would buy me more experimental music. I always liked noise and I was the only girl I knew who liked prog, and I still like prog. I love Steven Wilson, from Porcupine Tree--but not Porcupine Tree. I like his prog band which goes by his name. I like his work in part because he writes interesting songs about women. No one’s really paid enough attention to that. Prog is leaving behind it’s reputation as a masculine ghetto. Someone needs to write about it. Maybe me, but I haven’t gotten around to that.

Interview by Chloe Graham

All Images Courtesy of Lisa Jane Persky

#blondie #lisa jane persky #punk #70s new york #70s punk #film photography #70s #interview

[couplesbeyondborders]

Léa + Marc

Léa Country: France Marc Country: USA

The interview takes place in Lyon, in July 2018, where Léa was living but at the end of the summer she was going to move to Paris. Marc was here for a couple of weeks to be with her before going back to Boston, where he was living. At the end of the article, you will find the latest news that I’ve got from them.

Here’s their story:

“We met by chance in June 2012, in a bar, on a Saturday night. I was living in Montréal at the time and was on vacation in Boston with some friends. Following that first encounter, we exchanged contact info and became friends on Facebook, but then there was no communication between us for the next 9 months. That was until February 2013, when he reached out to me. I was still living in Montréal and he was still in Boston,” says Léa.

To start a dialogue, Marc found a way to speak about a band that was playing in Paris. “Basically, my question to her was ‘Do you know if it's a good venue to see a band?’ She assured me that it was, so I ended up buying two tickets to see the band, although I never actually went to see the show. I’ve kept the tickets ever since because that conversation about the venue was like the true start of our relationship.”

Most of their relationship was back and forth between Boston and Montréal until 2015, when Marc was laid-off from his job and decided to move up to Montreal for a year, where Léa was living. After more than two years of living apart, they felt lucky to finally get the opportunity to live together. But unfortunately for them, it was only temporary because neither of them pictured themselves in Montréal for the long term. So when their lease was up towards the end of 2016, Léa moved back to France to be closer to her family, and Marc went back to Boston.

“So although we’ve been together for more than five years now, the majority of our relationship has been long distance. The past year and a half has probably been the most challenging part though, because now instead of being just a five hour car ride apart, we’re a seven hour expensive flight apart, and so we can’t see each other as much as we used to”, sums up Léa. Marc would like to move to France to be with Léa, but one of the big challenges for him has been finding a company willing to sponsor him to work. Another challenge he foresees once he finally is hired, is that even after more than five years being with Léa, he still knows very little French. “I feel like the only way I’m going to learn it is by living there. For our entire relationship we’ve only communicated with each other in English because my French is so basic. It’s a bit sad that after all of this time with her that I still can’t even hold a conversation in French. That becomes most obvious when I visit her in Lyon and attempt to speak in French to her parents, because they know very little English and I’m not able to fall back on my English to express myself. It’s during those visits that it becomes really clear just how bad my French really is.”

Speaking of Léa’s relatives, Marc ends up telling me about his experience with the French way of saying hello. “Léa’s family had a gathering a couple of weeks ago and her cousin’s young boy came to greet us with a kiss, as you always do in France. However, I thought it was always two kisses, one on each cheek, but apparently that’s not always the case, because when I went to give the second kiss, he had already started to move on to the next person, so I was ‘left hanging’ as we say in America. It was definitely a little awkward, but also pretty funny.”

The American greetings were also a bit awkward for Lea at times as well. Especially when meeting Marc’s close friends, because they typically greet each other by hugging. To Léa though, this seems a bit too intimate, especially when she was meeting them for the first time and didn’t really know them. While they are speaking of their respective friendships, Léa explains how it was a bit uncomfortable for Marc to see her debate issues with her friend, because to him it seemed like they were being really harsh towards each other. Marc adds, “In America, when we disagree with friends, I feel like we don’t get quite so animated and passionate about it. We tend to “candy coat’ things, as we say. We soften the argument; and try to disagree in a polite way. Lea and her friend, on the other hand, weren’t worried about being soft or polite. To me, it was really intense, and was almost like their friendship was going to end right then and there.”

But interestingly, when arguing with each other about something in public “Léa tends to be calm and steady, whereas I’m the one that tends to get animated” says Marc. He continues, “Americans are certainly known for being a bit loud and boisterous in public settings, and although I don't think I'm a stereotypical American in that way, I guess there’s a tiny part of me that isn’t too concerned about being that way at times. She, on the other hand, is always very respectful of everyone around her and much more concerned about disturbing them. Over time though, she’s definitely rubbed off on me and made me more conscious about that as well.”

And for Léa, one of the things she really enjoys about Marc is this optimism. “I think Americans, in general, tend to have a more optimistic outlook than the French and see the future in a in a more positive way. Although being with Marc hasn’t necessarily turned me into a complete optimist, I can say it’s helped me see things in a different way and be a little less pessimistic than I used to be”, she says.

One way in which they are both quite similar though, is that they both like to eat a healthy, plant-based diet. They do sometimes still make exceptions when they’re traveling or when they visit each other in their respective countries. “Every time she comes to visit, she wants to get the Oreo cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory. I think it might be her favorite American food”, says Marc.

As for him, although he hates to admit it, he loves snails, “During their Christmas celebration there seems to be an endless supply of escargots, and they always kept bringing me more. The other little weird thing is that Léa doesn't like cheese. She's a French person that doesn't like cheese and I'm an American who likes snails. Go figure!” jokes Marc.

With regards to the future, they say that they’d love to raise their kids bilingually in France, and teach them not only the importance of healthy eating, but also how what we choose to eat has a big impact on both the environment/climate, as well as on the well-being of animals around the world. And Marc’s hoping he might get the opportunity to teach them a little about some distinctly American sports like baseball and football as well.

Here the latest news from Léa:

“Since the summer of 2018, I moved to Paris to start a new job and Marc and I continued to keep our relationship going by visiting each other every few months. We typically didn’t stay in our respective cities (Paris and Boston) but tried to venture out and explore new places we hadn’t seen yet- Croatia, Iceland, Greece, the American Pacific Northwest, and Chamonix to name a few. We finally made the leap and got married at the end of the Summer of 2019 and Marc is moving to Paris in July. It’s been a long journey since 2013 with many ups, and some downs, but we stuck together through it all and are excited to start the next chapter of our life finally reunited in Paris!”

#Léa & Marc

[bonearenaofmyskull]

What does the “interesting next chapter” for Hannibal involve? Fuller provided no concrete details at Split Screens Festival, but he did tease a very enticing elevator pitch: “It was going to be ‘Inception’ meets ‘Angel Heart.'” Combining Christopher Nolan’s mind-bender with Alan Parker’s supernatural horror movie sounds unsung, but it’s a very Bryan Fuller thing to do and he’s definitely not joking. As a huge fan of your S4 speculations, i got to ask your thoughts on Bryan's latest teases!??!

The short answer is that I have no idea. XD  And the truth is that it’s been so long since the end of the last season, and I’ve had so many discussions over time and read so much fic and planned so much fic and written enough fic that while I know what I think is most likely, any sense of objectivity I have about the subject has pretty much eroded away (as if I ever had any in the first place). And my bluff is still eroding. ;)

WRT the specific article you referenced, I do want to talk about Bryan’s elevator pitches and what we should (and should not) take out of them.

The thing about Bryan is that he’s a positive encyclopedia of film knowledge, and he uses example films to reference any of the scores of ideas he may be having at any given moment, and his mind runs about a million miles per hour nonlinearly (which is why he ends up with verbal diarrhea in interviews sometimes). He’s used a lot of film comparisons for various different Hannibal seasons and episodes, and if you looked at them without watching the show, they might often lead you astray. For example, he’s described the first season as The Shining before, and if you were to take this thought at face value, you’d think Will really would have been the copycat killer and would have ended up killing Abigail (Jack would have been right, zomg!): The Shining is about how a man descends into madness because of a sinister influence and then kills his family. But all Bryan meant was that both stories had the madness component, and in Will’s case it wasn’t even technically madness but a physical condition. Also lots of heartbeats, gaudy bathrooms and clanging noises.

Another time, Bryan caused all kinds of fandom drama when he described “Antipasto” as a “new pilot for the series starring Mads Mikkelsen and Gillian Anderson.” People were taking that to mean that Will was no longer going to be either the love of Hannibal’s life or the star of the show. And Bryan repeated that a bazillion times, either oblivious to or regardless of the panic he was causing, probably because it has a tantalizing vagueness to it so it’s a good advertisement. But it was hardly a straightforward statement about what to expect from the show, although it described that single episode well enough.

So let’s have a look at other comparisons he’s made to various films/shows/stuff:

The Talented Mr. Ripley = “Antipasto”

What you’d expect: Guy in Italy kills the guy he’s in love with and takes his identity, then has to balance it against his own identity as he tries to get away with it, costing him his next lover.

What we got: Italy, murdering the man you’re in love with, and identity shenanigans, so this one was fairly close. Hannibal gets away with it and doesn’t fall in love with anyone else, so that’s different. Also, Bedelia. And Abel Gideon flashbacks in nonlinear narration. It’s…circumstantially similar.

The Hunger = Hannibal & Bedelia in Italy

What you’d expect: A beautiful yet dangerous vampire seeks to replace her old lover, whose life has run out after he kills her protege, by seducing a woman who then destroys her and takes her powers. Supposed to be a metaphor for drug addiction.

What we got: Couple of sexy, ice-cold blondes, I guess. Upper crust musicianing and fancy clothes? A waterphone being hurled down the stairs in the background? IDK, man. IDK.

Don’t Look Now = “Primavera”

What you’d expect: A guy with ESP loses his daughter, but then has glimpses of her as he and his wife go to Italy to deal with their grief. Wife falls in with some old psychic ladies, and it turns out his visions are actually prophetic visions leading to his own death by serial killer.

What we got: Well, we were in Italy to deal with the grief our gifted protagonist suffered at losing his “daughter,” and he continues to have visions of her, and there is a serial killer on the loose and a somewhat grumpy Italian detective hanging around. But like Ripley, it’s circumstantially the same, but the story is totally different.

Frankenstein‘s monster = Will’s Italy arc

What you’d expect: (There are so many film versions of Frankenstein out there, as well as the original novel, that it’s hard to anticipate what Bryan thinks about when he thinks of Frankenstein’s monster. So I’m just kind of throwing together the most commonly remembered stuff.)  An overly ambitious doctor creates a living “monster” out of dead human body parts, then promptly regrets it. The monster escapes, kills a bunch of people including the doc’s fiancee, tries to coerce the doctor into making a mate for him because it’s sad to be alone, and then either the doctor pursues the monster or the monster pursues the doctor and they both end up dead. 

