#and animal companion number three

[ralistrasz]

My Pathfinder 2e group just party wiped today, due to our general lack of party heals. Our poor DM tried so hard to help us out in that fight, but the dice gods demanded blood. Good fortitude modifiers only do so much with the long odds of the boss recharging its AoE burst literally every round after the first recharge. it blasts us for around 50 damage for every failed roll, half on a successful roll. The only reason we lasted as long as we did was by having three party members having a feature that allowed us to treat successful fortitude saves as critical successes, but in the end... it didn't even matter. We were overwhelmed, and we were too deep in the thick of the campaign to realistically have a backup band of adventurers capable of stepping in to stop the events that would destroy everything.

I shared this with our DM, despondent that he'd killed his party, and said,

"you let the six-year-old win"

[fifteen minutes of silence]

"i forgor to finish my thought. let your inner child be this six year old for a minute and take joy in winning."

anyways thank you for sharing

My friend sometimes brings her six-year-old to our DnD sessions and my husband (the DM) lets her roll for all enemy attacks and sometimes he will show her a few figures and let her secretly pick what creature we meet next. Who needs encounter tables when you have a first-grader around

[seraphinitegames]

Hey, Mishka!!!

I've been replaying TWC over the last couple of months, and must say, it's been an entirely rejuvenating experience for me. Like, I was reading it the first time, although I've replayed the series quite too many (worrying number) of times already. And it still manages to amaze me, EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I've repeated this in the past, and I'll repeat it again. The Wayhaven Chronicles is a blessing for me and I'm sincerely thankful to have come across it when I did. And I'm grateful to you for making this lovely world a reality (and of course, the four beautiful vamps)! Really eager for Book 4 and have already player the demo; can say it's gonna be worth the wait. It every time is.

Replaying the series in the last few months, I had a certain uncontrollable urge to drop and ask a few questions to you. Apologize in advance for the long ask and message, but it had been bottling up inside of me for SOOOOOO LONG.

1. In Book 1, when we're to lead the investigation in one of the three directions, is there any way to get success in any direction without Bobby making a big joke out of our investigation in the newspaper?

2. In Book 2, when Nicole and Max Salinas come to report their incident, can Tina actually find out anything unusual? If so, what is actually needed to explain that?

3. In Book 3, I noticed if we choose to go the final mission alone, depending on the route chosen, Boddy/Doug will end up tagging along as well, jeopardizing everything. Is there still a way to complete the mission successfully and rescuing everyone like it happens when we go along with Rebecca?

4. Less of a question, but more of a plea. Please tell me we can get a pet anytime in the series. I was just curious if we can get one.

5. How powerful is the big baddie in Book 4 compared to Unit Bravo? You don't need to answer if this verges on spoiler-y territory.

Really sorry to overwhelm you with this, but it's just months and months of joy, happiness, and sheer ecstasy making me blabber on about this world like this. Thanks once again, for making this truly beautiful story, world, and the vampires a reality.

Have a good day!!!! Lots of love from India!!

You can never play a game you love too many times (I keep telling myself that as I gradually burn a hole into my poor old console playing Dragon Age over and over, lol!)! If it brings you happiness, then that's what is important! :D

Ok, let's see about the questions...it's been a whole since I've gone through the older games without being in editing mode, hehe!

I don't think so...Bobby is, well, Bobby. And that scene was there very much to establish their character and show the player what type of person they are.

I don't think so, again. If there's anything unusual or odd, then I usually like to let the MC find that instead of it happening 'off-screen' so it's more impactful for the player—unless it's Verda discovering stuff, because that needs to happen for…reasons.

Iirc, in the Bobby/Doug routes, you get the auction scene, so a lot of that branch involves focusing on saving yourself! But the other team that joins Unit Bravo will help in saving a lot of the captives in that version.

I would love that being a massive animal companion fan myself, hehe! But likely not, just because the MC is away a lot from home, and that's unfair on the pet, even a fictional one, lol. I was tempted to give the MC a supernatural pet that hung around at the facility—that was definitely a strong idea at one point just so I could write a pet in the series for those that wanted it (me, I was the one who wanted it, hehe!) :D

**BOOK FOUR DEMO SPOILERS AHEAD** It's not just that Book Four's villain is terrifyingly powerful (or will be. They are, thankfully for the MC and UB, in a weakened state for a while due to what's happened to them and what happened in Chapter Two) but it's a lot to do with the fact that their power specifically counteracts and weakens Unit Bravo's. So that's a double whammy!

Thank you SO incredibly much for the amazing message! It means more than you can know <3

[monsterboyblood]

I finally, FINALLY managed to design a dress I like on her.

Roll Light

Construction Purpose: Roll was built to be Doctor Light's nurse while he was recovering from his injuries. Now that he's healthy and adjusted to his new life, she's taken over Rock's jobs as housekeeper and lab assistant. Despite her job change, she still takes the health of everyone around her very seriously.

Biggest Strength: Roll is very good at reading people, and knows exactly when she needs to intervene and help out.

Biggest Flaw: She has trouble knowing when people actually want her help, and tends to accidentally overstep the boundaries of her friends and family often.

Weaknesses: After the first Wily takeover, Roll was injured and left with a fault in her systems that make her prone to dizzy spells and fainting.

Battle Role: Roll stays far away from actual danger, guiding Rock through stages from the lab, leaving Doctor Light free to work on upgrades for him without having to worry about his son being left alone.

Misc Notes:

Her hobbies include karaoke, sewing and surfing.

Roll was built with knowledge about how to care for humans, but dedicates a significant amount of time to learning how to repair and care for robots as well.

Roll attends high school three days a week. She doesn't need to, but enjoys the socialisation aspect. She even has her own friend group.

When she isn't with her friends, she's usually hanging out with Ice Man.

She collects a specific brand of animal figurines.

She has a two hour long hair routine.

She loves her brother more than anything, but she can't help but feel a little bit mad that she now gets called "Mega Man's sister" more than her own name.

She used to wear red, but it seemed to make Doctor Light uneasy.

Her favourite music genre is metal.

----

Beat Notes:

He's a budgie

He can turn into a hover craft that Roll can use to get around the city quicker.

His serial number stands for Cossack Companion Number.

[cl0wncakez]

Say whatever you want about the black and white anime, but the one thing i will always stand by is that IRIS AND CILAN WERE NEVER PART OF THE PROBLEM!!!!

i did a full watch of the bw series a few weeks back, and the main 2 complaints i had about it were ash’s pokemon (he caught too many and most of them didn’t get enough screentime as a result) and team rocket (they were like barely there and didn’t even do the blasting off gag until the last season i think)

but for me the best parts of it were iris and cilan!!! i was kinda expecting them to be annoying cuz of all the hate they got, but i was pleasantly surprised at how enjoyable they were.

first off, i am the number 1 iris defender. all the posts i see that complain about her say the same thing everytime: “all iris does is say that ash is a little kid!”

well, as someone who’s binged the entire unova anime in like a week and a half, i can say that there is so much more to her. but for one, she doesn’t even say that ash is a kid as often as you might think. she mostly says it in the first few episodes when she first met ash. for the rest of the series, she’ll occasionally say it in passing, but it is not her one defining trait. while there are a few instances where i thought that it wasn’t warranted, there are plenty more times where ash was being big dummy and deserved it.

what people seem to forget about iris is that at the start of ash’s unova journey, iris is practically a new trainer. her axew is at most only a few weeks old, and her excadrill, while strong, hasn’t battled for who knows how long after being brutally defeated by drayden’s haxorous, leaving it in a state of shock. so obviously, she isn’t going to be the most experienced trainer out there.

iris grew up in the village of dragons, which as the name suggests, is a village inhabited by various dragon type pokemon. having spent her whole life surrounded by dragon types, iris has made it her dream to become a dragon type master. while at the beginning of her journey, she’s just with her axew, she over time has several encounters with dragon type pokemon, all of which help her better understand how to communicate with dragon types.

in one episode, she helped a druddigon out from a trap set by team rocket, while everyone else assumed it was rampaging out of anger. in another, the gang were helping out at a pokemon daycare, and in it was a deino, who was extremely shy. it’s trainer hadn’t returned for days after they said they would (the trainer ended up getting lost in a cave) and it was beginning to refuse to eat due to its anxiety. and what did iris do? she stayed with the deino the whole night, helping it relax in a place it wasn’t familiar with. it’s episodes like these that show that she’s not a one dimensional character, and like the rest of ash’s companions, she has character development.

but what helped fully flesh out her arc was when she caught her dragonite.

unlike axew, who was by her side from the beginning, she and dragonite did not get along immediately. dragonite was stubborn, wouldn’t listen to iris, and had its own way of battling. in order to become a dragon master, she would first have to understand dragonite. the trust that was built happened really slowly, but she did get there. by understanding a pokemon as troubled as her dragonite, iris would then be able to reach out and soothe her excadrill, making it confident enough to battle again, and help axew evolve after her journey with ash ended. and i think that was a solid way to end her arc until pokemon journeys, where offscreen, she fulfilled her dream as a dragon master and became the champion of unova.

now onto cilan.

cilan doesn’t get hated on nearly as much as iris, he’s more or less just forgotten about. so while i was expecting to hate iris when i first started watching, i had zero expectations on cilan. and tbh, i think he’s my favorite traveling companion?? if not than at least top 3.

cilan is the oldest of three siblings, and he first met ash and iris when ash came to battle at the triplet’s restaurant/gym. usually, the challenger only battles one of them, but ash was the first person to want to challenge all 3 brothers. when it was cilan’s turn to battle, he assumed that he would win due to him having the type advantage (ash choosing to battle with oshawott against cilan’s pansage)

well, ash won. and a few episodes later, cilan asked if he could join ash on his journey. the reason cilan wanted to come along was because he saw a new side to pokemon battling that he wanted to better understand.

something about cilan is that while he is a gym leader, he doubles as a pokemon connoisseur. a connoisseur is someone who makes critical judgements in fine arts or matters of taste. for cilan, he analyzes the bond between trainer and pokemon. and during his battle with ash, he evaluated his and oshawotts bond based on their battle. and he dug INTO ash, almost outright insulting his capabilities as a trainer, due to his assumptions from ash using a water type against a pansage.

but the thing is, cilan was wrong. in the end, oshawott ended up winning with ash’s strategy and support.

he fully expected to win, and was given an entirely new perspective of battling after seeing ash pull through. like cooking, pokemon battles aren’t just about type advantage and throwing moves out. it’s about thinking outside the box and trusting your pokemon, which ash accomplished by having oshawott use its scallchop to deflect a bullet seed attack. wanting to become a better trainer and connoisseur, cilan tagged along to gain a new understanding between trainer and pokemon.

