#/resentfully

[badnewswhatsleft]

hi. hamsome.

[puckpocketed]

IR friends

[mod2amaryllis]

I'd like to thank my southern mom who's an excellent cook, like "never tried instant mash potatoes until i was an adult" and "what the fuck is hamburger helper" and "do you want raspberry chipotle aiole and caramelized onions on your burger honey" levels, not because she taught me how to cook (HER kitchen, get out set the table scoot) but because she gave me standards that forced me to learn

[effemimaniac]

have been taking no Ls lately aside from when it comes to smoking weed for some reason. Winning and chilling but then I get high and fuck it up some how.

[whetstonefires]

I hope you're having an excellent day 😊😊😊 What about Wei Wuxian as Naruto?

Thanks! It was pretty good. I organized my embroidery floss and took advantage of being alone in the building to dance around like a maniac for about 20 minutes. My cat hated it. My knees aren't sure they approve either.

Wei Wuxian as Naruto has a lot going for it right out the gate. Orphaned sunshine boy protagonist types, now we're cooking with propane. They're even both fox coded!

However, at the risk of stating the obvious, if Wei Wuxian were Naruto he wouldn't be Naruto anymore. That is. Fundamental to Wei Wuxian is that he is brilliant and talented and he damn well knows it. He would excel without effort in ninja school--not as much as he did in Jiang Sect unless he unlike Naruto was still getting personal mentoring in honor of his late father, but still.

Difference is, when this Wei Wuxian slacks off in class and the teacher tries to embarrass him, if he reels off the correct answer and then reinvents senjutsu from first principles in a creepy-sounding way for a lark just to show off, the teacher is not going to think that he's just like his annoying late mother. (Though he'll still have one. Kushina and Cangse Sanren are fairly similar Dead Mom archetypes too.)

The teacher is going to think things like, no real child would say that shit and I'm expected to teach the monster fox that killed my family basic ninjutsu I hate this I hate this we're all gonna die.

So basically this Wei Wuxian gets his Yiling Laozu reputation mod as part of the starter pack. I don't think he'd handle it super gracefully! But not the worst, either.

Not even as badly as he did in the actual version, probably, on account of he doesn't know his own dark secret. So he can't self-isolate to protect it. Though him pulling away from people once he does learn would be cool.

He'd probably have forged slightly stronger social ties rather sooner than Naruto did, even if he was just as neglected and radioactive; Wei Wuxian doesn't care what people think of him nearly as much as Naruto does, but in some ways he's a more genuinely social person, and he's got much better social intuition, so it's easier for him to figure out what people want and either do that or not do that on purpose.

He'd have at least a bunch of casual friends. Mostly civilians, and other kids from ninja school whose parents told them not to play with him but they did anyway.

Wei Wuxian cannot do therapy no jutsu. He does not have that ability to confront and exist with emotional discomfort or that intensity of interest in what is going on with other people.

He does however have some level of Friendship Beam Attack (the plot to some extent hinges utterly on how effectively it hit Wen Ning) and it would presumably be more effective, in a shounen context.

But that's the thing, Wei Wuxian isn't really built to confront shounen manga style problems. Or, well, he is, but he's overbuilt for them; they're his bread and butter. One of Naruto's key motifs, early on at least before we got into the heavy power creep, is not being a genius.

Wei Wuxian, by definition, is a genius. He is the kind of guy who walks up to shounen manga sorts of problems scaled to what ought to be his level, handles them, and goes 'what, like it's hard?'

Wei Wuxian is designed to be destroyed not by external threats but by his own loyalties, politics, and lies. (Which was a point of confluence with Itachi I didn't really touch on because the flow was so different lmao.)

He's also, otoh, designed to be destroyed. Naruto is designed to start off artificially low and climb steadily up toward heaven. (Ymmv on how this worked out but he sure did escalate.)

You have to pick which schema to apply when performing the fusion--I mean, it's not either-or, the whole deal with Wei Wuxian is he goes through the entire arc of a tragedy and then comes back to life and stars in a romcom. These things can superimpose and stack. But there are structural decisions that have to be made early.

So anyway, Wei Wuxian as Naruto is not going to enter the Genin Team phase of life with the same priorities, even if he has largely conducted himself about the same way hitherto. 'Proving himself' so 'people will accept him' is not a motive that works for this character--you basically have to give him actual precious people earlier just to get him to care about attaining ninja rank at all.

Otherwise he would probably much rather loaf his way through his teens stealing jutsu and making trouble. Which is the well-adjusted reaction to the idea of becoming a child soldier, like. He likes recognition but 'showing off' is a reason he does dumb fun things, not difficult high-commitment ones. He's like if Shikamaru had ADHD and no parents.

Being twelve is going to make him dumber, but I can't see it making him not the kind of person who stops caring about his marks in school if the teacher is hostile.

If Wei Wuxian here isn't acting out of appreciation for the Hokage raising him, or something like that, you have to give him a practical motive to enter military service like 'Konoha stops supporting orphans out of the public purse at thirteen so he's got to get some kind of job and ninja is the least boring option' which. Is significantly less like either Naruto or Wei Wuxian in terms of reasons to do anything, and starts getting into solidly OC territory.

The whole fact that Konoha's worldbuilding centers around an attempt to move away from decentralized clannish social organization and promote the idea of shared, communal social institutions and (in theory) civil society, and the ways this does and does not work out for people especially considering it is still a relatively small military dictatorship, honestly interfaces super interestingly with how, in Mo Dao Zu Shi, one of the underlying challenges backstopping all character choice is that there is no feasible alternative to the clan system, and you have to pick a family-faction to depend upon and submit yourself to, or face the world with no safety net.