What we got: A doctor made a guy into a monster, and the guy is kind of back from the dead. The doctor was the one who escaped, and the monster is the one who is pursuing. The doctor kills people instead of the monster. They’re each other’s mate, and they don’t kill anyone’s fiancees. XD  They don’t die either. It is, however, sad to be alone. This is a deejay mashup of Frankenstein if ever there was one. 

Death and the Maiden = “Secondo”

What you’d expect: Traumatized woman who had survived torture recognizes the voice of her torturer and kidnaps him on a stormy night, trying to make him confess his crimes to her before she kills him while her husband looks on, not knowing if he believes her or not and if he should help her or her captive.

What we got: There’s a woman in an isolated house with a man captive. Aaaaand…that’s about it. Plot-wise, this movie goes mostly the opposite direction from where the film does, and Will is at best an amalgamation of both the husband and the torturer, and way more active than either in the outcome. Again, circumstantially similar but a different story.

Kill Bill = “Aperitivo”

What you’d expect: After her wedding was crashed in the most violent way possible, a woman awakens in a hospital and goes out seeking vengeance against her former lover by killing all his cronies one by one until she gets to him.

What we got: Not Frederick Chilton in a bright yellow tracksuit, unfortunately. After some violence, people wake up in hospitals and then…talk to each other? 

Hannibal, the film = “Contorno”

What you’d expect: the obvious.

What we got: Pazzi’s story and death, and a fun little turnabout with Alana taking Clarice Starling’s place on the phone. But most of other plot stuff from Hannibal exists elsewhere, and instead we got some snail-y conversations and a barefoot beatdown on Hannibal by Jack Crawford.

Bound = Margot and Alana’s storyline

What you’d expect: A woman and her lesbian lover plot to steal the money her mafiaso boyfriend owes to his boss in order to escape the boyfriend’s tyrannical hold, but the plot goes wrong and they get caught, making it so they have to improvise their way out.

What we got: Again, circumstantially something very similar, but only in the loosest of terms–that two women lovers are seeking to escape the tyrannical hold of one of the men in their life, getting his money and ending up killing him. For some reason, there’s no pig-baby in Bound. Unless you count Christopher Meloni.

Leopold and Loeb = “Tome-wan”

What you’d expect: Two men, convinced they’re above everybody else, try to create the perfect murder by hatching a plot and killing a kid. They get caught.

What we got: Two men–at least one of whom is convinced he’s above everyone else–hatch a rather haphazard plot without really telling each other what they’re doing, then hunt down a guy and don’t actually kill him, and then they don’t get caught.

…

So is there a pattern in any of this? What can we take from it to apply to the Inception meets Angel Heart (with maybe a dash of Ripley, since that’s what Bryan told Matt Zoller Seitz in the past) pitch for the fourth season? What would we expect from these films?

I think the answer seems to be nothing more than circumstantial similarities, turnabouts on the expectations that these films might have set up, and some tonal similarities. That’s the pattern, and that’s the only pattern as far as I’m concerned. 

That said though, we might as well have some fun speculating with them.

Angel Heart

What you’d expect: A private detective is hired by a mysterious stranger in a manbun to track down a missing person who was last known to be in a coma. When every person the detective interviews about the case ends up meeting a grisly end, he comes to discover that he is the very man he is looking for, and the devil made him kill all those people in a fugue state because he had attempted to cheat the devil from coming to collect his soul.

…Wait, wait wait…. Isn’t this already Hannibal season one? An investigator falls in with the devil, who helps in with his investigations, all the while encouraging a fugue state to get him to kill people, so that at one point he thinks he’s the very killer that he’s looking for??? 

Didn’t Bryan already tell us that the fourth season would be an inversion or subversion of S1?

Cleverrrrrrrrr, Bryan Fuller! You made us think you were telling us something new by just saying the same thing you said before in another way. But there really isn’t anything new here at all, is there???

I guess, circumstantially, there could be a detective searching for them, or they could be searching for killers, or Will could be metaphorically searching for himself. The deal with the devil has obviously already been made, and maybe Will is trying to find a way out of that, as the guy in Angel Heart was. 

People have made a big deal about the coma and fugue state business, and I’m not ruling that stuff out, but I don’t think they’ll retread ground that they tread in S1 with Will, and I don’t think that they’ll put Hannibal in any sustained position of weakness. They never do either of these thing, and that limits where they can go with the coma and fugue state things.

Inception

What you’d expect: A wanted corporate espionage dream-hacker tries to get his name cleared in order to return to his children after being blamed for the death of his wife, so he agrees to attempt to create an idea in the mind of an unknowing victim by generating a dream within a dream within a dream, where there is a danger of not knowing what is real and what is not.

Well…not quite knowing what is real and what is not is Hannibal all the way, and Will is a dream-hacker if ever there was one. And he will probably be wanted by the law. Kinda doubt he’ll be looking to return to his wife and child, though maybe he is interested in clearing his name. And Hannibal and Will do share mental space, just as Cobb and Mal do…and there could be some comparison to be made between Mal and Hannibal here, in how they haunt their husbands…and how Mal frames Cobb for murder. XD 

People get very hyper-focused on the dream-within-a-dream business from Inception, but I found that to be kind of beside the point, tbh. “Inception” refers to the process of planting an idea in another person’s head in such a subconscious way that they believe that idea is their own and they make it a part of themselves and their reality. I guess because I find this to be the more interesting part of Inception, I’d personally like this to be what Bryan Fuller is talking about here, rather than the dreaming stuff. It’s very psychological, and if Will is looking to understand who he is on the other side of the veil, I feel like there’s a lot of opportunity here for both or either man, within that alchemy of truths and lies. 

If we were looking for a more plot-driven similar circumstance, a situation in which some rich person paves the way for Will to clear his name in America. We do have some powerful rich people on this show. 

To be quite honest, the first thing that came to mind when Bryan said Inception was him talking about how Richard Armitage and Gillian Anderson never had a chance to be in a scene together, so maybe they could be in a scene together in the future in Will’s mind--like he’s hosting all the people he’s killed, or whose deaths he blames himself for (sorry, this thought isn’t very optimistic about Bedelia’s chances). And that reminded me a lot of Cobb with Mal. 

I’m less clear on any of this with regard to Hannibal: it’s as he says himself in “Digestivo,” it’s dangerous to get everything you ever wanted, and that’s where Hannibal finds himself at the end of TWOTL. I’m not sure where that will take him after, though Hugh being convinced that Hannibal would always have to fight for Will is somewhat heartening. I’ve spoken elsewhere on my preferences for where Hannibal goes in S4, but I don’t have a particular sense of anything for him that comes from either Inception or Angel Heart. He’s more likely to be the devil than Will is, and he’s more likely to be compared to Mal. I could see scenarios that would cast him as Cobb, I suppose, but nothing concrete. 

I wrote a lot here to say that I don’t have much to say, but the truth is that I think we should be skeptical about taking anything Bryan says that sounds like an elevator pitch too literally.   

#hannibal meta #hannibal lecter #will graham #bryan fuller #s4 speculations #inception #angel heart #anonymous #bear answers #season 1 #season 2 #season 3 #not gonna tag the individual eps on this one i don't think

[everlarkficexchange]

Clash

Hey! This is my submission for @everlarkficexchange Spring Time Edition! I plan on making this a multi-chapter fic. After doing research, this is my own twist on the show I hope everyone enjoys!

Clash by @peetazeus 

@katnissdoesnotfollowback thank you so much for the amazing prompt! Hope you enjoy :)

Prompt 20: The Amazing Race AU where Katniss & Gale are teammates, Peeta & Madge or Delly are one of the other teams. They’re neck and neck in the contest, but Peeta & his partner are having more fun because hotheads Katniss & Gale keep fighting/are too competitive. New challenge! Switch partners. What happens next?

Rating: M

Warnings: Minor Violence and swearing. 

The Amazing Race contestant interviews, week 10. Presented by Effie Trinket.

“Effie, you’re on in 10.”

Effie Trinket finished putting on her neon pink lipstick and smacked her lips together, “Away, away,” She said, her hand waving in the air as she pushed up her coral pink curled hair.

It was showtime.

She stood in front of the camera which Pollux, head cameraman of the camera crew, was holding and she watched his hand as his fingers counted down until his last one dropped.

Shoulders back, chin up, chest out.

It’s time to shine.

“Oh, Welcome welcome! Welcome to the 74th Annual Amazing Race Games. Now, we have our chosen players of 24 and sadly, on this journey, we have watched them fail and fall. We are down to our final 10 players and if you think it couldn’t possibly get any more interesting, you’re wrong!”

Cue her high pitched laugh and shaking of her head, trying to look as if she was enjoying herself in this soul crushing job. She could already smell her gin martini waiting for her to drown out the pain of traipsing around the country after a bunch of hooligans completing mind numbing challenges.

If you had asked her a few years ago if she would ever end up here, she would have laughed in your face. A job presenting a television show for people running around the country like hungry animals completing challenges and competing for a prize of one million dollars? But, sadly, this was all she could get. It wasn’t the worst, it was a show airing on one of the biggest television networks right now but it still was nothing compared to her anchorwoman dreams.

She should be as news presenter on CNN, not some crappy reality show for nobodies.

“So, our final teams of two will be facing their most challenging days yet. They will travel across countries completing challenging tasks in land, in water-even the air!” She spoke in her high pitched false enthusiastic voice towards the camera as they began to walk across the line of the teams, getting them into the shot.

“And here’s one of our teams!” Effie said, grabbing the microphone one of the assistants handed her and shoving it in the twin brother and sister’s faces. “So, Johanna and Finnick, how are you two feeling about the competition? High hopes to win the big prize?”

“What else would be here for?” Johanna responded bluntly glaring at Effie and then into the camera. Effie didn’t like this Johanna girl one bit. Her sense of style was mournful and her hair, well the lack of it, was truly tragic. Her tight pixie cut with strands of faded red badly framed her small face with deep cheekbones that needed a lot of blush and did nothing for her sharp jaw line.

“I think what Jo means is,” Finnick cut in with his pearly white grin, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and looking at the camera. “That we’re really looking forward to the rest of the competition. We’ve been having the time of our lives and we really hope to take home the prize money.”

The Odair twins were quite the popular pair. So far, the audience of the show really liked them, Finnick particularly stood out to the population who loved to stare at a pretty face. He was handsome with his soft bronze hair, tanned skin and sea green eyes.

Not to mention he could charm anyone with a pulse.

Johanna stood out too. Feedback the show received from viewers, mainly comments on social media showed they either loved her or hated her. She was hostile towards everyone and the camera except to her brother. She had shown how she was determined, intelligent and strong. The twins wanted the money to set up their own fitness and adventure centre.

“Oh, how sweet,” Effie said, swooning slightly and blushing slightly as she laughed with Finnick. No one was immune to his charms. Momentarily forgetting they were on camera, she quickly adjusted herself and nodded. “Well, I wish you all the best. Now! Next!”