and outside of his arc, cilan is just a genuinely fun character!!! did you know that along with being a pokemon connoisseur, this man is also a fishing, cooking, detective, judge, and film connoisseur??? and he can cook!! (EDIT: people are mentioning that he is also a train connoisseur!!! sorry :( i forgor)

cilan is shown to be more composed with his emotions than the previous traveling partners ash had. he also plays a mediator role whenever ash and iris bicker. and remember, cilan is the oldest sibling of 3 triplets, so he’s likely had to play mediator countless times if his brothers ever argued. ash and iris also seem to have a sibling-like bond, so their clashing was probably similar to what cilan faced before with cress and chili.

as i said, cilan is much more patient and gentleman-like. so the few moments where he genuinely loses his shit leaves a stronger impact.

the most notable example was with skyla, who instead of fulfilling her gym duties, played out battles in her head, and made her own judgements on if she could win a battle or not. this lead to challengers either being pushed away without a chance to battle, or given a gym badge without deserving it.

now cilan, who is a gym leader, sees this as a disgrace. it goes against everything a gym leader is supposed to do. skyla was lazy, arrogant, and wouldn’t do her job, which set him off. while he did lose against skyla, it was a big character moment to try and defend his honor as a gym leader.

overall, cilan is soooooo cool you guys don’t get him the way i do!!! i am the number 1 cilan fan!!!!

i think the reason people complain about iris and cilan more than any other companions ash had is because they were different.

iris had a completely different goal than everyone before her, it was a complete 180. she had zero interest in contests or performing, her dragon master dream was brand new in the anime. additionally, her relationship with ash was more like siblings than best friends, which likely made some viewers think their bickering was annoying.

and cilan. poor guy didn’t even have a chance from the start. not after brock was around for like a billion seasons.

overall, the black and white anime does have its problems, as does every pokemon anime. but leave iris and cilan out of it THEY ARE INNOCENT PARTIES :(

[dukeofriven]

So often alt-Earth worldbuilding falls apart under the slightest bit of pressure: what if every human on earth from birth had a sentient, speech-capable, physical manifestation of their soul that could shape shift and eventually settled on a form that revealed some inner truth about your person would that not radically alter the course of human history? To which the answer, apparently, was 'not in any meaningful way, no.'

Live theater in the His Dark Materials universe must be wild. Surely an actor's daemon also has lines to recite, so their daemon's form probably also factors into casting decisions. Maybe some plays have vague character descriptions for daemons, but I bet other plays have really specific or central daemon characters. And sure, big-budget theaters can afford to hire a separate actor with a particular daemon to stand backstage while their daemon plays its part onstage, but community theaters don't have those kinds of resources.

Like if you're casting for Julius Caesar, surely the real historical Caesar had a pretty iconic daemon, right? Are you going to cast an actor with a pigeon daemon as Caesar and just have everyone suspend their disbelief that it's Caesar's lioness, ἁμαρτία?

[lynnuvo]

𝑀𝓎 𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉-𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒-𝒯𝑜𝑜-𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁

Characters: Toga Himiko x Female (Y/N)

You and Toga Himiko were not only friends but classmates back in middle school. She had a fair amount of companions, but you were her best friend--the one person she felt she could go to about everything. After all, you were the first person she invited for a sleepover and her last.

One day, she gathered the courage to share her family troubles with you. She shared her quirk and thus, her strange interest in harming animals, including the one where her parents caught her sucking the life out of bird when she was a child. Although it unsettled you at first, you collected yourself and thanked her for entrusting you with her history. You sympathized with her wish to be "normal." Your response to her confessions opened a door. With others around, she was her usual, well-behaved, cheery Toga. But when you two were alone, her cheeriness doubled, and the topics you two would discuss sometimes turned from everyday things to "would-you-rathers?", "wouldn't it be better if?", and deep desires. She asked you a LOT of questions. You were worried that if she kept going, you might have to spill every single thought about you. Thankfully, her questioning spurts would only last for a short while.

It wasn't long before your friend group noticed how much closer the two of you had gotten over the past three months. You were dubbed "Toga's Best Friend," and you didn't mind it. In fact, you loved it. You loved Toga. Just not enough to sweep her off her feet and kiss her.

Luckily, this allowed you to encourage Toga to confess to the boy she developed a crush on. It was sudden, and you were sure there had to be more to the boy than just him taking the time to talk to her about birds in the library during study hall (she forgot to do her homework and met him there). But there wasn't.

You picked at the rice you packed for lunch. The echoes of chatter in the cafeteria felt like white noise to the headache forming in your head. Not an actual headache, of course. But your situation sure felt like you needed one. "What's so special about him?"

"He's cute. Adorable. I'm in lovee~" Toga Himiko said as she stared dreamily at his figure three tables across. Her pupils may as well have been hearts. "I like him a lot."

"Then why don't you just tell him?"

"I don't know. He probably won't like me. He barely knows me."

You scoffed. "And you barely know him. What if he's actually a bad person?"

Toga leaned closer. "Do you know something about him?"

"No, but..." Your lips pursed before you shoved a spoonful of food in your mouth. "We don't even know his name."

"We'll find out."

"Come on, Toga. You can find someone else--someone you actually know."

Toga leaned even closer with a cheeky smile spread across her face. "Are you insinuating I should be with you instead?"

"Wha-No! You know that's not what I meant!" Some gradient of pink and red spread across your face. "Just--Forgot about it!"

"You're so cute, (Y/N)-chan!"

Conversation similar to this would continue for days, then weeks. It wasn't a lot, but no matter how many times you both talked about it, Toga never approached him for a conversation, and the few times he approached her to converse, they didn't get to a point where they exchanged numbers. You honestly felt sorry for her, but no amount of advice would be convincing enough T for something to actually happen. She would even invite you over to her house to conjure up a plan (and have fun), but it was all for naught. You didn't think she'd confess anytime soon.

--

But then she did confess.

In the worst way possible.

The news that Toga Himiko, your best friend, attacked her crush at graduation spread like wildfire. At this time, it was a week after graduation, and you holed yourself in your room beating yourself up for ever letting Toga leave your side. After the actual ceremony, you left to join your parents but couldn't find Toga for some reason. Even after you messaged her repeatedly to meet up before you went to have a celebratory dinner, she didn't appear. Even to this day, you sent her messages, but she didn't reply.

"(Y/N)," your mother called from the doorway. Her worrisome gaze fell on you fidgeting with your phone. "You should probably stop messaging her if she's not answering now."

You turned to her. You knew how tempted she was to wash your face and chide you on your dark circles like she had the first day you broke down crying, but she knew better with the way you lashed out. "Why? She might answer."

"Honey." Your mother walked inside and sat down on the floor beside you. She brushed a hair from your face and took your phone away gently. You didn't feel like fighting back. "I spoke with her parents. They gave her phone to the police a while ago."

"What?!" Your eyes began to well. "How could...this is so...."

The following week was miserable. You barely ate and slept for most of the day. Some of you and Toga's mutual friends messaged you throughout the week to check up on you--and on the case. They were all encouraging but also skeptical about Toga's true nature. They couldn't believe this behavior would come from her. But you did. You didn't predict her to act this irrationally, but you did expect the pressure to be "normal" to get the best of her at some point.

When the next week began, your mother urged you to buy groceries from the store. It was her way of saying you needed a breath of fresh air. Luckily, you were more willing to accept help. You retrieved the grocery list from her hand and set on your way, mind still on the girl. You were halfway there when you heard your name.

"(Y/N)..."

Your body freeze. You spun around to see a girl in a black hoodie and black pants. She wore a white mask. Despite the clothing, you instantly recognized the girl from her glowing yellow eyes.

You ran into her arms; she embraced you right back. "Toga! It's really you! Where have you--mmph?!"

Your breath left you as Toga threw your body into the alley beside you. Your exposed shoulder scraped the sidewalk, making you yelp in pain. Toga hurried over to hush you. Out of the corner of your eye, you barely made out the silhouette of a tall figure before your vision went completely dark. Someone must've put something over your head--and body. Like a potato sack. You felt a prick at your ankle; adrenaline surged through your body. You just started to scream when an arm forced its way into your mouth from outside of the bag. You bit down as hard as you can, and the person groaned—a male. You tried to bite down more but pull away real quick. The texture and taste of the potato sack was awful, and you felt things in your mouth. You spat them out. Hopefully, they weren't splinters.

"Be gentle with her!" Toga chided as you were thrown onto someone's shoulder.

A low, masculine voice sounded real close to your head. "Why do I have to do this little side-quest for you? We haven't even made it to the base yet, and we're gonna be introduced with this random hostage. We're not gonna get in like this."

"Yes we will! She promised she'd be with me no matter what!"

A promise? Oh. That must have been something you made while you two talked about her family issues. You don't remember making this promise, but it must be because your head is so clouded from how despondent you've been recently.

"You realize that's before you became a murderer, right?"

"Yeah, but (Y/N)-chan is my favorite girl. I can't leave her behind~!"

"Her family is going to suspect you had something to do with this."

"Either that or she ran away to find me. I'll make it worth her while!"

Your heart fell. You loved Toga, but you loved your family as well. Even if you wanted to be by Toga's side, you didn't want to leave everything behind.

And Toga? A murderer? She hasn't even graduated high school yet and she's already a villain?!

Tears streamed down your face. You knew you should fight back--kick the man who held you--but if Toga could kill people and still be so cheery, what would she do to you? Her sharing this information must mean the man with her is some kind of villain or accomplice or someone who doesn't care about such things, which is still pretty scary.

When you couldn't hold back a hiccup, you heard Toga's footsteps fall. Her soft voice sounded to your right. "Don't worry, (Y/N)-chan. You'll be able to rest once the dose sets in. We can talk about everything once you wake up in our new home."

You cried for a good moment. The man muttered something about getting his shirt wet. Sometime after your eyes ran dry of tears, weariness began to kick in. You closed your eyes. The last thing you could remember thinking about before you knocked out was the hypothetic situation if you had just made her fall in love with you instead.

[strangebiology]

Storytelling environmental issues through photography

I've been talking with my photo mentor (JenGuyton on IG) to help me get better at photography in the hopes of making a photo book companion to my written book, Carcass.

So I'm trying to learn visual storytelling a little better and considering these three images for my portfolio, but none of them are perfect.

The first shows a field of dead sheep, but the issue is you can only see a few in the foreground and some of the ones in the background if you zoom in. The story is striking, 51 dead sheep in a field, and the experience was striking, but I think I failed to capture an image that demonstrated the scale of the deaths.

The second image is more clearly a sheep. There is black plastic in the sheep's stomach but you can't see until you zoom in.

The third image shows the black plastic better but we're back to a less-readable image. By itself, you probably can't immediately tell what's happening.

I love this image of a dead bird filled with plastic which BBC calls "The Photo that Made the Plastics Crisis Personal." Plastic in a stomach tells a story. My mentor says a photographer doesn't want to rely on a caption to tell a story, the photo should get a lot across. I totally get that, as even though I'm a writer first, I know darn well that images capture attention a lot faster than text.