Like. Huh.

.....Kishimoto is honestly unusually-for-shounen well-grounded in the genres he's riffing on tbh, for all my bitching there were some very good reasons his work found such success; I would have liked to see what kind of story he produced without the insane pressures of the Weekly part of Weekly Shounen Jump. I wonder if he'll ever publish again. For all I know he already is lmao.

So anyway, however we manage it we get Wei Wuxian on his genin team with like. Lan Wangji and Mianmian or whoever. Actually that's hilarious. Yeah, make it lwj and lqy, both of them so done with his shit.

Setting up some wild role-reversal here--Lan Wangji being the one to go Away and Wei Wuxian asking him to stay? Or Naruto-person leaving into the dark, and Sasuke-person remaining and calling for him to come back? Either way. Getting some inversion. Tasty.

Where does this leave Jiang Cheng, though? Because in a lot of ways Uchiha 'Deuteragonist by Editorial Mandate' Sasuke is straddling both roles.

In many ways Wangxian is much more like if Naruto had an endgame romance with Neji. Which is a great ship tbh, I saw very little of it back in the day?? In a series with a smaller cast or with less Sasuke Creep (not sasuke being a creep, it's like power creep) it would probably have done numbers.

...Naruto going away for that timeskip really limited his opportunity to make connections in the village huh.

I guess it depends on the kind of narrative you're trying to put together. On one hand, you can do Jiang Fengmian as the rather-more-involved Third Hokage, with Jiang Cheng as an aged-up Konohamaru kind of figure. And then Jiang Yanli is standing in as both Iruka and. I know I know the ramen guy's name. Ichiraku. Soup! XD Emotionally significant soup!

But with a different backstory than either lmao. Kurama very possibly killed Yu Ziyuan in this universe, though I can't visualize her as a midwife.

[[[Why do I have so much Naruto lore on tap, there is no life value in knowing Sarutobi Hiruzen's wife was at ground zero of the Kyuubi attack because she was the expert overseeing Uzumaki Kushina's childbirth a;kdj;lafdks. I do not remember the things I was actually studying in high school nearly this well.]]]

(Actually Jin Ling is Konohamaru and Jiang Cheng is aged-down Asuma. But whatever.)

And in this case Wei Wuxian's genin team is Lan Wangji and Mianmian under idk who. Lan Qiren, possibly, although he seems more the Ebisu type. Lan Xichen? (It's not like he can serve as a plausible Itachi. Can you imagine.) Actual Kakashi, possibly; we can't replace everyone with mdzs characters; the cast sizes don't square.

Kakashi training Wei Wuxian is very funny to think about. He deserves this.

Or on the other hand for a different pacing and focus, the genin team is him, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli under Jiang Fengmian, who dies sometime after or probably during the climax of the chuunin exams. And Sarutobi stays Hokage, and probably doesn't die during the chuunin exams. And we aim for a Naruto/Neji kind of romance storyline lol.

What is the Lan Wangji equivalent of Neji exposing his caged bird seal in front of god and everybody and ranting (it is very unclear at what effective volume though you'd think the proctors would have shut him up if he could be heard from the stadium seating that shit was sedition) about his traumatic backstory and the deep injustices in his family's system of hierarchy? I'm gonna say Not That.

Wei Wuxian versus Lan Wangji important ideological-conflict bonding duel in the Chuunin exam finals sounds excellent though.

Either way Wei Wuxian is going to get much more thoroughly involved in the ugly ninja politics than Naruto ever did, and he's going to hate it so so bad and at least temporarily lose so so so hard. A likely story element is he becomes troublesome enough he winds up having to flee the village ahead of a scheme by Danzou to (fatally) rip the Kyuubi out of him and implant it in some thoroughly conditioned ROOT kid.

Maybe Wen Ning?? Idk. I'm mostly saying this because Wen Ning 1) canonically gets Victimized and Transformed and 2) shares some notes with Sai. And this means he's leaving, in part, for Wen Ning, which ties into some plot and character stuff from their original narrative. You could make it work.

Also him taking the replacement human sacrifice with him when he books it would be hysterical.

Anyway he's branded a missing nin and it is, canonically, illegal for him to tell anyone who doesn't already know about the kyuubi thing, so both Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji are appropriately what the fucking fuck and receive no adequate answer. This is a workable plot element.

Either the Jiangs or the Lans are the Uchiha, here, which has its own story value, lots of fun to be had. Gotta engineer a way he's protecting Jiang Cheng--does Danzou want to make him the jinchuuriki? Is Orochimaru or his replacement making a play for Jiang Cheng's bloodline limit, whatever it is, fun if it's eyeballs, and Wei Wuxian bargains to give him a jinchuuriki instead? Hmmm.

You want an inside and an outside threat, the obvious viper and the political spider, so you can silo information and make sure nobody entirely knows what's going on.

If it's Jiang Cheng who's assigned the role of bloodline limit macguffin, I have the very wicked urge to cast Yu Ziyuan as some combination of Itachi and Obito. Very Vader kind of effect.

Jin Guangyao as Kabuto, excellent, I need that innocent smile and those torture skills. This may require making Jin Guangshan much smarter than he really is just to fill out the ranks, or again you can keep Danzou as himself.

Tsunade is amusingly enough occupying an overlapping Baoshan Sanren and Wen Qing position; given one of them impersonated the other that time you'd have to do something with that. She's also got some Yu Ziyuan vibe up ofc. Tsunade just contains an entire franchise's supply of girlboss tbh.