Effie charged down the line of the competitors, trying to pick out who to interview next. Ugh, not Cato and Clove. They were as dull as a block of wood and incredibly vain, and the only person Effie liked to hear someone talk about was herself. Ooh, she knew who she wanted to interview.

“If it isn’t our darling friend duo from the South! Peeta Mellark and Madge Undersee! How do you two feel to have made it to the top ten? Excited? Worried? Discovering more about each other, possibly unexplored feelings?”

“Um,” Madge said, looking uncomfortable and glancing at the microphone in front of her mouth, then at Effie and then at the camera inches from her face, invading her personal space. She nervously pushed a strand of her mouse brown hair behind her ear, forming a wide smile. “We’re so grateful to have made it this far on this wonderful opportunity. We’re having the time of our lives and this has all been so much fun, especially with Peeta. Hi back to our friends, families and everyone back home!”

Peeta and Madge were a good pair on the show. Nothing too exciting, but their friendship was admirable. They were a great team from a small town, best friends since they were four. They worked well together and out of all the teams, they were definitely having the most fun. There was nothing but laughter and smiling for them in the show so far. And they were doing pretty well, too.

“How about you, Peeta?”

Peeta Mellark was someone who was incredibly hard not to like. Looks-wise too. He had a soft look to him, but it worked. His stunning baby blue eyes, muscular build and sharp jawline certainly worked for him. He was very popular amongst the female viewers. His kind personality , fierce determination and bravery so far had made him stand out and he made it very hard for anyone watching not to root for him and Madge.

They were simply adorable and Effie was convinced they had a little romance going on. If she couldn’t get the latest breaking news scoop, this was all she had to stir up/

“This experience has been incredible,” He said, smiling softly into the camera but it was a shy smile. “We’ve been having the time of our lives. I’ve gotten to compete in these insane challenges, having the time of my life with my best friend and we’ve gotten this far. I hope we’ll get to the final and win. Well, we’re definitely going to work our hardest to get there.”

Effie had to stop herself from physically swooning.

“Oh, and you will! Good luck you two,” Effie said, smiling widely at the pair but pointedly in Peeta’s direction, quickly hugging Peeta who was momentarily taken back but hugged her back.

Who wouldn’t take the opportunity to hug Peeta Mellark?

Effie briskly turned around and walked away from the rest of the competitors.

“Well, that’s all from our contestants. Soon, the challenge begins and we’ll see who really is cut out to win the amazing race. This is Effie Trinket and we’ll see you next time!”

The camera went down but Cressida, one of the set directors frowned and turned to Effie. “Should we not interview another one of the competitors? What about Everdeen and Hawthorne? We need more. They’re interesting. Viewers have taken to them.”

“No, not Katniss and Gale,” Effie said, making a distasteful face and shaking her head. “I am not having her use my microphone to hit him with again and him spewing his foul language. Now, Sheila! Where’s my ice tea!?”

—————————————————————————————–

Snow Headquarters, staff meeting, week 9.

“No, let me do it!” Katniss snapped, pushing her sleeves up as she reached into the hole of the glass dome to grab the envelope in the middle of it. They were in the middle of a challenge in episode two, in the middle of a museum to get their next clue. “You’ve done enough. We’re already behind because you drove us at a snail’s pace to get here.”

“I drove because you’re a shit driver,” Gale snapped, pushing her out of the way and fighting to get his muscular arm into the dome beside hers to grab the envelope. “And you’re trying controlling everything! It’s driving me insane.”

Katniss kicked him in the shin and shoved him out of the way since he was too strong to push, and grabbed the envelope, “Let’s leave the reading to the people who are competant,” She replied snarkily, beginning to rip it open and walk before Gale snatched it out of her hands.

“Hahaha, my name’s Katniss Everdeen and I’m sooooo hilarious. I sometimes can appear human when I’m not being an controlling robot. And joke’s on you. I’m a year older than you so I learned how to read before you did. Dipshit.” He snapped, pulling out the letter which Katniss snatched out of his hands again and they engaged in a tug of war until it tore completely through the middle.

“Look what you did!” She shrieked, shaking her head in disbelief as she shoved his chest, dropping to her knees on the floor and trying to piece it back together. “You are such a piece of shit.”

“You need to get into your head there’s no I in team, Katniss.” Gale growled, putting his hands up in defeat and letting her piece back the letter to try read it.

“Oh really, that cliche crap?” Katniss laughed, almost manically as she scanned the letter quickly after piecing it back together. “Well, there’s a U in C-”

“Alright.” With a click on the remote, the flat screen turned off on the wall and the clip disappeared.

“They’re a problem, sir.” Plutarch Heavensbee said to the two men and women, cracking his jaw and running a hand through his damp grey-blonde hair. He was named the new director of the show last year after the previous director, Seneca Crane, was fired after incredibly low ratings and an incident on the show.

Seneca strangely disappeared afterwards.

Plutarch’s new responsibilities were choosing the contestants, organising the challenges and picking the locations of the show and putting all the episodes together.

They were called into a meeting by Snow after certains remarks about a particular team, Katniss and Gale, were made. It was evident they weren’t working well together. The pair were childhood friends who had entered the competition to win the prize money to support their families after both losing their fathers in a tragic oil rig accident years ago and to put themselves through college. Their story was the most heartfelt but there was nothing heartfelt between them.

Plutarch was under severe pressure to make this season of the Amazing Race an unforgettable one and nothing could damage these high stakes. Especially two competitive teenagers who couldn’t stop fighting for five minutes. It was damaging the ratings and the audience weren’t responding well to the constant bickering. It happened so much, they had lost their entertaining spark.

“Obviously.” Cornelius Snow remarked, his voice slightly stale as he gazed up at the clip of Katniss and Gale arguing on the plasma screen. Snow was a renowned billionaire, owner of the show and many others, television networks and movie plots- the man ruled the entertainment industry. “What is the proposed solution?”

“Swap the pretty Peeta boy for the tall one, pairing Peeta with the angry girl. Little mister sunshine and Rosemary’s baby will click. Make it a new challenge. The crowd will love it. You’re giving them exactly what they want,” Haymitch suggested, taking a metal flask out of his worn coat pocket and taking a swig. Haymitch Abernathy was the coordinator and trained for the teams and a fan of anything involving alcohol.

“And what is that?” Snow challenged, tuning to look at Haymitch and curling his upper slightly in distaste. It could be because of Haymitch’s odour or the stench of the alcoholic spirits, probably both. Snow didn’t take to people anyway.

Haymitch took another swig of his flask, looking extremely amused with a dopey smile. “A love story to root for. Have you not seen those googly eyes on lover boy every time he’s near Katniss Everdeen? The boy’s crush couldn’t be more obvious. And she’s been giving him the side eye a lot too and glaring at his best friend. It’s gold. We’ll partner them up and tell them to love it up. They’ll have a high chance of winning too. Individually, they’re both the more skillful of their duos.”

“And,” Plutarch said, putting his glasses on hastily and reading through the files in front of him. “They’re both in the top 3 teams at the moment, alternating between first and second with Johanna and Finnick closely in third and Cato and Clove in fourth.”

“You know,” Alma Coin said slowly, glancing at the three men in front of her. Alma was in charge of production and handled the cameras, the network, the editing and airing of the episodes and the audience feedback. “I never thought I would say this but Haymitch could have a point. There’s too much conflict between Katniss and Gale. But a love story-that would get the crowd going. People are weak for a love story. Especially involving teenagers. That would raise the ratings through the roof.”

Plutarch glanced between them and then back to Snow, whose hands were clasped and he facial expression was stone cold. Had they sold the idea? He was desperately trying to impress Snow and he was running out of options.

Snow was very hard to read.

Plutarch couldn’t really tell what he was ever thinking, the man only had two facial expressions and the other one was a satanic smirk that made its guest appearances when he was making someone’s life miserable.

Which was pretty frequent.

“Alright,” Snow said, pushing out his chair and standing up, slowly walking over to the large glass window and staring out of it. He was a tall man who wore suits in pristine condition, always with a pocket watch and his slicked back grey hair and matching beard neatly cut.

“I’ll allow it. Pair up the boy and the girl. This show will have the highest ratings this year, win me awards and this love story you speak of will happen. But,” Snow warned, walking towards the glass door and opening it, pausing. “You have to convince me it’s real. If you want to keep your jobs and your lifestyle, that is.”

The three of them watched him leave and sat in silence, Snow’s threat left hanging in the air until Haymitch took a small bottle of vodka out of his coat with a wide grin. He leaned over the table to grab three glasses and filled them half full. The clip of Katniss punching Gale on the screen played followed by one of Peeta and Madge hugging.

He wasn’t one to share his alcohol but this seemed to be a special occasion. They had to sell a love story.

“Well,” He said with a comedic grin, raising his glass with a shaky hand and looked at the two worried faces in front of him. “Let the Games begin.”

—————————————————————————————–

The Amazing Race Headquarters, week 10.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Have a little faith, Alma.” Plutarch murmured, gazing through the one sided view glass that they could only see through, the other side just seeing glass.

“This is Haymitch we’re talking about, the man doesn’t take anything seriously unless it has ice or a lime in it.”

Plutarch half smiled, sighing as he leaned back in his chair and lifted up the stacks of files and then let them fall back onto the desk. “I could really do with one of those.”

“Don’t we all,” Alma murmured, covering her face with her hands. “Trusting our careers in the hands of Haymitch Abernathy. I guess hell has finally frozen over.”

“That’s just the air conditioning,” Plutarch said, shrugging slightly and flattening out the collar of his blazer. “Snow likes everything cold.”

Alma snorted quietly, still looking through the glass at the man with the boy and the girl. “That’s ironic.”

Plutarch waved his hand slightly to quieten her as Haymitch started talking.

“There’s been an alteration,” Haymitch said, his hands joined on the steel table which Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were sitting at opposite him.

“With what?” Katniss demanded, her fingertips tapping on the counter impatiently. She had her usual scowl planted on her face, her eyes staring intently at Haymitch. They had been called in about an hour ago with no explanation, in which her and Peeta had sat in a awkward silence except for the occasional creak from the metal chairs before Haymitch came in.

Haymitch chuckled slightly, turning his head to nod at her, his head slowly moving up and down. “I was about to get to that, sweetheart. You and Peter-”

“Peeta,” Both Katniss and Peeta corrected simultaneously, her expression more annoyed than his. Peeta turned to look at her, giving her a small smile and Katniss gave a half one back.

“Are going to be a team for the rest of the competition,” Haymitch continued and again, they both interrupted. “What?”

“No way!” Peeta objected louder, looking quite startled and he even rose slightly from his chair. “Why? What,” He stuttered slightly, “What about Madge?”

Katniss’ scowl was now directed at Peeta, her arms crossed across her chest and she looked offended. Haymitch just looked plain amused.