However, I don't think that there is a good way to show the viewer what likely happened to these sheep, and maybe some stories don't lend themselves visually as well as others. I don't know how to use an image to communicate what I think happened to the sheep because it's so contextual. In short, I think it was a harsh winter. Maybe the one who ate the plastic couldn't get to food and ate plastic instead, however, I don't know how often sheep do that, and I did not investigate all of their stomachs (the pictured one was just that way when I found it.) Based on the conversations I've had with sheep herders and the presence of hay and feces in this field, I think the sheep gathered there to eat supplemental feed, died in higher numbers than usual due to the cold and/or snow covering the grass, and thawed at the same time as the snow melted. Perhaps I should return next winter to photograph carcasses covered in snow (if it's another bad one?). But I think captioning is important as well, as I can't get an interview in a photo, and the meaning of the hay and feces isn't super apparent even if you can see it.

So, it's interesting that the issue of animals eating plastic might get more attention than issues of climate disasters because the plastic in the stomach is easier to communicate photographically.

[haggishlyhagging]

“By 1900 child mortality was already declining—not because of anything the medical profession had accomplished, but because of general improvements in sanitation and nutrition. Meanwhile the birthrate had dropped to an average of about three and a half; women expected each baby to live and were already taking measures to prevent more than the desired number of pregnancies. From a strictly biological standpoint then, children were beginning to come into their own.

Economic changes too pushed the child into sudden prominence at the turn of the century. Those fabled, pre-industrial children who were "seen, but not heard," were, most of the time, hard at work—weeding, sewing, fetching water and kindling, feeding the animals, watching the baby. Today, a four-year-old who can tie his or her own shoes is impressive. In colonial times, four-year-old girls knitted stockings and mittens and could produce intricate embroidery; at age six they spun wool. A good, industrious little girl was called "Mrs." instead of "Miss" in appreciation of her contribution to the family economy: she was not, strictly speaking, a child.

But when production left the houschold, sweeping away the dozens of chores which had filled the child's day, childhood began to stand out as a distinct and fascinating phase of life. It was as if the late Victorian imagination, still unsettled by Darwin's apes, suddenly looked down and discovered, right at knee-level, the evolutionary missing link. Here was the pristine innocence which adult men romanticized, and of course, here, in miniature, was the future which today's adult men could not hope to enter in person. In the child lay the key to the control of human evolution. Its habits, its pastimes, its companions were no longer trivial matters, but issues of gravest importance to the entire species.

This sudden fascination with the child came at a time in American history when child abuse—in the most literal and physical sense—was becoming an institutional feature of the expanding industrial economy. Near the turn of the century, an estimated 2,250,000 American children under fifteen were full-time laborers—in coal mines, glass factories, textile mills, canning factories, in the cigar industry, and in the homes of the wealthy—in short, wherever cheap and docile labor could be used. There can be no comparison between the conditions of work for a farm child (who was also in most cases a beloved family member) and the conditions of work for industrial child laborers. Four-year-olds worked sixteen-hour days sorting beads or rolling cigars in New York City tenements; five-year-old girls worked the night shift in southern cotton mills.

So long as enough girls can be kept working, and only a few of them faint, the mills are kept going; but when faintings are so many and so frequent that it does not pay to keep going, the mills are closed.

These children grew up hunched and rickety, sometimes blinded by fine work or the intense heat of furnaces, lungs ruined by coal dust or cotton dust—when they grew up at all. Not for them the "century of the child," or childhood in any form:

The golf links lie so near the mill

That almost every day

The laboring children can look out

And see the men at play.

Child labor had its ideological defenders: educational philosophers who extolled the lessons of factory discipline, the Catholic hierarchy which argued that it was a father's patriarchal right to dispose of his children's labor, and of course the mill owners themselves. But for the reform-oriented, middle-class citizen the spectacle of machines tearing at baby flesh, of factories sucking in files of hunched-over children each morning, inspired not only public indignation, but a kind of personal horror. Here was the ultimate "rationalization" contained in the logic of the Market: all members of the family reduced alike to wage slavery, all human relations, including the most ancient and intimate, dissolved in the cash nexus. Who could refute the logic of it? There was no rationale (within the terms of the Market) for supporting idle, dependent children. There were no ties of economic self-interest to preserve the family. Child labor represented a long step toward that ultimate "anti-utopia" which always seemed to be germinating in capitalist development: a world engorged by the Market, a world without love.”

-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women

[mah-o-daryaa]

Avatar Cycle Trivia

Avatar Wan

Wan's name translates to "ten thousand" in Mandarin Chinese, as he lived ten thousand years before Avatar Korra. His name is also a pun on "one", as in Avatar number one.

Wan wore the colour of each of the four nations during his battle against Vaatu. His robes were yellow and orange (air), his armbands were green (earth), his sash was blue (water), and his scarf was red (fire).

In addition to becoming the first Avatar, Wan is also the first true firebender, as he was the first person to learn firebending from a dragon.

By fusing with Raava during Harmonic Convergence, Wan is technically the oldest Avatar to be identified, being 21 at the time.

The Earth Kingdom battlefield where Wan died is the same field that Zuko visits millennia later in Zuko Alone (Book 2: Episode 7). Interestingly, Wan first appeared in Beginnings, Part 1, which was the seventh episode of Legend of Korra, Book 2: Spirits.

Avatar Yangchen

Yangchen is the only known Avatar to have a sibling (Jetsun).

Yangchen is technically the first Avatar to have an established Team Avatar (not counting Wan and Raava).

Yangchen had split-personality disorder with her past lives, where she essentially suffered from nightmares of her past lives bleeding into her present self.

Yangchen's companion Kavik is the first person ever seen get chi-blocked.

Yangchen did not like the idea of people creating statues of herself in the future. Ironically, she was greatly revered in the Four Nations, and a statue each was built in both the Eastern and Western Air Temples.

Avatar Kuruk

Kuruk is currently the only known Avatar whose predecessor and successor were both women (Yangchen and Kyoshi respectively).

Kuruk had more lovers in 3 decades than Kyoshi did in over 2 centuries (the true story is more tragic).

Kuruk had a habit of challenging random people to feats of strength, which makes him the only known Avatar in history to have participated in an Agni Kai.

Kuruk was the best hunter and tracker in the history of the Four Nations. It's said there was nothing he couldn't hunt or track down (that includes spirits).

Kuruk is the only known Avatar to enter the Spirit World after death. Considering that only people with a special connection to the Spirit World can enter at death (such as Iroh and Yue), this means Kuruk must have had a spiritual connection rivalling that of most Air Nomad monks or nuns.

Avatar Kyoshi

Kyoshi is the only known Avatar known to be of mixed nationality; her father was from the Earth Kingdom, while her mother was a renegade Air Nomad.

Kyoshi had a rare condition with her earthbending where she could move large objects with ease but had difficulty in moving smaller objects (Suffering From Success).

Kyoshi has witnessed more passings of Sozin's Comet than anyone else, with three (not counting Lao Ge).

Kyoshi learned the secret to immortality from Lao Ge, which led her to have the longest lifespan of any Avatar.

Kyoshi has threatened both the Earth King and the Firelord.

Avatar Roku

Roku and Firelord Sozin share the same birthday.

Roku has been featured in the introduction sequences of both Avatar: The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra.

Roku is the only known Avatar to appear old when he was called upon by the current Avatar.

When Roku entered the Avatar State for the first time, he destroyed the Fire Sage Temple.

Roku's dragon Fang is the only animal companion ever seen in the Spirit World.

Avatar Aang

It took Aang longer than any Avatar in history to become fully realized, being over a century old.

Aang has a scar on his back and on his foot, because of how electricity works.

Aang choosing four toys out of thousands – to identify him as the Avatar as these four toys were the same ones that past Avatars had chosen for generations when they were children – was the same procedure used by the Tibetan Buddhist monks to recognize the next reincarnation of the Tulku Lama.

Aang has met the original source of every bending art: a flying bison for air, the Moon Spirit for water, badgermoles for earth, and two dragons for fire.

Aang is the first Avatar to have his picture taken.

Avatar Korra

At four years old, Korra is the youngest Avatar in history to be identified.

Korra is the first Avatar to learn spiritbending.

Korra is the only Avatar to break out of bloodbending without the use of the Avatar State (sorry, Aang).

Korra is the only Avatar to have killed a member of her own family (Unalaq).

Korra is the first known person to ever tame a polar bear-dog (Naga).

Miscellaneous

Wan and Roku are the only two Avatars to die in combat.

Roku and Aang are the only two Avatars to fight a volcano. Aang was successful, while Roku died.

Aang and Korra are the only two Avatars to ever be defeated in the Avatar State.

Aang and Kyoshi are the only two Avatars to ever get hit by lightning. Ironically, when Kyoshi was hit by lightning, her chakras were opened and she gained the ability to enter the Avatar State; conversely, Aang's chakras were blocked and he was unable to enter the Avatar State.

Kuruk and Roku are the only two Avatars to have been identified the "traditional" way in their respective nations at 16; Wan fused with Raava at 21, Kyoshi was identified at 16 when she recited Kuruk's poem, and Yangchen, Aang and Korra were identified at younger ages.

Yangchen, Aang, and Korra are the only Avatars to have been identified at younger ages than 16.

Wan, Aang, and Korra are the only Avatars who are modeled after real-life people. Wan is modeled after co-creator Bryan Konietzko (but with cooler hair); young Aang is modeled after Arjuna, Sifu Kisu's son (but Aang is bald), while adult Aang is modeled after co-creator Mike DiMartino; and Korra is modeled after various female MMA fighters, most notably Gina Carrano.

Roku and Korra are the only two Avatars who have worn an outfit from each of the four nations on-screen.

Roku and Korra are the only two Avatars to have connections to royalty. Firelord Zuko, and thus every following Firelord, are descendants of both Roku and Sozin, whereas Korra's father was a member of the Northern Water Tribe's royal family, and was later elected as the chief of the newly independent Southern Water Tribe.

When Kyoshi first met Yangchen, she (Kyoshi) mistook Yangchen for her own mother.

When Kyoshi first met Kuruk, she almost drowned her physical body trying to communicate with him.

Roku and Yangchen are the only two Avatars to have hugged the current Avatar at the time (Aang and Kyoshi respectively).

Wan, Korra, and Kuruk are the only Avatars to refer to Raava by name, although the latter (Kuruk) had never met Raava.

Yangchen, Kuruk, and Aang are the only Avatars to have invented an airbending technique. By extension, Kuruk is the only person outside of the Air Nomads to invent an airbending technique (he didn't get his mastery tattoos, what a shame).

Aang and Korra are the only two Avatars to learn energybending.

Kyoshi, Roku, and Aang are the only Avatars to use bending after their respective deaths.

Kyoshi, Roku, and Aang are also the only Avatars to have descendants (but let's be realistic, so did Kuruk).