Who could possibly stand in for Jiraiya, nobody, but at the same time. Wei Wuxian (with internal sapient asshole nuke) apprenticing under Jiraiya of the Sannin sounds like enough problem-creating goofy jackass genius clown energy in one place to open a singularity. That's too much. No narrative could survive.

Anyway someone please feel free to write this, I am intrigued but also will 100percent never ever put in the time it would take to realize any version of this concept.

[heich0e]

trigun college!au where knives doesn't think you're good enough for vash, and hates how close the two of you seem to be getting as your friendship develops. so of course the obvious solution is to fuck you within an inch of your life on a semi-regular basis so that you don't get any ridiculous ideas about trying to date his little brother.

[stackslip]

seeing the images of the state of assad's prisons and a bunch of mutuals of mutuals in law here raging that these hellgates have opened at all and that "evil jihadists" are supposedly the only ones that been freed from that hell at all, while seething at any syrian rejoicing at the fall of assad to the point of frankly racist comments implying they deserve any future political violence. meanwhile i remember the syrian mother of two in psych ward with me who barely spoke english or french but whose brother had been disappeared and who was in the ward bc of suicidal depression. i remember the kids at the secours populaire i tutored whose entire lives had been uprooted and whose parents lied to them to tell them their relatives back home were ok. i see the young guy at french tutoring lessons earlier this year whose asylum request had just been granted and who cursed under his breath at any mention of assad's name. and then i see the current glee of the right wing demanding these people's little relief and celebration immediately get interrupted so they get uprooted again and sent home in the middle of chaos. but i guess your priority as western marxist is to sulk and hang around other marxists talking about how smart you are for calling syrians stupid about the possibility of future violence and israeli/american interference like these people are too fucking dumb to not know what's going on in their own fucking country. do something fucking useful for once instead of sulking and being smug about how enlightened you are as a historical materialist and actually fucking organize anything for syrians that our countries are currently gleefully preparing to expel and make exiles of them again

[round-and-sound]

Nothing quite like getting gender envy of a pregnant woman waddling in a shopping centre

[sailermoon]

my mom drives me nuts!!!!!! *still makes and serves her breakfast*

[cosmogyros]

I finished the telephone number validator certification project the other day (that was a great – and badly needed – regex brush-up) and today I blasted through the next lesson, which involved building an online shopping cart interface as a way to practice OOP.

This also meant returning to concepts I hadn't touched in aaaaaaages, such as object constructors, classes, "this", etc. I definitely noticed how rusty I'd gotten :/ But oh well, just gotta push myself through the rest of the JavaScript curriculum and get that certificate, so I can move onward and upward! To... what's next?

Oh. Front-end libraries. Sad trumpet noise. I had forgotten I still had to get through that too. The only thing more boring than doing "raw" front-end is using libraries to do it, if you ask me.

Luckily, I already completed most of that curriculum in the distant past, and I think my progress may have been saved, so hopefully I will be able to jet through it very rapidly so I can move onward and upward! To... data viz! Followed by relational databases! That's more like it :D

[ambientradiation]

Breakfast cereal is essentially human kibble.

[sun-lit-roses]

Apparently the key to tedious tasks is to wait until you're ill and *then* do them.

This revelation brought to you by my inability to force myself to deal with our archive until I'm half zoning out and cautiously sipping water every other file.

Outwardly I'm slow but productive. Inwardly my brain is playing the Super Mario intro theme over the bouncing Windows icon screensaver. This is what peak performance looks like.

[behestofheaven]

Phantom au where erik makes an angsty olivia rodrigo breakup song after christine takes off his mask

[organised-disaster]

Sorry for the delay, but it's finished!!

I'm just going to tag @baxieblur-turnip and @randosfandos because they're the only interaction I get lol

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER III

"You'll be fine, Rumes. Your name's only in once this year," says Yumi. She wraps a hairband around my braid, keeping it in place.

I rub my nose.

"Yeah, but you're in a bunch of times," I say. Yumi sighs.

"That's okay. It's my last year, remember? And so many other people have the same odds as me. We'll both be safe."

Yumi awkwardly stumbles out from behind me. I remain seated on the floor, staring at a scuff mark on Yumi's floorboards. Yumi crouches down slightly. She squeezes my shoulders.

"It's going to be okay, Rumi." I nod. Yumi gently tugs me to my feet. "Come on, then, Junco. We'll be in trouble if we're late."

Yumi had all sorts of cute little nicknames for me. Sometimes, I wished she'd just say my name, although it usually wasn't positive if she did. It was mainly "Rumes." I don't let anyone call me any of Yumi's nicknames anymore.

She called me "Junco" a lot, too. It was my favourite bird. Yumi said she started calling me that because her earliest memory of me is me pointing at one during winter. Yumi loved to tell me that story, too.

I was sick. Nothing that would hurt me now, but I wasn't a strong child, and such a mild illness hit me hard. I never really knew what I had. It never occurred to me to ask.

Yumi said that she came to check on me, alongside my mother. I was apparently standing up in my cot and watching the window.

I pointed at it and said, "Bird." I was talking about a fat little dark-eyed junco I had spotted. Yumi used to say how she was convinced it had cured me. She said she figured out that it was medicine and care, but she was young.

She found out what it was called and started using it as if it was my name instead of the bird's. She called me that less as I got older, but she almost never called me by my real name when I was younger.

I hug my knees closer to my chest.

"Junco, you should dig a -" A wave crashes over my cubic sandcastle, obliterating it and reducing it to naught but a pile of dampened grains of sand.

I frown.