“Your teammates are going to be paired up like you two are and you will complete the rest of the competition together,” Haymitch explained, pushing two separate contracts in front of them. “Blah blah blah, you signed these so you have to whatever we say or you’re out. You get the drill,” He said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his steel flask, taking a swig.

“I don’t want a new partner, this is a joke.” Katniss slammed the contract down on the table and stood up, angry, her chair falling over as she turned her back to them. “Why the hell is this even happening? Is it happening to anyone else? This is bullshit!”

Haymitch shrugged slightly and made a gesture towards Katniss saying she was the reason and Peeta shook his head, giving Haymitch a look of warning saying ‘Don’t do it, dude.’

“Well, you and your partner don’t have the best track record, sweetheart. Neither does your temper,” Haymitch said, shrugging again. “The show feels as if Peeta would be a better influence on you,” He continued, going to take another sip and Peeta’s arm went out just as Katniss lunged forward.

“Let’s just chill,” Peeta said, glancing at the both of them and shaking his head. “Chill for a second.”

Haymitch stood up, clapping his hands slightly before he gathered up the papers on the table and slipped his flask back inside his jacket.

“Get off me. He’s no angel either,” Katniss said, pushing away Peeta’s arm and stepping back. “Him and his little girlfriend are so boring Gale and I are being punished for it? I don’t want to be his teammate. That wasn’t the deal I signed.”

Peeta made a noise and dropped his arms entirely, his eyebrows raising briefly and he pursed his lips as he if was making a decision to say something or to not say it. “No, Madge and I are being punished because you and your giant boyfriend can’t keep your anger issues in your pants for five minutes. Even for television. Or maybe you just like the attention?”

“Well well well,” Katniss jived, her laugh having a high pitch to it as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Nice boy finally unmasks his true self.”

Peeta rolled his eyes, “Well, you’ve already revealed your true self. But who knew you could be even more of a bitch?”

“At least I’m not a fake one,” She snapped back, her fingernails in her fist piercing her skin.

“Please, I see right through your little angry girl act,” Peeta snapped back, his shoulders back as he stood up straight but he stayed on the other side of the room, not moving an inch. “As pathetic as it is.”

“Shut your mouth,” Katniss said, her arms shaking as she lifted one of them up.

“What are you going to do, hit me?” Peeta taunted, laughing darkly and he knew exactly what he was doing. Provoking her. “Is that what they taught you to do wherever you’re from?”

“Maybe I will. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I don’t damage your pretty little face. I know how much you rely on it to hide all your insecurities so people actually like you. Say, does that work back home or?”

Peeta snarled, “Just make sure you hit the first time.”

“Children, children.” Haymitch said, leaping on his tippy toes to get in between them and taking a moment to regain his balance. “If I were you two, I’d learn to get along.”

They were both still breathing heavily from the scene that had just rapidly unraveled, and neither of them really knew how. They had barely interacted before this and now they were barking viciously at each other like two wild dogs.

“The audience loves a good show,” Haymitch reminded them, and Katniss grabbed her coat off the table and stormed out of the room quickly, raising her middle finger behind her back before slamming the door behind her, her brown hair disappearing around the corner.

“Well,” Haymitch said, putting a hand on Peeta’s shoulder which he angrily shoved off. “May the odds be ever in your favour with that one, boy.”

“Fuck you,” Peeta spat, grabbing his coat and followed right behind Katniss, except he turned the other way.

“Fair enough,” Haymitch decided, leaving the room and walking right back into where Alma and Plutarch were, putting everything on the desk in front of the glass. He took a seat, putting his feet up on the desk and reached in for his flask.

“What the hell did you just do?” Plutarch asked, his mouth hanging open as he stared at where the scene had just taken place with a hopeless look.

“Oh come on,” Haymitch said, smirking at the pair as he downed the rest of the contents in his flask. “I just created reality television’s best love story.”

“They despise each other,” Alma said bluntly, staring at him with an incredulous look.

Haymitch raised his flask, his smirk never leaving his lips.

“Exactly.”

#Everlark Fic Exchange #Springtime Edition 2017 #submission #peetazeuz #katnissdoesnotfollowback #prompt 20

[legendofgrump]

Talk bout dem OCs, drop your rant. Wanna hear their stories yo

omg who are you because you just flattered me hardcore. Ahh I’ll put them under a cut so I don’t make everyone hate me with non-fandom stuff. And if you wanna ask more questions or anything, I have a blog specifically for talking about my OCs which is @meme-team-adventures​ !!! (But also if you don’t that’s cool too, I know not everyone is into that ahhh I’m rambling already). Anyway!! 

Most of them have rp/ask blogs which I’ll also link to when I mention them if you’re Really into it for some reason, but I haven’t done anything with any in a while and some of them might be kinda bare.

ANYWAY (part 2)

@confused-snail which actually just used to be my personal blog (and also my main blog goddammit) turned into an rp blog for a self-insert. So Snail is a 29 year old freelance artist. They’re nonbinary/demiboy who got bottom surgery so they could have a dick and sometimes they still get dysphoria over their chest (which they will one day get the surgery to remove) but they’re generally okay with how they look! They’re very aggressive and abrasive and also very controlling. They have the hardest time giving other people control because they kinda use it to avoid getting hurt like they did in a past relationship. Anyway they’re a pretty big meme most of the time. They love eating, sleeping, and they’re always down for some sex, especially with their boyfriend Daniel, but they exclusively top as part of their constant need to be in control. They get irritated kind of easily if you push the right buttons, but are generally pretty lazy/laid back and chill. They LOVE to laugh at stupid memes and stuff. And they also have pretty cool piercings and kind of lowkey wanna get a tattoo but they’re not really sure of what. They got a degree in art, though their grades were pretty bad because they weren’t in a good place during college, but they did graduate which they’re really proud of!

@death-and-fireflies I don’t know if he really counts as an OC but he might as well haha. But basically I had this Grump AU where everything was basically the same except that Dan was an immortal harbinger of lost souls that manifested in the form of fireflies. He’s blind, but his eyes glow really bright yellow (just like the fireflies that float around his head) and he’s lived on his own kind of nomadically for the longest time. He’s generally quiet and reserved and a little shy because he deals a lot with the dead and usually the living don’t want much to do with him, but he’s also really thoughtful and a little philosophical and very kind! He cares very much for the souls that he’s destined to take care of and his entire life purpose is to help them move on and get whatever unfinished business they have out of the way so they can finally find peace. He currently has a boyfriend named Kenry and a (basically) adopted daughter named Alice who kind of help him live his life without all the constant anxiety and hopelessness that comes with dealing constantly with the dead and some very talkative souls.

@wolf-in-sarcasms-clothing Marianne is a monster girl who kind of resembles a spider? I mean not technically because...not at all. But we call her a spider/bug babe so just roll with it. But she has four arms and one eye and very sharp teeth. And also she eats humans. Funny, right? She used to live in a heavily secluded cave system with the rest of her kind, where they were apart from humanity and only hunted wild animals and that worked. But then a companion that Marianne had used and manipulated her until she got so angry and felt so betrayed that she ate them and got kicked out of her clan and banished from the caves. So she kind of wandered into the human world until she stumbled across Daniyal and (separately) Kenry, who both kind of took her in despite her threatening to eat both of them at first meeting. She loves physical affection (pets, hair playing, scritches) and once given this affection, she’s much more like a big, dumb doggo that likes to play and cuddle and is basically a six foot tall lap dog.

@flirtbot3000 Originally spawned because I kept sending all of my friends’ muses/rp blogs flirts and pick up lines, so I just made a character for it. Andy is a pleasure bot designed for platonic, romantic, and sexual affection depending on the desires of the person they’re with at the time. Though most often they just end up having sex haha. But they’re a cute android that is extremely compliant and loves to please whoever they’re with and they legitimately also just enjoy having sex in general. They’ve done a lot of things in their life, such as being a pinup girl, modeling for magazines and fashion lines, and just straight up doing porn, and they enjoyed it all! But then they also accidentally fell in love with an interdimensional farm boy named Daniyal who accidentally turned them human when they had sex and then had sex with them again and turned them back into an android. But they love him regardless and the two are very happy together and it’s really pure and cute.

@of-bats-and-lovers (This one kind of links to two OCs but I’ll explain that hold on to your pants.) Beauregard (or just Bo is fine) is a bat boy that is rich as hell and lives for parties and meeting people. His biggest goal in life is to find his One and Only true love darling. But it’s kind of difficult because he had this person and then he lost her and just can’t seem to get over her. All of his riches came from when he was a thief and criminal with his true love, so they’re all stolen or at least not legally obtained. But, y’know, he keeps that under wraps. He likes partying and drinking (he’s kind of a heavyweight, but that doesn’t stop him from getting buzzed) and just generally having a good time. He’ll “fall in love” with anyone that gives him a smile or says something nice and then will fall out of love the morning after and go into a bit of a depressed mood that he’ll cheer himself up from by going to a party. (And thus the cycle continues.)

Esky is the Bonnie to Bo’s Clyde and the love that Bo lost to a big stand off with police and a well-aimed bullet. Or at least, that’s kind of what he thinks. Esky was shot and declared dead, but actually, y’know, wasn’t. So when she woke up in the morgue, very confused and alone, she made her escape and went on the run so as not to get caught and actually killed. She heard that Bo was also declared dead (which wasn’t true at all. He escaped and the media declared it because they didn’t want people to panic that this great criminal was still on the run) so she focused on getting herself to safety. The two have kind of been looking for each other ever sense, but also at the same time thinking that the other is dead so the search is fruitless.

@interstellar-superstar Venus is an alien from an unspecified location is space that came to earth and became an international pop star. She sings really well and is a positive and peppy girl, so the people adore her. But it also kind of taxes her because she has to hide the fact that she’s not from earth for fear of the government taking her and experimenting on her or at the very least, locking her up. She has a third eye and her skin is actually bright yellow, but luckily she can cover the eye with her hair and the general public believes that the yellow skin is just extreme dedication and a lot of body paint. So for the most part she’s okay, but there’s always a bit of stress with interviewers finding out about her true home. She’s also very easily confused about basic earth culture because she’s a sheltered celebrity and kind of fell into stardom from the moment she came to earth. So she has no idea what things like french fries are. Or memes. Or anything of the sort. And she also has no idea about basic geography, so she’ll just spout out random locations whenever someone asks her where she’s from. And the answer is always different. It’s adorable. She’s currently in a poly relationship with two cuties, Charlie and Avery, and she loves them both very dearly.

The next three are all from @here-queer-full-of-cheer and they’re all friends and roommates. They’re also all in a poly relationship with Danny Sexbang called polybang or Sexbang’s Angels so just that’s great too.