Aang and Korra both learned their native element from a companion of the previous Avatar, and their final element from a descendant of the previous Avatar. Aang learned airbending from Monk Gyatso, a companion of Roku, and learned firebending from Zuko, Roku's great-grandson. Korra learned waterbending from Katara, Aang's wife, and learned airbending from Tenzin, Aang and Katara's youngest son.

That's all the fun facts I could find.

[luvsae]

kang saebyeok as your guitarist girlfriend | bullet point story [1] . . ♡

- kang saebyeok x gn!reader

note: this is just the intro so she isn't your girlfriend yet

- you actually met saebyeok at a show that she was playing at a bar

- the whole band was good but you couldn't keep your eyes off of her

- she noticed at one point and made eye contact with you, sending a cheeky smile your way

- you couldn't help but feel butterflies in your stomach - she was really pretty

- she had on a tux, but the blazer was off, leaving her with a messy bow tie and a white shirt - it was perfect

- after the show you stayed for a bit to have one more drink and hopefully see the guitarist (who you now knew as saebyeok since the whole band introduced themselves)

- as you took a sip of your drink, the seat beside you was suddenly filled

- looking over, you noticed saebyeok

- you almost spit out your drink because of how beautiful she was

- she noticed your stare and laughed. "hi"

- "hi," you replied back. "the show was really good"

- she grinned, taking a sip of her drink. "thank you. were you staying after the show just for me?" saebyeok teased

- you felt your cheeks heat up, not knowing what to say at first. "well, i did want to see you, but i didn't expect for you to sit next to me"

- saebyeok chuckled to herself before taking a napkin and a pen, then writing down her phone number

- "call me when you get home, okay?"

- you practically ran home after saebyeok gave you her number

- after waiting a bit, you decided to text her

you: hey its y/n :)

- a few minutes later, she texted you back

saebyeok: hey there, didn't think you'd text me haha

y/n: how could i not? you're really interesting

saebyeok: ohhhh you're interested in me?? ;)

- you couldn't help but smile like an idiot - why was this girl so interesting to you?

saebyeok: we should hangout soon. let's go to a coffee shop

y/n: im down

- the two of you actually followed through with the plans of going out, and today happened to be the day

- you changed your outfit three times before coming to a decision - it wasn't too casual, but not too fancy

- suddenly you heard a knock at your door. shit she was here a bit earlier than expected

- rushing over to the door, you opened it and saw saebyeok. she was in cargo pants and a loose top - she was beautiful

- "hey," you smiled sheepishly. "come in"

- she entered your home. "sorry im here a bit early. there's gonna be traffic soon so i thought that i should come here a bit earlier"

- "that's okay," you nodded. "i just need to get my bag and then we can go"

- as you went to get your bag you couldn't help but smile to yourself. you were so excited !!

- the two of you eventually left and drove over to the coffee shop. you learned some things about the girl

- she was the same age as you, her favorite color is blue, she's been playing guitar for a few years now

- you also told her some facts about yourself, it was nice

- the both of you talked and had some coffee, laughing at all the stupid and cheesy jokes that saebyeok told you

- she complimented you a few times too, and you couldn't help but blush because of that

- "you're really pretty" "you really light up the room" "your laugh is pretty too"

- the hangout didn't end after that because the two of you then went to the pet store

- you practically dragged saebyeok over to the section where the cats were, squealing over the little animals

- "this one is so cute i want to adopt them all"

- "that would be a lot of cat food"

- "but it's worth it!"

- saebyeok was more interested in the birds and frogs - she thought they were cool

- "these little guys would be great companions, don't you think?" "they are really cute. netflix frog!"

- "you're adorable"

- after that you would go to a video game store (this was for saebyeok as she played games on her days off)

- "what games do you like?" you asked her

- "i like survival games. i played one recently called the forest, you should play it with me one day"

- "that would be fun"

- saebyeok ended up buying a copy of minecraft for one of her consoles after you said you played that game often

- the day would soon end and saebyeok would bring you home. she made you stay a bit longer because the sunset was nice (others would argue she just wanted to spend more time with you)

- you would take a picture of the sunset before turning to saebyeok. "we should take a picture in front of the sunset, what do you say?"

- "of course"

- the two of you would huddle close and take a picture - saebyeok was stunning as she was drawn out by the sunlight

- saebyeok would walk you to your door and smile at you. "did you have fun?"

- "that was the most fun ive had in a while, thank you"

- "would you wanna do it again?" she asked, putting her hands in her pockets

- "if you have ideas on where to go, and if you plan to get me that cat, then yes" you teased

- she grinned and nodded. "alright, y/n. i don't know if i can get you that cat, though"

- you rolled your eyes playfully. "i'll see you again soon, saebyeok. text me when you get home"

- "will do"

- and with that, your first hangout with saebyeok was done

- you couldn't help but feel giddy and excited over spending the whole day with her

- you couldn't wait until your next adventure

[whencyclopedia]

The Frog Princess

The Frog Princess is a Slavic folktale focusing on the importance of recognizing someone’s inner beauty, regardless of their outward appearance, as well as the possibility of redemption after failure. The tale has many variants and appears in Czech, Hungarian, Italian, and Russian folk works as well as many others.

In the most popular version of the tale, from Russia, a prince who has married a frog discovers she is a beautiful and magical maiden but betrays her trust, forcing her to leave him. He must then embark on a quest to prove himself and win her back. The frog princess in this version is known as the fairy Vasilissa the Wise, but the heroine is not the same character as Vasilissa the Beautiful from the folktale of the same name featuring the witch Baba Yaga.

The Russian version is well-known for the dramatic twist it puts on the character of Baba Yaga who is seen here as a helpful entity, rather than as an evil, child-devouring hag, whose mystical powers are symbolized by the number three as there are three baba yagas, each of whom progress the plot. The tale is representative of the animal bride and offended supernatural wife motif, which appears in several legends from different cultures. The Slavic tale has nothing to do with the modern-day novel The Frog Princess by E. D. Baker which formed the basis for the 2009 Disney animated film of the same name.

Origin & Motif

The form of the story derives from one of the most ancient, the animal tale, made famous through Aesop’s Fables but first appearing in Mesopotamia. An animal tale uses animals as characters either to explain something (e.g. how the dog got its tail) or to impress some moral on an audience (as in the well-known Aesop tale, The Fox and the Grapes). Scholars Maria Leach and Jerome Fried comment:

The line between the literary and folk fable is not easy to determine, since tales from collections like that attributed to Aesop have had wide popular circulation and have been taken from and gone back into oral traditions of large groups of people. However, the area of contact between the didactic, moralizing fable and folklore is slight, for the animal tale proper is meant essentially to entertain. The hearer is required to suspend belief and see the animal speaking, thinking, and acting like a human being. (61-62)

In the tale of The Fox and the Grapes, for example, the fox behaves like a petulant child when he cannot reach the overhanging grapes and finally walks away saying they were probably sour anyway (inspiring the phrase "sour grapes" referring to someone who rationalizes a failure to get what they want). For the tale to be effective, an audience must accept the world of the tale in which foxes can speak, reason, and rationalize. In this same way, The Frog Princess relies on the suspension of disbelief at a talking frog who is able to perform transformational magic.

The tale is similar in many ways to the better-known The Frog Prince (also known as The Frog King) in which the youngest of three princesses drops her gold ball into a well by accident and it is retrieved by a frog after she promises she will be his companion. Once the frog returns her ball to her, however, she breaks her word and runs away. The frog then follows to force her to keep her promise. The princess only accepts the frog once she finds out he is actually a handsome prince and, according to different versions, she is either rewarded for her kindness or punished for being shallow and selfish.

The Frog Princess also has the main character show kindness to the creature but later betray its trust and also uses the device of the youngest of three as this was a popular motif in folktales. The youngest son would usually receive no inheritance, and the youngest daughter was married last and so might have the poorest dowry. Folktales balanced this perceived injustice by frequently featuring the youngest of the family as the hero or heroine.

Continue reading...

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Dratini, perhaps? I love that blue noodle...!

Unlike many dragon-type pokémon, keeping a dratini as a pet is feasible. Maybe not recommended for beginners, and most certainly far from convenient, but possible. That is, if you possibly have the space!

While they are pretty thin with their worm-like physique, dratini can get pretty dang long. On average, fully-grown dratini average at nearly six feet, but some have been said to surpass that by another half foot if properly cared for (FireRed). This would certainly be something that many pet owners would have to adapt to, but many people care for large snakes with little problem, and dratini could most likely make themselves comfortable coiled up in whatever space is available to them. Thankfully, these pokémon are quite light and not very strong (Ultra Sun), so handling them isn’t too much of a challenge outside of volume.

Here’s the thing though: the habitats that wild dratini make their homes in aren’t very easy to replicate in the home, which makes this a pokémon with some pretty rough ease-of-care. Wild dratini make their home beneath rapidly-flowing waterfalls in order to protect them from predators while they grow (Crystal). I will point out, however, that a normal pool of water might suffice if the dratini feels safe and secure. Regardless, you will need to invest in a watery habitat for your dratini to spend at least some of their time in, which could be cost-prohibitive for owners who don’t already have such a resource on-hand. As a note: handling a dratini in the water is much more difficult then on land due to their impressive swimming strength, besting fishermen for hours in the wild (Moon), so you will definitely want to invest in training for if you need to move your dratini out of this area for whatever reason.

If you are one who is grossed out by animals that shed their skin, you’ll definitely want to look elsewhere. As the first stage of a three-part evolution line, dratini lifestyle is all based around growth: a healthy, growing dratini will be filled with energy and will shed their skin entirely numerous times in their life, or even nearly on a daily basis (Silver, Gold, Ultra Moon). Despite the energy building up within them, driving their growth, dratini live a very low-key lifestyle. They aren’t picky about their food, and spend most of their time quietly going about their day (Ultra Sun). If you’re looking for a playful, personable pokémon, a dratini might not be for you, but those who enjoy the presence of their pet with no action-oriented strings attached may find them a lovely companion.

Thankfully, living such a low-key lifestyle, dratini aren’t very aggressive. This is critical considering some of the concerning moves that they can use. From paralyzing rays like Thunder Wave to draconic maneuvers like Dragon Rush and Outrage, dratini can really pack a punch. Safely keeping a dratini would require a keen awareness of their mood and body language, especially when in the water with them.

Overall, keeping a dratini could be entirely feasible for someone experienced with high-maintenance, high cost pets. Experts in handling dragon-types would find dratini a breeze, while newbie owners may struggle to meet their needs and may find themselves in danger if their pet ever lashes out. I will leave the pet-worthiness of this species to the potential owner’s discretion.

As a bit of a post-ranking note, though: adopting a dratini is notoriously difficult and expensive, which may also be a good reason to look at other species first. Dratini are so exceptionally rare, earning them the nickname of “Mirage Pokémon” due to their low numbers (Diamond/Pearl/Platinum) cause by both their limited habitats and the financial value of their shed skins (Sun).