"A moat. You should dig a moat. That way, the waves can't hit it that hard," Yumi finishes. I start to rebuild the sandcastle. Yumi walks over, her footprints shifting the waterlogged sand around them.

"You can't just rebuild it and expect it to be okay, you know," Yumi states. I halt my construction, watching as the waves once again take it from me.

"Why not?" I ask, resuming.

"You can't control the ocean, Junco. It'll break your blocks down over and over again, no matter how high you build it up," she tells me. I look up at her. She smiles.

"You can do so much else in situations like these," she chuckles. "You change what you can control. Like a moat! You could dig a moat. Or build a wall."

Yumi does both of these as I watch, fascinated. She uses her body to block the waves as she digs and uses the sand to build a wall.

She gets up. The waves once again crash around my sandcastle, but it remains unharmed.

"See? It can't do anything now."

I was only eight, I think, which would have made Yumi fourteen. She made it her business to ensure I learned something from all our interactions. Even if that something was simply that she loved me.

Yumi felt it was important. I didn't realise until just last year that she did it out of a fear of early death. A completely justified fear. Yumi was never paranoid, not even when she was literally surrounded by people who wanted her dead.

"Happy birthday, Junco!" Yumi says cheerfully.

"Yumes, aren't you supposed to be at the Reaping?" I ask her as I yawn. Yumi shrugs and hugs me.

"Ah, well, I have a few hours. A few hours for your birthday!" Yumi does a stupid dance that involves flicking her hands around and jumping a little. I giggle.

"I'm pretty old now," I state once I'm done screeching with laughter after Yumi unintentionally falls and lands flat on her face.

"Ten!" says Yumi excitedly. "It's your first milestone!" Yumi's cheerfulness seems slightly strange.

"Are you okay?" I ask. Yumi sighs. She smiles, albeit slightly forced.

"I'm just a bit worried, Junco," she says.

"Oh, but it's nothing major! Just silly little anxieties," she says, backtracking desperately as she sees my frown.

"Okay..." I say slowly. I don't believe her. I hope that's evident. Yumi hugs me again.

"It's fine, okay, Junco? You're fine. It's your birthday," she says. I don't know why she's hugging me so tight or why she's shaking so much.

"I think I'm a little old to be called 'Junco' now, Yumes," I say, changing the subject.

"Oh. Okay," says Yumi vaguely. "What do you want to be called?" she asks. I ponder her question for a moment.

"I like Rumes. Call me Rumes," I say. Yumi nods and smiles again.

"Well, Rumes," says Yumi, placing some extra emphasis on my name. "The Kaishurrs caught some nice salmon. Mother's cooking it for breakfast today!"

I smile. I do like salmon. Yumi relaxes at the expression on my face.

"I'll let you get your good clothes on, Rumes," she says. Yumi turns and leaves.

Mr Kaishurr is a fisher, as he was at the time, working in his big teams on their haulers. They'd sometimes go over quota, meaning they got to choose what to do with the excess.

Well, not really. They weren't truly allowed to, but the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to it. Some even bought fish from them. District Four has never been a poor district, but if you were doing that physical labour, if you were being tossed about on the open ocean, at the mercy of the elements...

Well, would another bowl of soup truly hurt anyone? Another, more filling topping for your bread? Just a little more food at dinner? And the Capitol wouldn't even suffer without the extra. The Peacekeepers understand that. That's why the Capitol remains unknowing of District Four ever going over quota by more than would be noted.

The Kaishurrs often chose to share their excess with us. It's what we'd cook on special occasions. My mother was the reason we knew them, being incredibly good friends with Mrs Kaishurr. With their wives occupied with talking and laughing and cooking together, my father and Mr Kaishurr really only had the option to talk to each other.

Their conversations were stilted and awkward. They coexisted because it was easier than hating each other. Mr Kaishurr always rubbed my father the wrong way. He irritated me slightly, too, always talking and knocking people about or putting his arms around people's shoulders or talking far closer than he really needed to.

Neither of my parents fished - when they still worked - and worked much higher-paying jobs than the Kaishurrs did. My mother ran a glass-blowing business, as well as just making small-scale glass panes and such.

Most of the glass in Panem is sourced from here, although One is responsible for making most of the gorgeous things out of it.

My mother used to say how she loved the shapes and colours the glass made. That was why she did it, she said, and not because it paid well. It did, though. Fine glasswork such as Mother made was expensive.

My father worked on the mayoral council. Still works. He must be disappearing there all day to still be bringing in an income. He's fairly close to the mayor in his position, and he used to be good friends with him. Maybe he still is. I don't know when he'd find the time, though. He's buried himself in work and alcohol, even more so lately.

Sometimes, the mayor would come over for dinner with us. When Yumi was still alive, when Mother was still here, when Father still smiled, when the Kaishurrs were in the early stages of their fight.

Yumi would dress nicely, as would I. Our mother would start preparing food early while our father would clean the house. Mayor Esthel was his friend, but he was the type of friend that Father had to be cautious around.

Yumi gently kicks my leg under the table. I look at her. She pulls a strange face, tugging the skin under her eyes down with her pinkie fingers while she stretches the corners of her mouth with her other fingers. She sticks her tongue out.

I laugh quietly. Our mother smacks the side of Yumi's head, stifling a laugh of her own. Yumi stops tugging her face, her mouth snapping back to her normal smile.

We're silent again as we eat our dinner. I messily eat the bread I've been soaking in my soup, getting the hot liquid all over my chin. Yumi hands me a napkin.

I look up at her again. She's balancing her spoon on her nose. It falls off and clatters on the table. She quickly slaps it back onto her face like it never fell in the first place.