Nikki is a laid back guitarist that dropped out of high school to pursue a music career with her band. They’re semi-successful, at least locally, but they’re really trying to make it in the big time. She’s desperate to make this all work out because she wants dropping out of high school and never going to college to be worth it, especially since it kind of disappointed her family and makes her look bad to a lot of dumb soccer moms that need her to know their opinions. She loves music more than anything. Listening, writing, performing, she loves the whole process and always gives it the full attention it deserves. She’ll block off entire chunks of time just to listen to a new album, laying on her bed with her eyes closed in the dark just so she can full appreciate it.

Bailey is a nonbinary artist with a degree in specifically Color Theory. They love painting, especially with oil and acrylic, and uses big dramatic colors and shapes. They’re actually really good at realism, though they mostly paint scenes and locations, rather than like portraits or anything. (Not to say they wouldn’t paint those things, though.) They’re also really into the abstract and are currently experimenting with that. Also! They’re really bubbly and sweet and friendly, especially with small children. They love supporting their friends and just being chipper and happy in general. Also they have the raddest bright pink hair with a partly shaved blonde half and it’s really cool okay.

Megan is kinda cold and calculating and currently working on her PhD in physics. She puts a lot of pressure on herself and her academics and tells herself that she has to spend most of her life studying/working if she wants to get the grades she wants and graduate. A lot of the time she puts her health to the side in favor of studying and will go too long without eating or sleeping because of an essay. But she’s really passionate about what she’s doing and loves every second of the knowledge she gains. She’s a little rough at showing affection and generally has a hard time saying it in person. A lot of the time, if she has something important or generally sappy to say, she’ll write it down in one of her many, many journals that she uses as a diary/vent place, and then show it to the person she has to say the thing to, because she finds it easier to get her thoughts down on paper than to say them. But she does feel love deep in her cold, cold heart haha. Also she’s super kinky ;)

@cookie-dough-boy is a little trans sheepie boy named Cookie. He’s very soft and chubby, but also extremely full of anxiety and self-doubt. He cares about his friends more than himself and will put them before himself no matter what. He’s a total momma’s boy that will constantly call and check on his mom or visit her just to see how she’s doing and he loves her more than anything else in the world. She taught him like all of the recipes he knows and basically how to be an adult in general and he’s so grateful for her. He’s a little coffee shop barista and kind of hates his job because he works with pricks, but the customers are usually pretty nice to him, which makes it kind of worth it. Plus he gets paid, so. And he’s dating a very edgy, 2cool4me guy named Mortar who you would not expect to actually be involved with him at all but it’s really cute and they’re soft together it’s great.

The last three have no blogs because they’re pretty new OCs, but descriptions anyway!

Blythe: She’s the goddess of deception and also a beautiful trans prankster that loves fucking with mortals in little, inconvenient ways, like enchanting underwear drawers not to open or making arcade cabinets shoot out quarters. She’s generally pretty chill and likes humans well enough, but she still has a Goddess Complex where she kind of feels like she’s above them just in general. But she treats them fine, she just gets a little arrogant sometimes. Also she’ll do humans favors like try to talk them into Valhalla and stuff because she knows all the gods and goddesses and has cool connections so why not. She’s immortal and has really big, cool wings, that are even taller than her own six foot self like wow she’s got a massive wingspan.

Cleona: She’s a smol chubby mechanic girl that loves tinkering with tech and being a general dork. She likes reverse engineering things and figuring out how they work and go back together, but she’s also a bit messy and sometimes the things she’s taken apart can’t get put back together because she lost pieces/they got mixed in with another thing that needs to be put back together. She’s very very gay and also super friendly and chill in general. Also she wears these really big, clunky combat boots that are way to big for her smol feets because she wants to be taller. But they don’t fit her like at all, and there’s a running gag that she just always has asinine bullshit shoved insider her boots.

Maxim: Asshole. 100% irredeemable fuckhead. The personification of anxiety, basically, that will universally fuck with you until you no longer want to live on this planet. He’s a piece of shit that does it just for the hell of it. He’s also from the world behind mirrors that’s a reflection of the Real World (I’m sure you’ve heard this trope before lol). He can put his voice into people’s heads and fuck with them from there until they feel like they’re going insane from all the insecurity he’s putting in their heads and whatnot. And he’s just...the actual worst. He has no redeeming qualities. He’s an immortal demon boy that gets a kick out of making people’s lives horrible. Also he really likes hot pockets.

#my ocs #long post #i'm so sorry about all this rambling #please go to the other blog if you wanna ask more questions or something #haha sorry about all this~ #anon #ask

[oselatra]

See yourself in the 'Delta'

Where art is about what we share.

Take a deep breath, Arkansas Times readers, and relax. This is not a harangue about our prevaricating president, though he certainly deserves one, or a story about the piteous state of Arkansas's political minds.

It's about art, which is something we can all come together over, or at least view together. Rare is the gallery fistfight: Should Jackson Pollock's splatters hang next to Margaret Keane's sappy big-eyed girls, fans of both would not come to blows. They wouldn't even Tweet.

[content-1]

In fact, we dare to say that for whatever courtesy is left in Arkansas we can thank the arts, and the Arkansas Arts Center's "Delta Exhibition," the juried show of works by regional artists that is now in its 60th year, is a big piece of that. Conceptual pieces that prompt as much head-scratching as admiration — always a feature of the "Delta" — get gracious receptions. See much in the way of gracious behavior outside a gallery these days? John Salvest's American flag (1994), made of matches tipped red, white and blue and packed into an explosives box, did not provoke a shouting match. Nobody suggested our moral fabric had gone to hell when examining Pat Larsen's sculpture that blew the viewer's skirt up if she got too close (and was wearing a skirt, 1997). Here, showing side by side in the Arts Center's galleries, have been Ginger Feland's live snails munching on a head of cabbage next to Warren Criswell's narrative painting of a woman carrying a naked man (1995), and still folks sang "Kumbaya." The 1990s, of course, were a happier time, but the 3D work in the 2018 exhibition — including a deflating and inflating 8-foot-tall faux fur bear — had no one Googling "how to emigrate to Canada."

Therefore, with the nation descending into us vs. them, this writer's recommendation is that people grab their worst enemy and head to the "Delta," for there is a place where you'll hold hands in awe of such works as "The Messengers," Marjorie Williams-Smith's copperpoint, aluminum point and conte crayon self-portrait with roses, and find common ground looking at Milly West's photograph of a White River bridge in fog.

Sixty years of peaceful relations, thanks to art.

***

As a show of regional work, the "Delta" has a welcoming intimacy, said retired registrar and Arts Center institution Thom Hall, and that makes it hugely popular to gallery-goers whether they can put a name on what they're seeing — New York School? Figurative expressionism? — or not. The work on the walls or on the floor or hanging overhead is made by people visitors to the show know, or have met, or with whom they share a cultural language. The exhibition "gives people immense permission to have an opinion" about what they're seeing, Hall said. Even if it's a Tim Hursley photograph of a two-headed calf (2016), they feel secure that they can say whether it's art or not. That's not always the case; it's that fear of "not getting" art that keeps some people away from museums.

Since 1958, the "Delta" has allowed artists in Arkansas and its contiguous states (and a few outliers) a chance to put their work before such big-name art critics as The New York Times' John Canaday (1970) and Grace Glueck (1986) and The New Criterion's Hilton Kramer (1982), and artists like Will Barnet (1974), Robert Gwathmey (1979), Graham Nickson (2000), Alison Saar (2001), and James Surls (2007). It has allowed the big-city folk to see that art is, in fact, being made between the coasts.

Three jurors waded through the record 1,424 entries to the "Delta" this year: Brian Young, gallery director at the University of Central Arkansas; Les Christensen, an artist and director of the Bradbury Art Museum at Arkansas State University; and Shea Hembrey, a native of Hickory Grove and a conceptual artist whose 2011 creation, "seek," a "biennial" of 100 works of art by 100 artists, all of whom were actually Hembrey, won him acclaim and a TED Talk appearance. The three winnowed the huge number down to 52 works made by 46 artists.

Conceptual art takes a backseat to more traditional work in this year's show. The conservative nature of the entries — a lot of portraiture and landscapes — was a surprise to the jurors, who expected to see more new media. Only three videos, for example, were entered.

As a result, Christensen said, this year's show "might be a show that would appeal to people who don't normally look at art, because it has a lot of work that is so traditional, accessible."

Perhaps the domination of landscape entries — making up as much as three-fourths of works submitted for judging — shouldn't have been a surprise, Hembrey observed, because of the region's natural beauty. "That really came across," he said. Young, formerly a curator at the Arts Center for several years, noted that work in the "Delta" continues to draw from the essence of place, though artists now are more traveled and, thanks to social media, aware of how their contemporaries on the east and west coasts are working.

Young particularly noted Hursley's work in the show, "Pine Bluff Mortuary" and "Comet Rice, Stuttgart, Arkansas," as proof of the continued aesthetic of regionality. Though Hursley is known internationally for his photography, from his work at the Museum of Modern Art, Andy Warhol's Factory and the brothels of Nevada, his work brings the Delta to the "Delta." "Tim Hursley embodies what the 'Delta' is about," Young said.

Hursley is not the only artist widely appreciated. Large-scale charcoal artist David Bailin, painter Criswell, woodworker Robyn Horn, photojournalist Benjamin Krain, printmaker and drawing master Aj Smith, and metalpoint artist Williams-Smith, to name just a few, exhibit nationally. But they still choose to compete for a spot in the "Delta."

There are strong installation pieces, but the strength of the 2018 "Delta" lies in two dimensions. Jurors noted the aforementioned self-portrait by Williams-Smith ("world class in technique" and the artist being "as good as it gets," juror Hembrey said) and described Aj Smith's large graphite portrait of a weathered woman, "Faces of the Delta: Geraldine," and Donna Pinckley's photographs of interracial couples — two men in one, a family in the other, titled with the insults they've received — as genre standouts (quintessential "Delta" portraiture, Young said). Hembrey was happy to see such psychologically challenging works as "Sticks and Stones," Anais Dasse's large oil-and-ink on paper of children dressed in a kind of weird camouflage tangling with fierce wolves, and Melissa Cowper-Smith's entrancing "Unremember" video in which paintings devolve into photographs and back again, the denouement an enormous fire. ("Sticks and Stones" won a Delta Award; this writer is sure that "Unremember" deserved one.)

A diplomatic Christianson declined to cite a favorite, saying only that she was "really impressed by and surprised by the number and quality of figurative and portrait pieces submitted."

This writer is under no such constraints, and would have given awards to Criswell for his oil "Eat Now (Again)," a scene of two hands poised over a plate of spaghetti with crows flying above — a work with two tops that can be hung both ways. Loren Bartnicke's meaty abstraction, an impasto creation with cactus leaves and drooping figures, was another work overlooked by the judges (at least this go-round, for all three stressed that their award selections could have been very different at another time, thanks to the vagaries of mood and current events). Spencer Purinton's "Peripatetic Terrine," in which hard-edge, hot-pink shards and blue feather shapes spill against a black background, is one of those works that bring you back for second and third looks.