[tribbetherium]

The Early Glaciocene: 90 million years post-establishment

Snow Where Else: The Arctic Fluffball

The Cryocricetidae, a basal lineage of duskmice that diverged early on in the Early to Middle Rodentocene from the other main duskmice groups: the molemice, the heckhogs, the pondrats and the hammibals, is represented in the Early Glaciocene by but a single species: the arctic fluffball (Spheromys rotundus). But what it lacks in species diversity, it makes up for in hardiness and numbers, as the arctic fluffball is one of the most successful duskmice in the incoming age of cold.

Already adapted to cooler climates in its habitat in the northern tundra during the Late Therocene, the fluffball was uniquely well-suited to survive the coming of vast swathes of permafrost and the long, harsh winters and short summers that heralded the ice age of the early Glaciocene. Compact, well-insulated with extremely dense coats with bristly, waterproof guard hairs and thick wooly underfur with as many as fifty hairs per follicle, and able to hoard food in the brief summer months and hibernate when food became too scarce and winters became to tough even for them, the arctic fluffball was able to weather unpredictable cold snaps by holing away in their communal burrows, with numerous individuals, dozens or even hundreds, packed together in the coldest nights in the depths of their burrow chambers to conserve body heat. Warmed by their companions, insulated and nourished by reserves of body fat, and with stashes of seeds, twigs and nuts in their burrows, the arctic fluffball could survive and thrive in places where few species can.

Even the northern tundra, blanketed in ice for most of the year, had teeming colonies of arctic fluffballs living under the snow, rarely venturing out to the surface to forage for food. When they do emerge, they do so in large groups of a dozen or more during the daytime when it is relatively warmer, seeking safety in numbers as they fill their cheek pouches as much as they can and hurry back to the safety of the den, camouflaged against the snow by their transluscent white fur, also serving to direct scant UV rays to their dark pigmented skin that contributes to heat absorption. In addition, their ears are small and inconspicuous, to avoid them losing heat, their tails are almost nonexistent to reduce surface area, their eyes are small and narrow to minimize glare and the risk of snow blindness, their noses furred and bulbous to warm entering air through specialized nasal turbinates, and their paw pads are also furred to protect and insulate their feet against the cold snow. All in all, these hardy little animals are able to tolerate temperatures dropping below zero for rather long periods of time, and when conditions get bad even for their standards, they retreat to their burrows and enter a state of torpor, in which their metabolism slows to a nearly deathlike state and their breathing and heartbeat decrease dramatically to be almost imperceptible.

Arctic fluffballs breed in the spring, anticipating the bounty of summer and timing their month-long gestation to when food is at its most abundant. Once born, the ravenous young, which number up to ten to twelve in a litter and are fully-furred from birth, are weaned at two weeks and become sexually mature at six months, able to breed the very next summer after they are born: a rare opportunity in a fluffball's life, as they live only five to six years on average, and can bear as many as sixty young in the lifetime of one female. With few natural predators in their northern arctic range, their populations swell dramatically: and in irregular cycles of about three to eight years a massive population explosion reaches its peak and forces the fluffball colonies to split up, with some staying in the home burrow and others migrating in large numbers to find new territory and food. It is during these migrations that the fluffballs are most vulnerable, as many are picked off by opportunistic zingos, ratbats and small carnohams, but their populations have exponentially increased to such a point that predation scarcely dents their great numbers, and enough survive to re-establish new colonies elsewhere.

Throughout the Glaciocene, the individual species in the genus Spheromys would increase and diverge in number as different populations became reproductively isolated during their migrations, with three species known by 100 MYP, the northern, eastern and western arctic fluffballs (Spheromys sepentrius, S. oriens and S. occidens). These species would change very little physically and behaviorally, having hit upon a winning formula of evolutionary adaptations that ensured great success in the cold.

However, their luck was not to last forever. Despite weathering the end-Therocene mass extinction and the brief reign of the harmsters, the arctic fluffballs would finally meet their match as the ice they had adapted so well to began to disappear: the dawn of the Temperocene. While a few subspecies held on, gradually trying to adapt to warmer climes by growing thinner fur and having more active metabolisms, their remarkable resistance to cold would prove to be their only primary asset. In the end, even these last few stragglers would end up being outcompeted by the furbils and duskmice that spread upwards from the increasingly-warming south, driven ever more northwards by increased competitors, until, ultimately, they would at last disappear at the beginning of the Early Temperocene: a time of great success and respite from the cold for many creatures that found new opportunities in a warming world-- but an end of an age to those that had specialized to the ice and snow.

--------

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 1: nothing's new

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: After nearly two years of peace, you are called back to the Capitol only to find that the future they promised you was a lie.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Use of Weapons, Mention of Injuries, Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Coriolanus Snow is many things, he thinks to himself, but incompetent is not one of them. So there had been the Lucy Gray hiccup. Helping her cheat the Games only for her to die at the hands of Dr. Gaul’s snakes after he failed to slip the handkerchief into their tank was inconvenient, to say the least. As was his brief stint as a Peacekeeper as punishment for his dishonest tactics following the discovery of a certain compact with her remains. Still, he had learned a valuable lesson. Love is no more than a disadvantage, a distraction lodging itself like an unfortunate bump in his flawless plan. And now, he is back, having traded Sejanus’s life for his own advancement. It was nothing personal, really. Personal is a luxury, the only one he can not afford.

Sure, the loss had hurt, but the District 7 boy made a fine victor and one he could control with a far greater degree of ease, given the detachment he felt in regard to the kid’s safety. New year, new him, new Games, and this time, things would be different. 

His proposals had gone through without much struggle, especially with Dr. Gaul practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He is the protege; his mentor is the kind of woman you do not cross without bearing the consequences. 

And so, on this fine morning, as he stands with the casual grace of a cat, elegantly perched on the corner of his desk, he can’t fight the grin that spreads across his face as he delivers the order he’s been waiting for weeks to give.

“Well? Go get them.”

It is a cold day in District 10, at least colder than most you think as you finish your daily sweep of the ranch and its expansive territory. You pull back lightly on the reins, bringing the horse to a slow stop.

“To name an animal, any animal, it’s counterproductive. Selfish even. Makes for a more difficult slaughter; always best to remain detached.” Your father’s words echo in your head as you dip your neck to whisper soft praise to the creature below, her hind branded with a string of three numbers: 039. Her label, to call it a name, would be to demean anyone granted the privilege of such a thing.

“That was good Bluebell, nice easy ride. Told you it would get better.” She is young. Young enough to spook with a fair amount of ease, but then so are you. Had been ever since your Games.

You dismount, hitting the ground with a soft thud before coming around to face the gentle giant and fishing a handful of sugar cubes out of your pocket. She nuzzles the food in your palm before beginning to eat, and you run a hand up and down the bridge of her nose. The world is quiet, dew still catching the light of the rising sun when you see it in the distance: the armored vehicle speeding towards the cabin housing the front office. It is not unusual for Peacekeepers to come and go from the building, but the night shift typically does not end until 8:00 am, and dawn’s colors still paint the lower half of the sky. Something is wrong.

Two men exit the vehicle, entering the small building before quickly reappearing at its entrance, a third companion in tow. He stands on the porch for one beat, two, a lazy hand draped over his eyes as he scans the field for something. Someone. And then he points. You. They are looking for you.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and your body screams at you to mount once more and ride as fast and as far away as you can, but you stay rooted. Frozen. You watch, helplessly still, as the car only comes closer, pulling to a stop on the other side of the fence, keeping the pastures separated from the open road. The Peacekeeper in the passenger seat steps out, boots scraping the gravel.

“Ms. L/N?” You only nod.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us; you’ve been called to the Capitol.” You feel like screaming, but your throat constricts, and all you can do is take slow, encumbered breaths as your body caves in on itself and you crumple to the ground.

“I– What?”

You do not mind the mud on your knees, and the slow chill that begins to spread from the places dampened by the wet grass is barely perceptible in your state of shock. Called to the Capitol. Your mind jumps back home, your brother and sister still tucked away, blankets to their chins. They would not rise for another thirty minutes at least. You picture your mother. Savoring a final moment of quiet in her busy day, sipping the coffee you’d left in the pot just for her. Your mind replays the goodbyes you had paid them this morning. Careless and quick, not like the day of the reaping. Just sloppy kisses pressed haphazardly to their foreheads and a gentle farewell on your way out the door.

“That’s not possible– It’s not– I haven’t…” There is an eerie stillness to the world at this time of day. One that only seems to press inwards, suffocating you. Distantly, you feel the soft pressure of Bluebell’s muzzle on your shoulder as though urging you to get up

Though the man in the driver’s seat seems annoyed by the inconvenience, his partner fails to shield the look of pity that flits across his face as he dips to pass through the fence, pulling you up and then back through the gap with him. He is not rough as he sets you in the backseat, not like the Peacekeepers you remember from your Games, or maybe he is; everything seems a blur as the car makes its way to the train station, and it is only as the compartment doors to close behind you that you think of Bluebell, left out in the pasture, probably licking fallen sugar cubes off the ground.

Treech releases a labored exhale as he tries once more to readjust his grip on the axe. It’s just a tree. He can sense the nearby Peacekeeper shuffling from foot to foot, anxious for him to get on with the process. This is not the arena. I am safe. I am home.

There is no time off granted to returning victors following their stint in the Games. Production is production, and there are quotas to be met, so Treech had arrived home, and the following morning, before the sun had kissed the hilltops with its light, he had risen to go to work. Only work didn’t come easy the way it used to, lulling him into a rhythmic sense of comfort with its repetitive motions, and each time he raised his axe, all he saw was them. The other tributes waiting to receive the killing blow.

Treech wipes the sweat from his brow in a single frustrated motion in spite of the cold, then, squaring his jaw, he takes a swing. Crunch. The axe lodges itself in Teslee’s head, and he stumbles back, eyes wide with fear. Only it is not Teslee. No. He blinks once, twice, and it is only a pine tree, and he is back in the forest, sinking under the weight of the Peacekeeper’s heavy glare. The man, stationed less than a yard away, begins to move towards him, and Treech prepares himself for another beating, the sharp threats from the last time still ringing in his ears.

“Officer,” a voice calls out in their direction as another man of higher rank, from what Treech can gauge, approaches the pair. The two men meet and begin to speak in hushed voices, eyes flitting in his direction every few sentences. They’re gonna fire me. Or worse, string me up in the square and use me as an example. His grip on the axe tightens. His axe. His father’s before him. He will not go down without a fight.

“Hey, you,” Treech keeps his eyes on the forest floor, silently praying to any higher power that will listen that he is not the you in question. 

“Hey! Hey, you!” He can hear the man approaching, but the sound of his footsteps is dulled by the pounding of Treech’s heart. He feels like a child in a bathtub, head halfway under the surface as the water beats at his eardrums, completely still and as loud as a tidal wave. A firm grasp settles around the fabric of his winter coat, far too thin for the cold but the best he can afford.