I laugh much louder this time, mainly at how goofy Yumi looks with her large grin and nose obscured by silver metal. Yumi seems satisfied.

Our father clears his throat, briefly distracted from his conversation by Yumi's antics. He's glaring rather pointedly at her. Mayor Esthel chuckles and waves a hand good-naturedly.

"Please, Sesten, it's fine. Your daughters act like my little girls. It's nothing I'm not well-versed in."

Mayor Esthel has two daughters, Tyra and Mechi. Completely identical to the point where they're sure they were confused with each other as babies. Both have straw-coloured, collar length hair cut in neat bobs. Each about my height.

They're both my age. We talk occasionally. Nobody can tell them apart by face alone, but Mechi has taken to embroidering her name onto all her clothing for that exact reason.

The day they swap clothing is the end of whatever we have together, I suspect. Tyra completely believes that she is more attractive than her sister and that they shouldn't be indistinguishable from each other.

They're both good-looking, with their fair complexions, sharp noses, and keen, narrow features, but Mechi is far nicer to be around. That doesn't stop both of them from being equally popular and equally desired. Tyra loves the attention while Mechi merely tolerates it.

I wouldn't say we're friends. Friends are too dangerous.

I hear quiet, muffled crying. I wander out of my bedroom, searching for its source. It's coming from Yumi's room.

I open the door. Yumi's face is buried in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking. She's sitting on her bed in a weak slouch. I walk over to her.

"Yumi?"

Yumi snaps up to look at me. She sniffles loudly and wipes her nose.

"Are you okay?" Yumi looks like she tries to smile. Instead, she bursts into sobs again.

I sit down next to her and wrap my arms around her. Yumi continues to cry. After a long time, she takes a deep breath. I hand her a handkerchief.

She wipes her eyes, then loudly blows her nose. She folds the handkerchief up.

"I'm sorry, Junco, I... It's not your problem, really," she says damply.

She pats my head. She smiles as more tears pool in her eyes. She pulls me into a hug.

"I love you, Junco. Don't ever forget that."

"Do you miss Otto?" I ask.

"Yes," Yumi chokes out.

"I miss Otto, too," I say feebly.

"I don't think there's anyone who doesn't," Yumi responds, equally quiet.

"I think she did a good job," I try. Yumi is quiet.

"She fought pretty hard," is all she says after a while.

Otto was a sweet enough girl. She was Yumi's closest friend, right up until her death eight years ago. She went down roaring. Yumi said she didn't like seeing Otto like that, but what did she expect?

Otovia Ossa, the best student in her grade and the most lethal fighter. She killed three other tributes before... Gloss, was it? Something like that, anyway. Before what's-her-name from District One took her down and won.

"Why?"

It was a stupid question, really. It had an obvious answer. But hearing it out of Yumi's mouth made it stick with me.

"Because she wanted to go home. In the end, the winner isn't the most vicious. They're not the best at killing. They're just the one who fights the hardest to get home."

I'll never forget that. It's burned into my brain. And I know. I know exactly how she meant it. I know what she was doing when she did it.

Yumi squeezes my hand reassuringly. I look at her. She smiles warmly. I smile back.

"The female tribute is..." Yumi doesn't let go of my hand. "Rumi Erudite!"

Yumi almost crushes my hand before she releases it. I stiffly walk forward. Yumi sputters from behind me. I get halfway to the stage before she shouts.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Yumi shoves me back into where I was. Our eyes meet in passing. She's angry. Her expression softens as she looks at me, but then she turns back to the crowd. Her eyes harden and smoulder again, the brown suddenly appearing black as she glares at them.

I didn't misunderstand the meaning. Yumi was always clear with me.

There's a close-up of Yumi's disgusted expression as she turns away, then the camera switches back to the Careers finishing the District Eleven tributes off. Yumi's district partner created a net trap. District Eleven was their first set of victims.

"Man up, Erudite," scoffs District One. "This is the 'fight each other to the death like animals for a chance to go home' games. Being a pacifist gets you killed." Yumi glares at him.

"It's barbaric," she spits. "Trapping them like fish."

"The barbarity is the whole point," shoots the other District One tribute in retaliation. Yumi still looks appalled.

"I won't have a part in it," she mutters. The other District Four tribute quickly comes to her aid as the other Careers growl and mutter as they turn toward her, faces twisted into snarls.

"So you're just dead weight, then?"

"You're using our supplies, but you won't contribute?"

"We don't need to keep you, you realise..."

"She doesn't mean it like that, guys. She'll help us, obviously, and she'll kill someone if she needs to. She just means she doesn't want to for the moment," says her district partner, pointedly turning and glaring at Yumi.

"She's not good at getting things across," he lies.

"That's believable," sneers District Two. District Four huffs.

"She is worth more alive than she is dead right now," says the other District Two tribute.

There's various mutters of agreement.

"Fine. We're eating you the minute we run out of food, though, Yumi," says District One. She's met with awkward silence. "It's called a joke. It's called a bloody joke, guys, relax."

So why? Why would she tell me that and do what she did?

District Four stomps after Yumi, his trident in his hands. He could throw it.

"Fight me, you idiot! It's just us! Why are you still running?!"

Yumi doesn't respond to him, losing her footing in the mud and slipping but not entirely falling. She continues fleeing. Her district partner finally decides to try, shifting easily into a sprint. He gains on Yumi immediately.

He yanks on her jacket, throwing her to the ground by her hood. Yumi makes no visible attempt to resist. He raises his trident in front of her face, and his whole body tensed as if to throw it. He holds himself there for a while.