But while the "Delta" may be shy on what you'll find in New York — none of the artists is sitting in the middle of the gallery and inviting visitors to sit silently before them, as Marina Abramovic did at the MoMA in 2010, nor are the rooms covered in Yayoi Kusama's polka dots — there are several worthy 3D pieces among the portraits and landscapes. With the exception of Max Adrian's "Solo: The Furry Divine of Fearsome Desires," that inflating bear of leather and fur, they are a bit more constrained than the conceptual pieces of earlier "Delta" shows, such as Jean Flint's stretched-acrylic mimicking flesh hanging from a steel rod ("Evidence of Passage," 1994), less incendiary as John Salvest's match-tip flag ("Flag," 1994) and less eyebrow-raising than Ginger Feland's aforementioned snail/cabbage work. But it's good work by artists the Times has not written much about before. Check out the work by the following:

James Matthews

A viewer might look at "Eviction Quilt No. 3, Green Medallion" and think of it simply as something to keep him warm. It's plain, made of rectangles and squares of denim and gray and green pieces of cloth, tied with knots rather than stitched together.

But there's a backstory to "Eviction Quilt," as its name suggests, and that makes all the difference. Matthews, the director of communication for the Episcopal Diocese of Arkansas, has for the past three years created quilts from clothing tossed to the street after an eviction. "There are lots of evictions in Little Rock," Matthews noted, thanks to Arkansas's notoriously draconic landlord laws. Yet, Matthews said, the project, which takes him to neighborhoods all over Little Rock, is more documentarian than social wake-up call. The placement of the green central square in "Eviction Quilt No. 3" recalls the green windows in a tin-roofed nightclub near where the clothes were found.

What should the quilt be called? Craft? 3D art? "To a certain extent, I don't care," Matthews said in a recent interview. As a graduate of the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University, Matthews is both observer and creator. In addition to the quilts, he has constructed and then photographed assemblages of street-side detritus. He's trying to photograph all the churches in Little Rock. He blogs about historical places. He finds inspiration in Little Rock's pockets of poverty, places that he knows many people would be shocked to discover. Matthews is drawn to such sad areas perhaps because when he first came to Little Rock — it was 2006 — he was shocked by its homicide rate. His first project was to photograph places where killings had taken place: front yards, sidewalks, parking lots. They showed the surprising banality of the locations. He made postcards from some of the photographs, as if they were tourist shots: Welcome to Little Rock!

Matthews, 42, who sews at a dining room table in the front room of his home, is working on the final quilt in the eviction series. He was a bit leery of talking about what might be his next project — his wife warned him people would think he was a bit off when they hear of it — but he agreed to drive this reporter to what he calls a "dog dump" on Maryland Avenue beneath Interstate 630 and beside a railroad track to talk about his idea. Matthews travels here every other week or so and he always finds the weeds littered with the carcasses of dogs. A collar revealed the identity of the matted fur and bones of one deceased animal we saw on our trip. Why here? Matthews wonders. He is intrigued by the juxtaposition of the uncaring way dogs are being dumped in this place with the obliviousness of drivers speeding overhead on the interstate.

Matthews sometimes collects the skeletons and cleans them off at home. He has even collected carcasses for further decomposition in his backyard, beneath a bucket. Unfortunately his daughter, then 5, observed him at this labor, and later told some of her friends at school whose dogs had died that her dad would take them. He had to put her straight; he's not in the market for dead dogs.

Matthews won an honorable mention for his eviction quilt, which juror Young described as a perfect fit for the "Delta." Another of his quilts was also selected for the 2017 exhibition. You can see more of his work at asurplusofobjects.com.

Aaron Calvert

Henderson State University associate art professor Aaron Calvert's "Always Facing South Bear" is a cylindrical ceramic creation spelling out its title and depicting Southern-themed images. It's a departure from the older work shown on his Arkansas Arts Council's Artist Registry page: an intricately carved earthenware piece depicting a figure in a boat offering up a frog to a bundle, soda-fired cups, mugs, plates and teapots featuring stylized ants. He turned to whimsical, hand-built pieces in 2014, inspired by his love for the outdoors and the wild and a tad burned out on the wheel. "I've always been a real big surface person, whether I carved or drew ... and I wanted something really bright," Calvert, 44, said. Hence the vivid, highly saturated glaze under-painting of "Always Facing South Bear."

A native of Ohio, Calvert lived in Arkansas for several years before he realized that when someone said "Bless his heart" it was a put-down, not intercessory prayer, he told visitors to the "Delta" opening.

"Coming to the South was a bit of a culture shock," Calvert said. "Being from the North, I felt like what I was seeing was 'South,' no matter which direction I looked. ... I'm always facing 'South.'

"When I was working on the bear, that idea just kept playing over and over in my head and I ended up putting it on the bear." One of the images on the bear is what appears at first glance to be a Dixie flag, but the stars make a Y rather than an X. "However you feel about that flag, my goal as an artist was not to cram my thinking down people's throats, but just open the conversation," the artist said.

Calvert said he likes the "Delta" because the work in the show isn't nostalgic — its not all barns and chickens — but about contemporary life here, and he likes that. "The downside is there's usually not a lot of ceramics in there," he said. Jurors "can't make that mental jump from contemporary to ceramics unless it's a big, colorful bear."

Juror Young saw a bit of famed experimental ceramicist Jun Kaneko, whose high-gloss glazed and rounded cylinders were exhibited at the Arts Center in 2009, in Calvert's work. Calvert said that made a lot of sense: He is in the "lineage" of Kaneko, since the ceramicist he studied under — the iconoclastic Kirk Mangus — was a student of Kaneko's.

Calvert won an honorable mention for "Always Facing South Bear." It was his second "Delta" honorary mention; he won in 2017 with his gold-faced ceramic woman, "Giving Figure." He does not yet have a web page, but is working on it.

Dusty Mitchell

At the opening reception of the "Delta," people walked all over Dusty Mitchell's installation "Pressure," a checkerboard of square, flat black-and-white bathroom scales. Each square showed a different weight, some in pounds, some kilograms, some accurate, some way off.

Some people, however, would approach the artwork, but stop short of stepping on it. It's those people, said Mitchell, of Mountain View, that the artwork is for: those fearful of the number the scale might show, pressured to think their weight defines their identity.

Mitchell, 39, has the distinction of being the only artist in the "Delta" to have been on a Bravo reality show that, like "The Voice" and "Project Runway," put artists in competition. He watched the first season and successfully sought a place in the second, an arduous process that included waiting for hours in a line in Chicago to put his portfolio before "two kids going to graduate school at the Art Institute," being assigned an art project as another step in the application process, and having to undergo psychological and IQ tests. "It was pretty intense," he said. The show, which aired in 2011, started with 14 artists; he was in the top five. The top three got to make their own work, rather than work on assignment. "I feel like if I'd gotten to that step, I could have done some damage."

By then, the Michigan native — and now a school principal in Mountain View — had had work accepted into the "Delta" a number of times. Like "Pressure," Mitchell's work often addresses perception and societal quirks (his 2016 "Delta" appearance, "Home Sweet Home," at first glance appeared to be a cross-stitch but was actually flies placed sampler-like on stretched fly strips). He's made pointillist portraits made of crayons stacked on end; an exit sign that on closer examination says "Exist"; a bomb substituted for a globe of the earth; a flag made of toy soldiers, firefighters and policemen.

If that latter work recalls the work of John Salvest, there's a reason: Mitchell studied with the conceptual artist at Arkansas State University. He said Salvest was "the best thing that could have happened to me." In Salvest's class, Mitchell said, he learned "I can make whatever I want out of whatever I want. ... It's the opposite of abstraction."

Mitchell has two pieces in the 2018 "Delta": In addition to "Pressure" is his etched stainless steel "Diet Coke (From Trump Tweet Series)." If his messages are obvious, that's what Mitchell wants. "I have no interest in making a painting that people have no access to. I put it all out there."

Mitchell said the "Delta" was one of the first art shows he saw as a student at ASU. "That's when I first started meeting people I considered professionals, they were showing in that show. The first year I got in, that was a big deal for me."

***

One theory about why the "Delta" had a record number of entries is that anyone rejected from the show gained an automatic spot in the "Delta des Refuses" exhibition, which opens Friday, June 8, at the Butler Center. The show, in its third year, will feature the work of more than 100 artists. Read more about that show in the To-Do section of this paper.

The "Delta Exhibition" runs through Aug. 26.

See yourself in the 'Delta'

#See yourself in the 'Delta'

[newstfionline]

Are Avocados Toast?

Nathanael Johnson, Wired, May 24, 2018

Chris Sayer pushed his way through avocado branches and grasped a denuded limb. It was stained black, as if someone had ladled tar over its bark. In February, the temperature had dropped below freezing for three hours, killing the limb. The thick leaves had shriveled and fallen away, exposing the green avocados, which then burned in the sun. Sayer estimated he’d lost one out of every 20 avocados on his farm in Ventura, just 50 miles north of Los Angeles, but he counts himself lucky.

“If that freeze was one degree colder, or one hour longer, we would have had major damage,” he said.

Avocado trees start to die when the temperature falls below 28 degrees or rises above 100 degrees. If the weather turns cold and clammy during the short period in the spring when the flowers bloom, bees won’t take to the air and fruits won’t develop. The trees also die if water runs dry, or if too many salts accumulate in the soil, or if a new pest starts chewing on its leaves. “All of which is quite possible in the next few decades, as the climate shifts,” Sayer said.

The weather had been strange lately, Sayer told me. In the past year, Californians have lived through a historic drought, a massive wildfire that blotted out the sun, and a strangely warm winter followed by that unseasonable freeze. When I visited in April, his lemon trees were already loaded with ripe fruit--that usually doesn’t happen until June. “Things are screwy,” Sayer said.

From the vineyards of the north coast to the orange groves of Southern California, farmers like Sayer have been reeling from the weird weather.

“We are already suffering the effects of climate change,” said Russ Lester, who grows walnuts at Dixon Ridge Farms, east of Sacramento. “I can look out my window and see trees that don’t have a leaf on them and others that are completely leafed out.

It might feel like we’re peering into the distant future when we hear that by 2050, temperatures may very well climb 4 degrees, seas could rise a foot, and droughts and floods will become more common. But for farmers planting trees they hope will bear fruit 25 years from now, that seemingly distant future has to be reckoned with now.

A lot of the country’s tree crops grow in California, which produces two-thirds of the fruits and nuts for the United States. The same is true of grape vines, which bear abundant fruit for about 25 years (they slow down after that, but can keep going for hundreds of years). It’s in large part because so many farmers are making these long-term gambles on orchard crops that a recent scientific paper noted: “Agricultural production in California is highly sensitive to climate change.”