“Listen to me when I’m fucking speaking to you,” the Peacekeeper spits, and Treech’s mouth settles into a hard line, his hand curled into a tight fist, twitching by his side. The man before him huffs in frustration.

“Call came in from the Capitol; you’re on the next train out,” he moves as though he’s going to release Treech before yanking him back in, close enough to press his mouth to the boy’s ear. 

“You’re lucky the order came from above; if I had a say, I’d gun you down right here for the disrespect.” With that, he gives the kid before him a hard shove before beginning to stalk off.

“Let’s go.” But Treech feels as though the ground beneath him has disappeared. Back to the Capitol? Would they send him into the arena? He was done. Won his Games fair and square. He was supposed to be free. What more could they want?

The first thing you notice about the train is that it is the nicest thing you have ever set foot inside of. During your Games, and all those before and after, transport to the Capitol had been relegated to old cattle cars used to shuttle livestock across Panem, and the same had been true on your return trip. This is different. Every inch of the compartment is decorated with the lavish and ornate, all-cushioned seats and elaborate chandeliers.

The second thing you notice is the boy. He is older than you, you think, by several years. Five, maybe six. He seems out of place, tucked into the corner of one of the booths, sizing you up suspiciously. He looks familiar.

“I– Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met before,” he responds, cold and guarded. But there is something about him, his build, tall and broad, dark skin and brown eyes; you could almost imagine them looking soft and kind in a different environment. 

He keeps the sharp look on his face, and you have yet to move from the doors when it clicks.

“You won seven years ago; I remember you. District 11. Teff, right?”

“You’re the girl from 10,” he says, and his posture relaxes, if only by a fraction.

“Y/N.” You smile, and you mean it to be a comfort, but there’s a fear in your eyes that betrays the anxiety deep in your gut. Still, you move closer, sliding into the seat across from him and bringing your hands into a neat pile on your lap.

“What are we doing here?” It’s small and whispered as it escapes your lips, and your gaze refuses to meet Teff’s as you wait for an answer.

“I have no idea.”

It is several hours before the train stops again, and though they are mostly passed in silence, the occasional attempt is made at small talk. Whispered theories mingle among everyday questions. So, what do you do in District 11? Do you think they’re gonna kill us? There’s lots of horses back home, cows too. They can’t put us back in, right? Only once, that’s what they said. 

The next time the doors open, you are in 2, as indicated by the towering stone walls keeping it separate from neighboring Districts. Three people get on. One of the boys you recognize immediately: Octavian Blackwell, the first victor. His hair is dark, clipped short in a sort of military cut, and his eyes look as though they are carved from steel. Beside him is a girl, small and lithe, her posture relaxed and tense all at once. Antonia. The name echos out from some dark, cavernous corner of your mind. The first female victor, 3rd Hunger Games. The final boy is taller than both his counterparts, though leaner in build than Octavian; you wrack your brain, praying for some form of recollection, but he remains unfamiliar to you.

“More victors,” whispers Teff, and you watch as the three faces before you seem to come to the same realization.

“What the fuck is going on?” It’s the District 2 boy who breaks the silence, the one whose name continues to elude you. 

“Hector,” Antonia hisses, a warning lacing her tone, but her eyes betray a curiosity lingering beneath the surface. 

“They can’t put us back in, right? There’s not enough. Not to mention, half the districts wouldn’t even have tributes,” you sputter the words up, an involuntary torrent of concern spewing from your mouth. Your gaze flits nervously from face to face, and in spite of the many hardened exteriors, you can feel it beneath the surface, a brewing apprehension. Octavian breaks the silence.

“They won’t put us back in.” And he seems certain. He is old, you think. Not old in the way a grandparent is, but aged certainly. You had never taken the time to imagine a tribute outside childhood, escaping adolescence into fully formed adulthood, but here was Octavian, who must have been at least twenty-six, with several deep-set wrinkles beginning to mar his brow.

“Probably just rounding us all up to kill us, send a real message after those shitshow Games last year,” Hector grumbles, moving further into the compartment and thrusting himself into the booth across from you and Teff. “Just watch; I bet we’ll hit 4 next, then 7, and 1.”

The noise of uncomfortable shuffling seems to fill the compartment, and eventually, Octavian and Antonia settle into the booth beside Hector. You can’t help but allow the shell of a laugh to brush past your lips. A whole train car for the lot of you, and here you were, pressed into the two corner booths. Sure, the cage is bigger, but you still cower like animals. Like you’re back in those trucks ushering you from the train to the arena, gleaning a last moment of comfort as you brushed shoulders with the children you would watch die.

Hector was right. The train stopped at 4, though only one boy got on. Trawl, he’d won the 8th Games, just before yours. You remember distantly hearing of another victor from 4, a boy who was killed upon return. Murdered by the father of his district partner, who accused him of killing her. Stabbed him in the town square, they said. The Peacekeepers only watched.

The train grinds once more to a halt in 7, and quick glance outside the window reveals a station made entirely of wood, grand posts carved with ornate designs supporting the massive roof. You glance towards the door, waiting for him, the newest victor. You do not have to work hard to recall his name, Treech; the two syllables had echoed from every radio in your mother's house the day the 10th Games ended.

The doors open with a hiss, and he stumbles in as though pushed, a mop of curls obscuring his eyes. He seems dazed. As he lifts his head, you watch it happen. The same realization that had dawned on every victor to enter the compartment after you, but then his gaze only grows dull as though accepting some secret fate you had yet to be alerted of before he shuffles forward, taking a seat on a longer bench facing the door. Alone. 

It is several more hours before you reach 1, and although some hushed conversation continues to fill the train car, you sit in silence, casting worried glances at the quiet boy with his head in his hands. He is not crying, you think; his shoulders are too still, but his breathing remains too rapid to indicate sleep. Maybe he just likes to listen, you suppose, trying to grasp the newest direction of the chatter around you. Maybe he’s scared. As you turn once more to analyze his hunched shape, Trawl catches your line of sight, speaking up from beside you.

“Just leave him alone; if he wants to sit by himself sulking, that’s his problem,” he mutters close to your ear.

“For all we know, we could be walking into an ambush. Give him a break,” you say, moving to stand before making your way over to the place on the bench beside him. You are quiet for a time, unsure how to start, but as your lips begin to purse around a greeting, he interrupts you.

“I like your hat.” His voice is flat, a single eye visible from behind the curtain of his hair. You forgot you were wearing a hat. It was your father’s from his brief time on the ranch before transferring to the slaughterhouse, where he met your mom. Your hand darts up to trace the brim.

“Thanks, it was–” But then his tone registers, and you recognize the snark behind the compliment, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“You some sort of cowgirl?”

“How do you know what a cowgirl is?” You ask, and your eyebrows draw together in surprise at the knowledge.

“Read about them in school once, before I dropped out.”

“I guess so. Usually, people just call me a ranch hand.” He lifts his head at this, and you realize he’s quite pretty on closer viewing.

“Doesn’t sound as cool.” The ghost of a smirk lights his face as he says it.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” you say, grinning back. His smile is quick to fade, and he turns once more, fixing his gaze ahead, away from you.

“Why are we here?” He asks, his cocky demeanor gone in an instant. You ache to be able to provide him with an answer, but the same question has been clawing at you since the two men showed up on the ranch this morning. 

“I– I’m not sure.” He nods, and it is solemn, like a prayer, but he does not return his face to his hands, instead watching the miles of land roll by in a blur, no single thing occupying the space outside the window for longer than a second. You find yourself looking, too, imagining how it must feel to go 250 mph. You decide it's probably like flying.

By the time you reach 1 to collect its two victors, a searing silence has spread over the train, the atmosphere tense. The journey to the Capitol is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and as the skyline appears over the barriers built to keep people like you out, you feel the apprehension shrouding the compartment begin to buzz. It is only then that Hector speaks, shattering the stillness with a single phrase.

“Welcome back to Hell.”

The sun is setting as the train pulls into the station, and you twitch nervously, scraping your nails against the pads of your fingertips. Beside you, Treech watches your movements with a fixed gaze as though pondering reaching out to still the repetitive motions himself. He does not, and you fail to notice his attention on you at all, eyes fixed ahead on the double doors. 

When they open, a swarm of Peacekeepers descends on the car within a matter of seconds, hoisting you from the seats, snatching at arms and shoulders in their attempts to muscle you out of the compartment. A startled yelp escapes your lips as the man with a harsh grasp on the collar of your shirt rips you forward and onto the platform, jostling your hat from your head. 

“No–” You lunge for the single remnant of your father, straining against the Peacekeeper working to wrangle you towards an awaiting vehicle, but it is no use. He wraps you in a firm pair of arms, lifting you, kicking and biting from the ground the remainder of the distance before tossing you onto the floor of the car. As you whip around to assail him once more, the doors fall closed with a thud, leaving you to pound futilely against them.

Eventually, your jabs lose their power, and you sink down, forehead pressed to the cool metal, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming tears from spilling over. A hand makes its presence known on your shoulder as the car begins to move, and you turn to glimpse Trawl, his face painted with concern. A quick once over of the vehicle reveals only half the victors had been loaded on: you, Trawl, and the two tributes from 1, Lux, who sits with both hands clasped primly in her lap, and Beau, whose only visible sign of distress is the repeated preening of his hair.

“My– My hat. It was my dad’s–” you stutter out as Trawl helps you onto the seat beside his, “I don’t– there’s nothing else left.” The concern in his eyes settles into pity, and you feel like shrinking under the weight of his compassion, tired of feeling helpless.

It is not long before the car pulls to a stop, and the doors come open once more. It is dark out now, and you can’t help but find it unusual, the feeling that you are being smuggled, rushed in under the cover of night. Typically everything is a display in the Capitol. If they are going to kill you, where are the cameras? You are ushered into an elevator, and one of the Peacekeepers extends an arm, scanning a card before pressing the button for the top floor. You think distantly this might be some sort of hotel. You have never been inside a hotel before. A simple ding alerts you to the fact that you have reached your destination, and you are jostled out and through the door directly before you following the swipe of another card.

It is a large room. You had always believed hotels came with the promise of a bed, but this seems more like a home: a kitchen with appliances you do not recognize, a luxurious lounge with a semicircular couch facing a large projection, and a man, his hair as white as snow.

“Please, let’s not manhandle our guests,” he calls out to the group of Peacekeepers herding you into the center of the room, and they back away, taking up posts on the surrounding walls. Their message is clear: you are not permitted to leave. 

You reach up to rub at the place where, only moments before, your arm had been kept in an iron grip when the door to the room flings open again, the remainder of the victors stumbling in. Teff comes first, ripping his bicep from the man beside him upon entrance, followed by Hector, Antonia, and Octavian, who seem more contained. Last is Treech, a newly formed bruise beginning to darken the area around his eye, and your father's hat held delicately in his hand, fingers pinched around the rim. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor but lifts his head upon hearing your stifled gasp. 