"Yumi..." he says quietly, his trident falling from his hands. "...please fight. This is getting depressing."

Yumi looks up at him and smiles, although slightly sad.

"No."

I couldn't put the pieces together. I can now, of course, but I was twelve, and she was eighteen, and I firmly believed she was amazing. I couldn't see her flaws.

And I couldn't see why she would let him kill her without even resisting. I realise now, though, that Yumi saw it as a way out.

As her escape. Yumi never liked the idea of the Games. She never liked being trapped under the Capitol. If she had been around when it happened, she would have wholeheartedly supported the rebellion that started this whole mess.

She kept quiet. She loved me. She protected me. And then when the moment came, the time when she could help our family...

She didn't take her opportunity.

She loved human life in general more than she loved me.

That's fair, I suppose.

Finnick Odair yanks his trident free of Yumi's body. As he is declared the winner, he throws the trident far away from him. It buries itself in a tree trunk. Finnick drops to his knees and begins to sob.

For a brief moment, there is only the babbling of the commentators on the screen. Something shatters.

What do I remember, I wonder? What do I remember of my mother's screams, of my father's mournful fury? I remember the sound of my mother screaming until her throat was raw. I remember how she sounded as if her heart had been ripped from her chest.

I remember my father's bleeding, shredded knuckles as he continued to punch the walls until they gave way. I remember his face. I remember my mother's. I remember...

I don't even remember what I felt. I loved my big sister more than anything.

There was a funeral. Yumi's friends attended. Yumi's parents attended. The girl who had practically become Yumi's younger sister attended. Finnick attended. Did I attend? Did I attend the gathering meant to mourn, if I had never once mourned? I don't know.

I left dandelions on her grave. She liked dandelions.

My father gave the eulogy. My mother couldn't. She was forgiven fairly easily, so wrought with grief that she wasn't really present in the first place. District Four talked about me. They thought I didn't hear them.

Everyone loved Yumi. Most cried when she died. They expressed their sympathy to my family. My parents were inconsolable. Some people tried to talk to me.

I'm told I showed nothing. That I was completely and utterly blank with no sign of mourning or sadness or anger or anything that would be brought about by the death of a sister.

I'm told I unsettled people. Because a child's eyes should never be so dull or emotionless, I'm told. So they started avoiding me. They still do.

I receive sideways looks. I receive double takes. I receive second glances. People walk faster when I am behind them. People do not show me their backs if they can help it.

I loved my mother, too. Although the last time we ever spoke was the hour before Yumi's death.

Mrs Kaishurr, of course, attempted to console her. My mother's other friends, my uncles, my father, they all made efforts to help her. I think the last time I ever saw her was when we passed in the hallway.

She didn't look at me. She hadn't looked better than she'd been before, but she wasn't crying. Her eyes still seemed flat and hollow. The circles under her eyes were much darker than they had been.

Her hand was briefly on my shoulder. She gently squeezed it. And then she walked into the study.

She was a lovely woman. Brown curls down to her upper back and brown eyes to match. She was patient. Perhaps too loving. She had her hobbies. She didn't even leave a note. She loved her friends. She was a loving mother and wife.

It was my father that I looked most like. Yumi's distinction from me came from our mother's eyes and curls, but our narrow faces and black hair came from our father. Yumi was a combination of both our parents. I clearly only took after our father.

My parents used to joke about how I was exclusively my father's daughter and that my mother had no part in me. My father would then say that this was a blessing, because I was already such a pretty girl and that if I looked like my mother he would have to start nailing boards to our doors so people couldn't break into our house and propose to me on the spot.

My mother would laugh and smack him with whatever was in her hand at the time, often a spatula.

I wasn't the only victim of my father's jokes. He would occasionally ask Yumi how many boys she'd turned down that day, to which she would respond with a random number. My mother would sigh and shake her head, smiling.

There wasn't any sign of a struggle. Most of her things were missing, along with some bags. The door was unlocked. It's reasonable to assume she left of her own accord. She didn't even look at me. She couldn't, apparently. If the conversations overheard through doors are any clue.

We still don't know where she went. We had no guesses, no indication. We just assumed she went to another district. I wonder how well that went for her. I used to despise her for it, for abandoning her family when they needed her. I don't blame her for leaving anymore, though.

She left because she just couldn't face it anymore. Because she couldn't look at her home and know that one of her daughters would never return to it. Because she couldn't look at her surviving daughter without seeing the other one. Because she couldn't look at her daughter, knowing why she'd never see the other one again.

I can't blame her. I'd leave, too, if I knew that I would be forced to live in a home that could never feel full again.

Some good leaving would do now, though. Now that the damage has already been done. There wouldn't be a point. And besides, who would miss me?

Who would miss Rumi Erudite, the girl good at nothing but violence? Who would miss Rumi Erudite, the girl who only knows how to hurt? Who would miss Rumi Erudite, the girl that everyone would be correct to hate?

No one. I know that if I vanished, no one would look for me. My father already refuses to acknowledge my existence, as if pretending he only ever had one daughter would prevent him from losing the second. There is occasionally food on the table when I get home, but beyond that, I am dead to him. I doubt he's even doing it to save himself anymore. He ignores me out of habit and hate.

People would hear that I had disappeared. They'd remark that it was odd, perhaps, if I didn't leave a note. That would be the end of it, and no one would speak of Rumi Erudite again.

Maybe I should. I should just leave in the middle of the night, quietly and without making a spectacle of it. Since nobody would care.