Jay Famiglietti, the senior water scientist at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California, goes even further: “It’s a virtual certainty that California will get drier. I don’t think it’s a climate that’s conducive to orchard crops anymore.”

In other words, for anyone trying to make money off long-lived crops, climate change is already here. And yet new saplings are pushing out of the ground all over the state.

IF THESE FARMERS were planting an annual crop, like cilantro, they’d be making a bet on the weather for the next 45 days. But they’re planting trees, which means making a bet on the next 40 years.

After years of putting it off, Sayer is about to place such a four-decade bet by planting a bunch of new avocado trees. There’s no way Sayer can foresee oncoming climate disaster, if that’s what’s hurtling toward the land his family has worked for the past 130 years in Ventura. He can see just a little bit of what might be coming--as if he’s straining to glimpse signs of danger while blinkered. When I asked him how it felt, he said: “Like I’m about to cross a very busy road with my hood pulled over my head.”

When Katherine Jarvis-Shean was a doctoral candidate researching the decline of cold winters a few years back, she thought more farmers should be freaking out. “I used to think, ‘Why aren’t you guys more worried about this? It’s going to be the end of the world.’”

After all, many fruit and nut trees require a good winter chill to bear fruit. But after spending a few years as an extension agent for the University of California--working directly with farmers and translating science into techniques they can apply on the land--she understands better. It comes down to this: Farmers have a ton of concerns, and the climate is just one of them.

“If you decide what to plant based on climate, but then can’t make the lease payment, that’s not sustainable,” Jarvis-Shean said.

If you are worried about water running out in 15 years, you might think it’s a good idea to cut down half the state’s almond groves--but if those almond trees are still putting money in your pockets, that wouldn’t make sense until the killer drought hits. That’s the crux of the matter for Sayer, and other farmers I interviewed. They’re concerned about the changing climate, but they always come up with ingenious plans to adapt to bad weather. It’s much harder for them to adapt to an overdrawn bank account.

Sayer grows mostly lemons right now, but they’re not long for this world. “You can see these lemon trees are getting a little rangy looking,” Sayer said, gesturing toward a leafless branch. “This is going to be their last harvest, then they’ve got a date with the chipper.”

Sayer knows lemons. He knows how to coddle them in old age, how to nudge them to produce more, how to keep them alive when rains fail, how to protect them from aphids and snails and scale insects and the nematodes in the ground. But this land has provided a home to a citrus orchard for 70 years, and each year more pests accumulate to suck the life from the trees. So Sayer needs to move on from lemons, and he’s settled on avocados.

From a climate perspective, the leather-skinned fruit are a risky choice. Avocado trees like their surroundings not too hot and not too cold, and they always need water. One study estimated that climate change would hurt California avocado trees so much that the state’s production could be cut in half by 2050.

As the sun burned off the marine layer of clouds over the orchard, Sayer patiently laid out the reasoning that led him to plant avocado trees. He explained that climate poses risks that are easy for outsiders to see--when you’re reading about historic droughts in the newspaper and driving past acres of withered crops, it seems crazy to plant orchards. But farmers often have to contend with other risks that outweigh the danger of bad weather. Sayers puts them into three categories: climate risk, market risk, and execution risk.

If he were only worried about climate risk, Sayer said, he’d plant prickly pear. “They would grow in any post-apocalyptic hellscape you could imagine,” he said. But who would buy them? Most Americans don’t put prickly pear on their shopping lists. So there’s a huge market risk.

Then there’s execution risk: the chance that Sayer screws things up. If he didn’t have to worry about that, Sayer might follow his neighbor’s lead and start growing annual crops. He pointed across the road from his farm, where orchards once stood, at a flat expanse of strawberries dotted with hustling pickers. There’s always an appetite for strawberries, and they’re cheap to plant, so they pose a low market risk. And because strawberries get planted every year, they’re not such a big gamble on the changing climate. If a freak storm kills everything growing in Ventura, for instance, Sayer’s neighbor would lose that year’s strawberry crop while Sayer would lose a 30-year avocado investment.

But the execution risk of switching to strawberries--figuring out how to grow them, buying the right equipment, and learning how to sell them--is too high for him. “We’re talking about years of learning,” Sayer said. “It would be like me deciding to go back to college to study medicine.” He’s 52, and not prepared to start fresh.

Sayer has one other option that would eliminate all the climate, market, and execution risks: Pave his farmland and build houses. When I visited in April, workers were constructing apartments on what used to be farmland at the end of his street. If more farmers start taking climate risks seriously, a surge of subdivisions could start sprawling across some of the most fertile farmland on the planet. But the thought of that saddens Sayer. He wants to farm.

After weighing all those risks, he decided to bet the farm on avocados. These trees are no climate savior--far from it. But Sayer been experimenting with them for decades and understands how they work. He knows he can sell avocados, because he’s tapped into a network that reserves spots for the fruit in every grocery store, and turns sunburned avocados into frozen guacamole. Also, you might have noticed the market is strong: Americans are chowing down so much avocado tonnage in new, creative ways--smoothies, toast, ice cream, you name it--that consumption has increased sevenfold since 2000.

ORCHARDS CAN ENDURE weird weather brought on by climate change, but if they don’t get any water, the trees will die. In the past, California farmers have always survived droughts by sticking deeper and deeper straws into the ground to suck up groundwater. But since 2014, the state has had a law against depleting aquifers, and farmers soon won’t be able to take out more water than goes in.

That policy alarms growers, especially since they can no longer depend on snow in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Mountains hold water--in the form of glaciers--through the colder months, then release it during the warmer months. But as the climate heats up, more of the precipitation that fell in California as snow will turn to rain. That means more floods in winter and more droughts in summer.

To adapt to this boom-and-bust cycle, a few farmers around California are letting swollen rivers spill into their orchards. If carried out on a large scale, this would slow down rushing flood waters and let them percolate into aquifers.

After four years of experimentation in almond groves, scientists have found that this inundation hasn’t hurt the trees. They’ve also identified nearly 700,000 acres under almond trees suitable for recharging groundwater, said Richard Waycott, president of the Almond Board of California. At the same time, growers continue to use less freshwater for irrigation and draw more water recycled from city drainpipes.

In another example of climate adaptation, farmers are developing a kind of hyper-local climate engineering, spraying clay dust over their trees to create shade and cool them down in unseasonably hot weather, according to David Zilberman, an economist at the University of California, Berkeley. Elsewhere, scientists have planted a pistachio orchard where no self-respecting pistachio farmer would ever put a tree: in the middle of the Southern California desert near Coachella.

Most pistachio trees grow 200 miles north, where colder winters allow them to settle into their natural cycles. But in a few decades, that traditional pistachio land could have the climate of Coachella. It’s a type of time travel; the idea is to find a version of the future that already exists.

The pistachio trees aren’t at all happy in the desert: “It’s just terrible out there,” said Craig Kallsen, another extension agent for the University of California. “It looked like someone had irradiated the place with toxic chemicals.”

All the same, a few pistachio trees are beginning to produce leaves. By growing this orchard in this analogue of the climate future, researchers like Kallsen can see which varieties stand up to heat, and then zero in on the genes that allow those trees to adapt. Using those genes, researchers hope to breed trees that can thrive in a hotter, drier world.

Sayer is also adapting by growing different varieties of avocados, but the most visible climate adaptation in the orchard was the knee-high carpet of grasses and turnip stems we waded through as we made our way among the trees.

“Back in the 1970s, bare dirt between the rows was considered clean and tidy,” Sayer said. “If you had a blade of grass sticking out, oh man, that wasn’t good.”

Letting plants grow beneath the trees seemed like a squalid, lazy, weed-spreading hazard. When he and his father first began planting between the rows in 2005, it felt taboo. Other farmers would sidle up to them at the coffee shop and ask in an undertone, “What’s going on with your orchard? Is that a cover crop?”

A cover crop protects the soil from heavy rains and helps turn it into a habitat for worms, beetles, and thousands of microbes. As we walked through the dappled sunlight, the ground beneath my feet was yielding like a giant sponge.

Sayer has calculated that, since first planting the cover crop, his lemon orchard can absorb 2.5 million gallons more water in a downpour. “Since every scenario I’ve seen involves water stress, better soil is going to put us in a better position, because it holds and absorbs more rain,” he said.

Lester, the Sacramento-area walnut grower, also plants cover crops. And he has an audacious justification for planting new trees: He hopes to reverse climate change.

Cover crops pull carbon from the air into the soil and--if we can figure it out--all of agriculture could become a giant carbon-dioxide sponge. Lester powers his operation with solar panels and a walnut-shell burning furnace (releasing carbon his walnut trees recently sucked out of the air), making his farm carbon negative.

“Call me optimistic, but I believe if all farmers adopted healthy soils technology, agriculture can play a huge role in stopping, slowing down, maybe even reversing climate change,” Lester said.

Not all farmers are as scientifically literate as Lester or Sayer; many shrug off climate change as just another shift in the weather. But even the ones who readily accept the science of climate change continue to plant trees. Perhaps they are overly optimistic. Perhaps they are just human: It’s not in our nature to ignore threats right in front of our face so we can focus on those in the seemingly far-off future.

After I’d spent the day with Sayer, his decision to plant more avocados made sense: It’s the choice that allows him to keep farming. He’s making preparations based on the best climate projections he can get, while also setting himself up to react to the unexpected. He can see a path to profitability, though he allows that his vision into the future--in terms of both climate and weather forecasting--is severely restricted.

If you recall, he likened planting a new round of avocado trees to crossing a busy road with a hood over his head. There was a second part to that analogy: “At least I know which way to look for the oncoming traffic.”