“Come, make yourselves comfortable. I don’t bite, I promise.” The man at the front of the room speaks with a placating tone and words meant to dulcify, but he smiles like a wolf. No one moves.

“Let’s try this again. Sit down.” From behind you, you can hear the Peacekeepers beginning to shuffle from their stations, inching forward. Octavian is the first to budge. He takes a tentative step in the direction of the couch before nodding at Antonia and Hector, who follow close behind. You look to Teff and then to Treech, only a few feet away from him, still holding your father’s hat. The former surveys the room once before giving you a slow nod, and you move to sit. They file in behind you, Trawl quick on their heels, and the four of you occupy a single corner of the couch being sure to leave room for Lux and Beau. As he slides into the seat next to yours, Treech tenderly sets the hat atop your lap, and you mouth a subtle thank you that he leaves unacknowledged.

“Much better.” The man before you grins, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a look of recognition pass across Treech’s face.

“So glad you could all join us.” He claps his hands together before clearing his throat to begin.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what you’re doing here, and I want to assure you that in spite of the worries you expressed on the train, we are not going to kill you.” A chill passes down your spine at his implication: they had been watching you.

“See, you represent a new beginning. The birth of a different kind of Games. A better kind of Games.” A wave of confusion seems to pass over the lot of you. Though it is more like anxiety, and you feel a bit like you are drowning in it.

“Now, last year, well, that was quite the mess,” he says, nodding to Treech as though they are in on some sort of joke together. Your stomach turns. 

“But the important thing is, we learned something: the people of the Capitol need someone to care about. To root for, if you will. Which means it’s time for a new way of thinking.” He pauses as though for dramatic effect, and you can’t help but think his speech feels practiced. Had he smiled this morning, delivering his death knell to the bathroom mirror?

“Right now, the Games, they make people sad, uncomfortable even. Too much humanity, not enough spectacle.” Beside you, Treech tenses. “There is nothing commodifiable about the current structure. But if, say, we were to place a higher value on the victors and make you celebrities of sorts, then this blight becomes an honor.” The nine faces before him appear as though they are sculpted from stone; he clears his throat before continuing.

“And how, you may ask, do we plan to do that? Well, starting this year, the past victors will be in charge of mentoring the children from your districts.” Here, there is some breakage. Anger, plain and simple, seeping through the masks. Antonia begins to speak.

“Fuck no–”

“I’m not finished, thank you. Now, this will come with an array of new challenges. There will, of course, be interviews to prepare them for, something you obviously have no experience with, as well as a tribute parade.” Your nose crinkles in disgust as the sole image your mind conjures is last year’s tributes chained to a flatbed truck, Brandy’s dead body swaying from a crane above them. Brandy, who you knew. Who was only one year younger than you. Who had a talent for soothing any creature with which she came in contact and who cried for three days the first time she killed a hog.

“And you will be in charge of organizing sponsorships once they are in the arena, networking, and such. But not to worry, each of you will be given an escort from the Capitol, someone to help you navigate the trickier aspects of the job. And you will not go unrewarded either. Starting this year, victors will be granted financial compensation as well as eventual housing in a Victor’s Village, which will be put up in each of your home districts. Still, we will need to begin with a sort of reintroduction to teach the public what your new role as a victor is, and–”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, so quiet you think no one hears.

“Excuse me?” The man’s gaze is icy cold, like a knife to the chest.

“That’s– That’s not fair. What about the kids in 12? 8? 6 and 5? If you do this, the same people will win every year.” You stare back, and when your hands begin to shake, you hide them beneath your thighs.

“I don’t typically give lessons in power for free; you should be grateful.”

“You’re evil.” And it is not a question. You are certain.

“Not evil, just practical.”

“The Capitol hates us, they think we’re scum. They’ll never get behind this,” Treech offers from beside you, and you see it on him, the mark of last year's Games. The toll they took.

“If the citizens of the Capitol think we care, they will too. I’ll put you on television with the goddamned President if I have to. This will work.”

“What if we won’t do it?” Teff demands, his voice low, tinged with a warning.

“You have a family, do you not?” The man asks, and the threat pools in his eyes, but he voices it anyway. “Would you like to continue having a family?” It is quiet for a moment, and the weight of his words feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried in your life.

“We were supposed to be done. We won our Games,” It is Hector who speaks this time, rising from his seat. He pauses for a moment, then raises his brow as though in a challenge. “Well, I don’t have any family. Not anymore. Not thanks to this bullshit fucking system, so you know what? I think I’ll pass.” From beside him, Antonia claws at his arm, a pleading look in her eyes. It is too late. The man with the white hair nods, and two of the Peacekeepers on the back wall step forward. 

“That’s too bad. He can go.” They are on Hector in a matter of seconds, but they do not make for the door; instead, they seize him, one on each arm, and turn towards the hallway, splitting off from the large central room. Several victors move to stand, with Trawl and Octavian making an attempt to follow, but they are swiftly restrained, and you sit in silent shock as the sounds of Hector’s struggle become distant. A door slams. Then, a gunshot. After that, it is quiet. Your limbs feel stiff, frozen even. From your other side, Lux releases a stifled sob. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Teff throw up.

“Anyone else have any concerns they wish to voice?” It’s as though you have all stopped breathing.

“Wonderful. We’ll begin in the morning. You’ll each have a team here to prepare you for the press tour. Your rooms are numbered by district. Be ready at 5:00 am sharp. I’d hate to have any more incidents.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” You speak again, though the sound of your own voice comes as a shock. The man only sighs.

“This is not a prison, no. Though we would prefer you not leave the premises–” You don’t give him time to finish, making a hasty exit through the door where you came in.

“Just make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he sighs with a haphazard wave of his hand in your direction.

You are at the bar when Treech finds you, two glasses of Posca deep.

He hadn’t meant to go looking for you, really, only to clear his head and get away from that room. Shortly after your departure, two men had entered with a stretcher and left only minutes later with it full, the vague outline of a body visible beneath a white linen sheet. He had followed them out and then quickly abandoned their company at the prospect of sharing their elevator, instead descending the stairs. From the 32nd floor. And there you were, right as the door to the lobby opened, hat on the bar and your eyes fixed on something he wasn’t sure was really there.

“No hard liquor here. At least not for us,” you huff, slumping in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And don’t bother asking for the bottle either. They’ll just give you one of these. Nothing more dignified than drowning my sorrows in a glass that costs more than my mother’s house,” you wave a limp hand at the ornate flute before you, doing little to disguise the biting sarcasm in your tone.

“I’ll take what she’s having,” Treech mutters to the man behind the bar, though he keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, unwilling to bear the weight of the curious gaze being pressed upon the pair of you.

“Do you remember them, the other tributes?” You ask suddenly, as though the thought had been clouding your mind for hours.

“The other victors?” You shake your head.

“No. The other kids in the arena.” Treech freezes for only a moment, caught off guard, but it’s enough time for the truth to plaster itself across his face. Every day.

“Sure.” You don’t say anything, only sit patiently, waiting for him to continue. “There was– There was Lamina; she was from home.” I watched her die. I sat by and did nothing. “And there was Coral and Mizzen; they were from 4. And the youngest. She was from 8. Had these hearts made of buttons on her pants. Wovey, I think. From 12, there was Lucy Gray, the girl who sang. Reaper, he was the last to die. I killed him. Killed the girl from 3, too. Teslee.”

He feels his voice begin to waver and opts to stop talking. You sit in silence for a moment, trading quiet nods with the bartender as he returns with Treech’s drink.

“Rye.”

“Sorry?” Treech asks, still lost in the memories of his fellow tributes.

“He was the youngest. He had these eyes just like my kid brother, big and sad. He just stood there, I remember, when the games started. The boy from 2 killed him; just walked up and broke his neck. Couldn’t have been that hard; he was so small. But he looked so surprised like he hadn’t known it was coming, even after he hit the ground.” Treech thinks he might be sick, and beside him, the color has drained from your face.

“Twenty-four kids every year, and we’ll have front-row seats to all of it. The people in the districts, in the Capitol, they’ll forget, let a name or two slip, but we’ll see them all. Watch them train, see their interviews, pick them apart in hopes of a weakness.” Treech downs his glass in one go before signaling to the bartender he needs a refill. You push your flute in the same direction, looking the District 7 boy up and down as though you’d never given him too much thought before.

“I never envied you. The way the Capitol dragged you through the streets for all those funerals, put you behind bars in a fuckin’ zoo, had you play nice and pleasant before sending you off to slaughter. At least ours was quick. Picked us all up on the train, threw us in the back of a truck, and then dumped us in the arena. Nobody knew who we were. Nobody wanted to.” You break off in a laugh that is brittle and unforgiving.

“Maybe it’ll be better this way. I’m in the market for a new job. Turns out you’re no good at chopping trees when you can barely hold an axe anymore,” Treech jokes, but the smile on his face does not reach his eyes.

“They–” but you are quick to pause, halting mid-sentence as though contemplating continuing. You exhale softly before clearing your throat and lifting your eyes once more to meet his. 

“They had to fire me.” Treech’s brows lurch forward in confusion, creating two dimples in the flesh just above his nose. 

“At the slaughterhouse,” you supply. “They had to fire me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t kill anything. The Peacekeepers, they just wanted me gone. I’m pretty sure they would have just gotten rid of me too, you know, set an example, but I knew the guy who ran the place. I used to give his daughter art lessons. He made a call, and I got transferred. Started working as a ranch hand instead.” You stop, and for a moment, Treech thinks you’ve finished.

“I kept thinking they were him. I would pick up the knife, and suddenly, it was like I was back in the arena, watching him die.” The last part came out in a whisper.

“They say what I did to that kid; they say it was mercy. A mercy kill. But I still killed him, and he’s still dead. And I have never stopped thinking about it.” You clear your throat once more and cast your gaze down, hoping to disguise the tears collecting in your eyes. Treech takes notice. He remembers a conversation not two months prior with his mother. The way his voice shook as he spoke. About the games. About the other tributes. He recalls the twisted expression of discomfort she bore, the pity, and above all, his own anger at feeling helpless. Wounded.

“Art lessons? You paint?” Relief, instant and undisguised, etches itself across your features. 

“Draw, mostly. Charcoal, pencil, anything easy to come by. I was gonna be a veterinarian before– Well, you know. I was practicing for scientific sketches, but I just sort of fell in love with the way they moved– animals.”

“You have a favorite?”

“Horses are the hardest. Cows– they’re soft, like people. Some people, I guess. I saw a fox once, little gray thing, sleeping in the grass. I think maybe I liked that one the best. My mom used to say it was good luck, a fox crossing your path. Though, I can’t imagine how. That– That was the day before my reaping.”

You sit in silence for a moment before Treech speaks again.

“You lived. Maybe that was it: the good luck.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Like maybe everyone else got out easy, and here we are still living in a nightmare.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” he whispers, but it’s as though he’s pleading with some higher power that it might be true. “It can’t be.”