I kick the wall across from me, hoping to put a hole in it. The wall does not give, but when I bring my leg down, something makes a crinkling noise. I look up to see what it was. A small, rectangular parcel sitting under my foot. I pick it up. It fits nicely across both my hands. It says my name on it in a neat, very deliberate script, as if the person writing it had to spend a lot of time and effort forming each letter. Sera's handwriting.

I tear the paper off it. A photo frame, thicker than most that I've seen. I run my fingers over the patterns dug into the dark wooden border. Framed is Yumi.

A greyscale drawing of her, done with graphite pencils. It's incredibly detailed. Yumi is facing the artist and smiling warmly. A few of her dark curls are caught up around her ears. She looks a little windblown, her hair preferring the left side of her head to sit.

I turn it over to find that it has a stand. Pinned underneath the stand is a note in Sera's slow handwriting.

Happy birthday, Rumes. Love ya.

I run my fingers gently down the glass panel in the front, tracing the outline of Yumi's face. The surface is uneven and rippled. I pull my thumb down the frame again and am pricked by a sliver of wood. This is Sera's handiwork.

It's not really a surprise that she made this. She's quite adept with things like these, a skill developed by years of gutting fish. Her hands tremble, but she can hold them still when she concentrates. A smudge on the side of Yumi's right eye tells me that Sera probably drew this, too.

Of course. Of course she did. Because that stupid girl just won't give up on me and move on.

My knuckles whiten as I grip the portrait of Yumi. Sera. I want to strangle her. I want to shout at her. I want to call her an idiot and slap her until she regains her senses. I want to hold her close and never let her go. I want to beg on my knees at her feet for her to forgive me. I want her to leave my life entirely.

She's an idiot. She'll never learn. She'll be the one who gets lost looking for me. She'll be the one who gets hurt defending me. She'll be the one who wastes her life on me. She'll be the one who stands too close when I lash out.

She's the only one who stayed in my life. She was the only one who comforted me after Yumi died. She was the only one who came to my aid when everyone was correct to say those things to me.

I grab Sera's arm and pull her away. She resists, ignoring my statements that she's done enough. The boy, covering his bleeding nose and what will turn into a black eye, cusses and runs off.

I use my thumb to wipe the blood away from Sera's cheek. She draws the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the blood from her busted lip.

"Tetra shouldn't be allowed to talk to you like that," she mutters.

"And you shouldn't be allowed to get into fistfights with people who insult me," I snap back angrily.

Sera folds her arms across her chest.

"It's not fair. He w-w-went after Yumi." I let go of her face.

"He went after me, not Yumi," I tell her. Sera frowns harder.

"He said that -"

"It doesn't matter what he said. He was going after me." Sera's expression changes from a confused frown to near tears.

"Rumi, it isn't your fault."

It makes me angry, so angry, when Sera lies to me. She thinks I can't tell that she lies to me. But we've known each other for fifteen years. I recognise cues that basically don't exist. I can identify her mood based on how quickly she blinks.

I see all her little tells, her painfully obvious tells. And they infuriate me.

I am not a thinker. That is not what I do. I act before I ask, as I've been told by my many frustrated primary school teachers. And by plenty of others, to remove the needlessly complicated words.

I act on anger. I act on sadness. I act on hate. I do not act on happiness or love or anything that Sera does. That is why she does them, to make up for every horrible thing I do.

I regret acting in that moment. It would have been better if I had done nothing, nothing at all. It made me want to cut off my hands. She didn't deserve it. She hadn't earned it. She had already taken so many hits for my sake. And then I administered one more, and it was the one that made her cry.

Sera places her hand on her cheek, rubbing where I hit her. She looks rattled. I clench my fists tightly, backing away from her. Tears spring into her eyes.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." I mumble. Sera starts to tremble. Her tears drip down her cheeks. She looks utterly betrayed. I walk away faster, shaking my head. Sera's shoulders start to shake as she sobs. I turn and run entirely.

I ran all the way home and locked myself in my room. Rumi Erudite doesn't cry. She gets close, yes, but she doesn't ever cry. She's not capable of it. She's not capable of empathy.

She is capable of violence. She is capable of smashing photo frames and shattering mirrors and punching walls and hurting everyone around her.

She is capable of sitting in a ring of broken glass, her knuckles bleeding and cut by the shards stabbed into them that she couldn't be bothered to remove. She is capable of being discovered by the friend that she punched in the face.

That friend is capable of wrapping her arms around Rumi Erudite and brushing the hair out of her face. That friend is capable of telling Rumi Erudite that it is all alright as she gently pulls the mirror fragments from her awful hands. That friend is capable of bandaging Rumi Erudite's self-inflicted wounds.

That friend is capable of listening and nodding while Rumi Erudite gives the most worthless apology anyone has ever heard.

"I... I didn't mean it, Sera. Please. I didn't mean it."

"I know. It's okay. Did I push too hard?"

"..."

"Rumes?"

"Why do you always blame yourself?"

"Haha. You're exaggerating a little there, Rumi."

"I'm serious. What part of this was your fault?"

"I... Uhm... You... Tetra w-w-was being an ass! He -"

"You didn't deserve that. I'm... I'm sorry. I got angry and you were close."

"It's okay, Rumi, it really is."

Sera bounces back. She brushes things off. She ignores, she overlooks, she turns a blind eye. To everything I do wrong. She thinks I don't notice what she discards of her morals for me. She knows I'm not a good person.

I don't know why she's stayed by my side all these years. She's had six to leave, six to work out how to phrase it without hurting me. Sera is kind. She lets people down gently.

I don't deserve that, though. I deserve to be dropped from a great height, in the metaphorical sense. Perhaps in the literal, too. Maybe I would walk off myself...