#Chris Sayer #California farmers #California agriculture #climate change and farmers

[readbookywooks]

6 The Training Center has a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. This will be our home until the actual Games begin. Each district has an entire floor. You simply step onto an elevator and press the number of your district. Easy enough to remember. I've ridden the elevator a couple of times in the Justice Building back in District 12. Once to receive the medal for my father's death and then yesterday to say my final goodbyes to my friends and family. But that's a dark and creaky thing that moves like a snail and smells of sour milk. The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch the people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air. It's exhilarating and I'm tempted to ask Effie Trinket if we can ride it again, but somehow that seems childish. Apparently, Effie Trinket's duties did not conclude at the station. She and Haymitch will be overseeing us right into the arena. In a way, that's a plus because at least she can be counted on to corral us around to places on time whereas we haven't seen Haymitch since he agreed to help us on the train. Probably passed out somewhere. Effie Trinket, on the other hand, seems to be flying high. We're the first team she's ever chaperoned that made a splash at the opening ceremonies. She's complimentary about not just our costumes but how we conducted ourselves. And, to hear her tell it, Effie knows everyone who's anyone in the Capitol and has been talking us up all day, trying to win us sponsors. "I've been very mysterious, though," she says, her eyes squint half shut. "Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district." Barbarism? That's ironic coming from a woman helping to prepare us for slaughter. And what's she basing our success on? Our table manners? "Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" Effie beams at us so brilliantly that we have no choice but to respond enthusiastically to her cleverness even though it's wrong. Coal doesn't turn to pearls. They grow in shellfish. Possibly she meant coal turns to diamonds, but that's untrue, too. I've heard they have some sort of machine in District 1 that can turn graphite into diamonds. But we don't mine graphite in District 12. That was part of District 13's job until they were destroyed. I wonder if the people she's been plugging us to all day either know or care. "Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," says Effie grimly. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary." Although lacking in many departments, Effie Trinket has a certain determination I have to admire. My quarters are larger than our entire house back home. They are plush, like the train car, but also have so many automatic gadgets that I'm sure I won't have time to press all the buttons. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options you can choose regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. When you step out on a mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body. Instead of struggling with the knots in my wet hair, I merely place my hand on a box that sends a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my hair almost instantly. It floats down around my shoulders in a glossy curtain. I program the closet for an outfit to my taste. The windows zoom in and out on parts of the city at my command. You need only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, hot and steamy, before you in less than a minute. I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving. Peeta, Cinna, and Portia are standing out on a balcony that overlooks the Capitol when we enter the dining room. I'm glad to see the stylists, particularly after I hear that Haymitch will be joining us. A meal presided over by just Effie and Haymitch is bound to be a disaster. Besides, dinner isn't really about food, it's about planning out our strategies, and Cinna and Portia have already proven how valuable they are. A silent young man dressed in a white tunic offers us all stemmed glasses of wine. I think about turning it down, but I've never had wine, except the homemade stuff my mother uses for coughs, and when will I get a chance to try it again? I take a sip of the tart, dry liquid and secretly think it could be improved by a few spoonfuls of honey. Haymitch shows up just as dinner is being served. It looks as if he's had his own stylist because he's clean and groomed and about as sober as I've ever seen him. He doesn't refuse the offer of wine, but when he starts in on his soup, I realize it's the first time I've ever seen him eat. Maybe he really will pull himself together long enough to help us. Cinna and Portia seem to have a civilizing effect on Haymitch and Effie. At least they're addressing each other decently. And they both have nothing but praise for our stylists' opening act. While they make small talk, I concentrate on the meal. Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The servers, all young people dressed in white tunics like the one who gave us wine, move wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full. About halfway through my glass of wine, my head starts feeling foggy, so I change to water instead. I don't like the feeling and hope it wears off soon. How Haymitch can stand walking around like this full-time is a mystery. I try to focus on the talk, which has turned to our interview costumes, when a girl sets a gorgeous-looking cake on the table and deftly lights it. It blazes up and then the flames flicker around the edges awhile until it finally goes out. I have a moment of doubt. "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" I say, looking up at the girl. "That's the last thing I wa  -  oh! I know you!" I can't place a name or time to the girl's face. But I'm certain of it. The dark red hair, the striking features, the porcelain white skin. But even as I utter the words, I feel my insides contracting with anxiety and guilt at the sight of her, and while I can't pull it up, I know some bad memory is associated with her. The expression of terror that crosses her face only adds to my confusion and unease. She shakes her head in denial quickly and hurries away from the table. When I look back, the four adults are watching me like hawks. "Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?" snaps Effie. "The very thought." "What's an Avox?" I ask stupidly. "Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her." "And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," says Effie. "Of course, you don't really know her." But I do know her. And now that Haymitch has mentioned the word traitor I remember from where. The disapproval is so high I could never admit it. "No, I guess not, I just  - " I stammer, and the wine is not helping. Peeta snaps his fingers. "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." Delly Cartwright is a pasty-faced, lumpy girl with yellowish hair who looks about as much like our server as a beetle does a butterfly. She may also be the friendliest person on the planet  -  she smiles constantly at everybody in school, even me. I have never seen the girl with the red hair smile. But I jump on Peeta's suggestion gratefully. "Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair," I say. "Something about the eyes, too," says Peeta. The energy at the table relaxes. "Oh, well. If that's all it is," says Cinna. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut." We eat the cake and move into a sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that's being broadcast. A few of the other couples make a nice impression, but none of them can hold a candle to us. Even our own party lets out an "Ahh!" as they show us coming out of the Remake Center. "Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch. "Cinna's," says Portia. "Just the perfect touch of rebellion," says Haymitch. "Very nice." Rebellion? I have to think about that one a moment. But when I remember the other couples, standing stiffly apart, never touching or acknowledging each other, as if their fellow tribute did not exist, as if the Games had already begun, I know what Haymitch means. Presenting ourselves not as adversaries but as friends has distinguished us as much as the fiery costumes. "Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," says Haymitch to Peeta and I. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk." Peeta and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to him. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." He's asking for an explanation, and I'm tempted to give him one. We both know he covered for me. So here I am in his debt again. If I tell him the truth about the girl, somehow that might even things up. How can it hurt really? Even if he repeated the story, it couldn't do me much harm. It was just something I witnessed. And he lied as much as I did about Delly Cartwright. I realize I do want to talk to someone about the girl. Someone who might be able to help me figure out her story. Gale would be my first choice, but it's unlikely I'll ever see Gale again. I try to think if telling Peeta could give him any possible advantage over me, but I don't see how. Maybe sharing a confidence will actually make him believe I see him as a friend. Besides, the idea of the girl with her maimed tongue frightens me. She has reminded me why I'm here. Not to model flashy costumes and eat delicacies. But to die a bloody death while the crowds urge on my killer. To tell or not to tell? My brain still feels slow from the wine. I stare down the empty corridor as if the decision lies there. Peeta picks up on my hesitation. "Have you been on the roof yet?" I shake my head. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though." I translate this into "No one will overhear us talking" in my head. You do have the sense that we might be under surveillance here. "Can we just go up?" "Sure, come on," says Peeta. I follow him to a flight of stairs that lead to the roof. There's a small dome-shaped room with a door to the outside. As we step into the cool, windy evening air, I catch my breath at the view. The Capitol twinkles like a vast field of fireflies. Electricity in District 12 comes and goes, usually we only have it a few hours a day. Often the evenings are spent in candlelight. The only time you can count on it is when they're airing the Games or some important government message on television that it's mandatory to watch. But here there would be no shortage. Ever. Peeta and I walk to a railing at the edge of the roof. I look straight down the side of the building to the street, which is buzzing with people. You can hear their cars, an occasional shout, and a strange metallic tinkling. In District 12, we'd all be thinking about bed right now. "I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?" says Peeta. "What'd he say?" I ask. "You can't," says Peeta. He holds out his hand into seemingly empty space. There's a sharp zap and he jerks it back. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof." "Always worried about our safety," I say. Even though Cinna has shown Peeta the roof, I wonder if we're supposed to be up here now, so late and alone. I've never seen tributes on the Training Center roof before. But that doesn't mean we're not being taped. "Do you think they're watching us now?" "Maybe," he admits. "Come see the garden." On the other side of the dome, they've built a garden with flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hang hundreds of wind chimes, which account for the tinkling I heard. Here in the garden, on this windy night, it's enough to drown out two people who are trying not to be heard. Peeta looks at me expectantly. I pretend to examine a blossom. "We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game," I whisper. "You and your father?" he whispers back. "No, my friend Gale. Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it," I say. For a moment I'm silent, as I remember how the sight of this strange pair, clearly not from District 12, fleeing through the woods immobilized us. Later, we wondered if we could have helped them escape. Perhaps we might have. Concealed them. If we'd moved quickly. Gale and I were taken by surprise, yes, but we're both hunters. We know how animals look at bay. We knew the pair was in trouble as soon as we saw them. But we only watched. "The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere," I continue to Peeta. "I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened." "Did they see you?" Peeta asked. "I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock," I reply. But I do know. There was a moment, after the birdcall, but before the hovercraft, where the girl had seen us. She'd locked eyes with me and called out for help. But neither Gale or I had responded. "You're shivering," says Peeta. The wind and the story have blown all the warmth from my body. The girl's scream. Had it been her last? Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right? "They were from here?" he asks, and he secures a button at my neck. I nod. They'd had that Capitol look about them. The boy and the girl. "Where do you suppose they were going?" he asks. "I don't know that," I say. District 12 is pretty much the end of the line. Beyond us, there's only wilderness. If you don't count the ruins of District 13 that still smolder from the toxic bombs. They show it on television occasionally, just to remind us. "Or why they would leave here." Haymitch had called the Avoxes traitors. Against what? It could only be the Capitol. But they had everything here. No cause to rebel. "I'd leave here," Peeta blurts out. Then he looks around nervously. It was loud enough to hear above the chimes. He laughs. "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime." He's covered again. If that's all you'd heard it would just sound like the words of a scared tribute, not someone contemplating the unquestionable goodness of the Capitol. "It's getting chilly. We better go in," he says. Inside the dome, it's warm and bright. His tone is conversational. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" "Yes. Do you know him?" I ask. "Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other," he says. "No, we're not related," I say. Peeta nods, unreadable. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?" "Yes," I say, observing him carefully. "So did your father. He brought me cookies." Peeta raises his eyebrows as if this is news. But after watching him lie so smoothly, I don't give this much weight. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." The idea that I might ever have been discussed, around the dinner table, at the bakery fire, just in passing in Peeta's house gives me a start. It must have been when the mother was out of the room. "He knew your mother when they were kids," says Peeta. Another surprise. But probably true. "Oh, yes. She grew up in town," I say. It seems impolite to say she never mentioned the baker except to compliment his bread. We're at my door. I give back his jacket. "See you in the morning then." "See you," he says, and walks off down the hall. When I open my door, the redheaded girl is collecting my unitard and boots from where I left them on the floor before my shower. I want to apologize for possibly getting her in trouble earlier. But I remember I'm not supposed to speak to her unless I'm giving her an order. "Oh, sorry," I say. "I was supposed to get those back to Cinna. I'm sorry. Can you take them to him?" She avoids my eyes, gives a small nod, and heads out the door. I'd set out to tell her I was sorry about dinner. But I know that my apology runs much deeper. That I'm ashamed I never tried to help her in the woods. That I let the Capitol kill the boy and mutilate her without lifting a finger. Just like I was watching the Games. I kick off my shoes and climb under the covers in my clothes. The shivering hasn't stopped. Perhaps the girl doesn't even remember me. But I know she does. You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope. I pull the covers up over my head as if this will protect me from the redheaded girl who can't speak. But I can feel her eyes staring at me, piercing through walls and doors and bedding. I wonder if she'll enjoy watching me die.

#HungerGames