“Wake up, Treech. This is it for us. They are gonna drag us out here every year to flounce around the capitol, parading new kids to their deaths– or worse, whatever this is, the horrible aftermath–”

“There’ll be new mentors. New winners–”

“Yeah, in 1 and 2 and maybe 4. Don’t you get it? We’re the runt districts. We’ll be lucky if we see another Victor in the next twenty-five years,” Treech swallows hard, willing his mouth to stop tasting so dry; he can feel his heart in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe you ran with the pack in your games, but things are gonna change. Look around. They already are.”

[nohara-rin-dot-mp3]

Nohara Rin characterization guide part 1

Have you ever wished that Rin had a personality beyond "dead girl" so that you could write more fleshed out interactions between her and the rest of team Minato? Have you ever wished you could care about her, but struggled to figure out where to start, since there's so little there? Are you interested in creating complex characters out of the crumbs provided from canon? You're in luck! I've dedicated the past 2 years of my life to studying Rin (not as much of an exaggeration as it should be) and I've put together a "rinterpretation," so to speak, of her that I think is pretty neat, and today I'm here to explain some of that to you.

This is the first post of a two-part series; in it, I will be going over what we canonically know about Rin. In the second one, I will explain how I have connected all of that into a cohesive character, and further explore how the themes and imagery in canon reflect this character. Edit: here's a link to the second one!

To begin with, we have her two databook pages. Let's go over them one at a time.

There's not much of note on this page from the fourth databook. It tells us repeatedly that she's kind, a mednin, and a balancing force between Kakashi and Obito. It emphasizes the fact that she died, and that Obito and Kakashi are sad about this because they cared for her. We do get some interesting rinmages (images with Rin). Front and center on this page is the classic closed eye smile pose. There is significance to this to me. That's about it, though.

I don't have an English version of this page, sorry. I do have a translation, though- let's take a look!

Rin Village: Konohagakure Rank: Chuunin Ninja Registration Number: 010885 Birthday: November 15 (? years old, Scorpio) Height: ? cm Weight: ? kg Blood Type: A Personality: Gentle, intellectual, devoted Favourite food: Strawberries Least favourite food: Tsukudani (Seaweed/fish boiled down with soy) Speciality Jutsu: Medical Ninjutsu Favorite word: Friendship Interests: Collecting shells Graduated from the Ninja Academy at age 9 Promoted to chuunin at age 11 Mission Experience D-rank: ? C-rank: ? B-rank: ? A-rank: ? S-rank: ? Statistics Ninjutsu: 3.5 Taijutsu: 1.5 Genjutsu: 2.5 Intelligence: 4 Strength: 1 Speed: 2 Stamina: 2.5 Hand Seals: 4 “Heey…quit it, both of you!” Carefree smiling face – Kindness along with strength. Rin is an impressive warm, calm face. But when her injured companions are before her, she shows no weakness or tears, and executes her duty accurately. On the battlefield, this medical ability always kindly cares for her companions. As a celebration of his promotion to Jounin, she gave Kakashi a special medical pack. This was a symbol of Rin’s medical talent and her affection. She demonstrates her medical talent when her companions are injured. She is completely serious.

This is from the second databook- and there's some really interesting stuff here. Although most of the information given contributes to the image of a perfect, selfless girl who exists only to support Kakashi and Obito, there are some hints of person beyond that. She's describe as "serious" and "showing no weakness or tears." It seems that she's not all that emotional- and that's actually backed up by the manga, at least! (I wouldn't know about the anime, I haven't watched it in a while, lol.) I'll get back to that point once we start going over manga pages.

We also learn that her favorite food is strawberries, her least favorite food is tsukudani, and that she likes to collect seashells. Those are really interesting and important tidbits of information. Building off of these can help us create a more three-dimensional Rin.

The picture of her they chose to center on this page is also quite funny to me, because she kind of looks like she's about to kill someone, but maybe that's just me.

Let's move onto the manga. Rin appears, by my count, in a total of 278 panels. A significant chunk of these are just flashbacks of the same few static images of her. The sections she actually gives us something to work with are the kanabi bridge mission chapters, the chapters where she dies, and the Obito flashback sections. I'm not going to go over every single panel- I'll just focus on moments that can be used to further a good rinterpretation, and sweeping generalizations we can make.

Let's start with kanabi bridge.

The first few chapters don't really reveal much about Rin. She does seem very competent, both in healing and in strategy, but she also gets kidnapped and used as material by which to move the plot forward, yada yada yada.

Rin being serious and smart.

Things start getting interesting once Obito gets crushed by that bolder. To start with, Rin is able to transplant a fucking sharingan into Kakashi's head with seemingly no issues very, very quickly. We've been told that she's a pretty good mednin, but she's far from a prodigy. I feel like it's fairly obvious that the Uchiha wouldn't have let anyone learn anything that might let them perform an operation like this- so how did Rin learn this?

It's up to you how you answer the question. Maybe she's a better mednin than we've been led to believe. Maybe she's an implant on the team from Root, trained specifically to implant sharingans. Maybe Kishimoto just doesn't care about the logistics of surgery. There's a lot to unpack here if you choose to examine it from an in-universe perspective, though, so I'd encourage you to look at this from a Watsonian angle.

Rin also confesses to Kakashi in the next sccne. This is... an interesting decision, both in terms of writing and whatever the hell Rin is thinking. However you choose to explain it, and whether you think she was ever really crushing on Kakashi, I think it warrants some though. Time and place, Rin. Time and place.

Finally, I'd like to look at this beautiful panel:

I love the ambiguity here. We don't know what Rin is thinking- but this panel signals to us that she is experiencing some kind of emotion that we are not privy to. Every other character spells out their feelings through dialogue. This panel confirms that Rin is a person with interority- we're just not allowed to see it, or what it is. That's how I read it, anyways .

From here on out, every Rin appearance we go over will be taking place in a flashback which means that they are, to a certain degree, unreliable. Don't disregard them completely- there's some really important characterization here. Just keep the fact that Kakashi and Obito aren't completely reliable narrators in mind.

In my opinion, there's not much to be found in the Obito flashback chapters. Most of them are focused on establishing the Team Minato love triangle of Obito loving Rin, and Rin loving Kakashi. But mostly the Obito loving Rin part.

This was really dead wife coded of her.

I'm not going to go over them in depth. There's stuff you can read into if you're reaching, but I'm trying to keep this as canon and vanilla as possible, so let's move on for now.

Although the chapters in which Rin dies/is dead are mostly focused on Obito's reaction and subsequent evilness, they're also very revealing in terms of Rinformation. Why? Well, let's go over what we learn.

Rin has been turned into a bomb. She is very close with two of the world's greatest sealmasters, but she seemingly does not suggest going to them to fix the problem. We know that Madara used a genjutsu to make her unable to directly kill herself, but we also know that there's quite a bit of wiggle room in regards to how she had to follow this compulsion, seeing as she's able to outright jump in front of Kakashi's chidori, and I'd argue that jumping in front of a train is a pretty direct method of committing suicide.

So, this raises a few questions. One: why is Rin so set on dying? Two: Why does she choose to die in the way that she does? Three: Why does she kill herself on Kakashi when any of the enemy shinobi would have worked just as well, and been less traumatizing towards the guy she allegedly cares so much about?

It's up to you how you choose to answer these questions- whether it was just a result of her not thinking straight because of the situation she was in, or if the answer lies in something more deeply rooted that we never really get to see. Answering these questions is important to creating a good rinterpretation, though. Examining this moment outside of the impact it has on Kakashi and Obito helps us understand Rin a lot more.

Other interesting detail: it seems as though Rin isn't crying here. Earlier, it looks like there's tears running down her face, but then the camera moves back and we see that it's just the rain. Both Kakashi and Obito cry in this scene. Rin, though? Well. we know that she's serious, and shows no weakness or tears...

The final moments I'd like to go over are the ones where Rin appears to Obito (and Kakashi, in one panel). Fair warning: these are a even more dubious, because in my opinion, it's completely up to interpretation whether Rin is actually there or not. I'm still going to go over them, and what they'd mean for her character, but keep in mind that you don't have to rope these into your Rin characterization. They're kind of like optional seasoning you can add for flavor if you feel like it.

So: let's go over why these Rin scenes are really fucking wild.

First, we've got the classic team 7 parallels panel!

It's just... in context... she's dragging them into the path of Kaguya's chakra bullets. Can we talk about that? She's dragging them into this weird self-sacrifice. Naruto's weird about self-sacrifice, yeah- but we don't have to be. We can step back and say that if this is Rin's spirit coming down from the afterlife to tell Kakashi and Obito to fucking kill themselves then that's kind of weird, right?

There's also this moment, where Rin tells Obito that he didn't do anything wrong (???). That raises a lot of questions for me, personally. This entire sequence actually kind of reads like horror to me, but maybe I'm just too deep in the Rin sause. I'm not sure. Either way, it's a really weird moment.

One last thing before you go: Rin's eyes are kind of weird. Please take a look at some other people's eyes as compared to her's. Please consider that they were so weird and unsettling that in the anime, they changed how they looked. Like literally why the fuck did he draw he like that. This isn't like, a solid characterization moment, but just like. Think about the fact that she looks dead inside when you write her. It'll make things a lot more fun.

Glowup?!?!

That's about all for now. You can read part 2 of this or just move on, but I hope that you consider some of these moments when writing Rin. It's really easy to fall into the girlboss/mom friend trap when writing for female characters without much canon personality, but I think it's nice to strive for something beyond that! Hopefully this will help you decide where to start when building a complex rinterpretation- or, if you want to hear about how I see her, you could read part two of this post. Or just scroll through my blog for 5 seconds I'm always yelling about her lmao. Anyways thanks for reading!

[tornrose24]

I had this realization/Fridge Brilliance moment or two about Wicked:

-Ironically Glinda was the one person that the Wizard COULD actually give something that they wanted–a position of power as a magic user–because it was something within his power. However, not only did Glinda technically get that already thanks to her social status AND because of Elphaba doing her a favor, but her deeepest desire came with a huge price in giving up her friendship with Elphaba and becoming a figurehead/important chess piece for the Wizard.

-In her confrontation with the Wizard, Elphaba shows off and further develops the three gifts Dorothy's companions desire. She learns some pretty harsh truths and knows that it goes against her beliefs (Brains). Her compassion toward the Animals is on full display and she decides to take action to protect those who are being mistreated, as well as protect Glinda when she gets in trouble briefly (Heart). Finally she shows courage in making a very tough choice that will make her enemy number one, but sticks with her beliefs (Courage).

Yet the one thing she loses/doesn't gain? She not only sacrifices her familial ties as well as a chance to 'finally have a place where I belong.' Unlike Dorothy, Elphaba has no home to go back to anymore and sacrifices her chance to be in a home where she'd seemingly be accepted (Home).