I cut off that train of thought as quickly as I can, shoving it back to the dark corner of my mind where it resides. It's much worse than simply fantasising about leaving, and I'd rather not touch it now.

Sera tends to hold it out of my reach, though. Even if it hurts her, she stays by me. For fifteen years, I've been a thorn in her side. For twelve, I've hurt her. For six, I've been...

Awful. I am awful. I am a monster. And Sera is an angel, an angel, and she will always hold out her hand to me so that one day I may stand in her light. That hand...

That hand that is calloused and scarred from years of work. That hand that is wonderful to know and to love. That hand that is safe to be near.

That hand that is always gentle even when it is undeserved. That hand that is never raised against me, not even when it would be considered self-defence, not even when it is necessary, not even when it is right. That hand that is often wrong, that persists nonetheless.

That hand that is always outstretched, always waiting for me to take. No matter how many times it gets bitten and clawed and stabbed, it will never retreat. That hand whose owner always smiles, be it happily or sadly or with worry. I hate that smile.

I hate Sera. I hate her rough hands that feel so warm wiping the blood off my face. I hate her gentle tracing of the scars on my knuckles and abdomen and face and arms. I hate the way she holds my hands, acting as if they have a purpose that isn't pain. I hate the way she cups my cheek in her palm, and I especially hate the way I lean into it.

I hate the way I stain her hands with the rust-coloured aftermath of my training to die fighting. I hate the way I worry her with my cuts and bruises. I hate the way I resist when she tries to use me for comfort. I hate the way I abuse her.

I hate the way I dare use up air. I hate the way I dare waste her time. I hate the way I dare take up space. I hate the way my eyes are hooded. I hate the scar on my cheek. I hate the sight of my face. I hate how I love winning fights. I hate how I love the sensation of flesh under my fists.

And, oh, how I hate that all I know to do is hate.

I hate.

Sera hugs me desperately, hiccuping and sobbing. Yumi gently pries her off me. She sniffles loudly, and her face screwed up. Yumi hugs Sera, clearly feeling sorry for her. This proves to be a mistake, as Sera instantly latches onto Yumi with the approximate force of a vice.

"Sera, sweetheart, let me go," says Yumi kindly. Sera responds by burying her face in Yumi's stomach. Yumi pats Sera's head. "We'll be late, Sera. We'll get in a lot of trouble with the Peacekeepers if we're late."

Sera releases Yumi, desperately trying to contain another ocean's worth of tears.

"It's only her first year. She'll be alright, Sera. You guys can go to the beach again afterwards, like you normally do!"

Sera nods. She looks at me, then hugs me again.

"It's a beautiful day for the beach, Sera."

"Okay."

"Come on, Rumi. I wasn't joking."

"Come home, Rumes..."

"...please."

And hate.

Sera wipes her eyes. Then she wipes them again. And again. I hand her a tissue, which is instantly soaked by all the water pouring from her eyes.

"I'm so happy you're still here, Rumi," she manages, voice choked by emotion."And Yumi's going to be okay, right?"

"Of course she will. She wouldn't leave us. She'll fight."

"Y- Yeah... Yeah, I bet she w-w-will! Yumi's amazing! She'll be okay. I bet she'll w-w-win and not have to hurt anyone, either! She's smart enough to figure it out." Sera inhales unsteadily, her usual smile brought to her lips.

I hug her.

And hate.

I do not let go. I cannot ever let go. The world will fall to pieces if I let go. She is dead, so she is holding me together. And I am holding her together also, because Yumi is not here to do it for us.

She weeps. I cannot.

But it won't change the fact that my mother left.

My father barks a laugh. It's angry and mirthless.

"Of course she would. Because she just can't take anything, can she?! She just -" My father abruptly smashes his empty bottle of drink into the wall. It does not break.

"- can't -" Again, he forces the bottle into the wall. " - take -" I hear the bottle crack, but it remains sturdy. The wall is dented now.

"- anything!" The bottle explodes into a shower of shattered glass and alcohol dregs. It's almost pretty, with the way the light hits it.

But it won't change the fact that my father does not accept that I exist.

I gently open the door to my father's study. He is sitting at his desk, head down, and glass in hand. It's mostly empty. Paperwork litters the floor. I read one. It's about a request for a new Peacekeeper division.

I make no attempt to wake my father. He will not like it if I wake him from whatever heavy, dreamless sleep he has deliberately drowned himself in.

But it won't change the fact that Sera was injured.

I clutch the hem of my mother's dress, peering around her in an attempt to see into Cod's home. They talk at the door.

A little girl with blonde hair wanders into my field of view. She turns to look at me. Her face is badly scraped, stitches running from her chin to her nose and her eyebrow to her hair parting. Her nose is mostly obscured by a bandage.

She studies me for a long time, attempting to place me in whatever memories that have not bled out of her. She beams, her grin crooked, and waves.

She calls my name, and I call hers.

But it won't change the fact that Yumi is dead.

"Finnick?"

"Yes?"

"When you get home, can you please do something for me?"

"Of course, Yumi. Anything."

"Tell my family I love them. And there's a girl named Sera Kaishurr. Tell her I love her, too."

"I will, Yumi. I promise."

"My baby sister, most of all. Don't let her forget."

Yumi's slight smile does not ever fade.

And it will never change the fact that I killed her.

[ogdencollegerp]

Due to personal reasons, please UNFOLLOW:

@logiyande

The following faceclaims are now open:

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As well as the following tropes:

THE DELUSIONAL

[afairerplace]

Trapped inside my apartment complex by the desire NOT to climb over the fence like a common criminal to get back in!!!