#where he is a social pariah but learns one of his peers hates him just because he finds him annoying

[volvolts]

What is your avatar? I haven't seen this art in your blog?

its because it's not! i wanted to draw a vibe comic for young philip and drew this

and then this was the little comic

[eyesaremosaics]

Ugh having a mild panic attack. I feel super emotional, confused, sad, frightened, empty, weakness in my limbs, numbness around my face and in my fingertips. Shallow breathing. I feel like I’m going to burst into tears any second. My heart just hurts and hurts.

Came to be with my sister, because I’m so vulnerable right now. Just trying to breathe through it. It’s going to hurt for a while, I have to get used to it, have to settle into the loneliness and become accustomed to it as a constant companion. My abandonment issues are all lit up. Feeling like no one will ever be able to love me for the rest of my life. That maybe I’m not equipped to be in a successful relationship. Most of my experiences were so bad. My best friend has had no luck either, I always saw her experiences as pretty bad, but she told me a while back: “you’ve had it worse.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

—-

It’s all a blur to me now, I try to hold on to what I learned from each person, searching for the gift in this big ball of pain. I do find those gifts. My first love, showed me that I am worry of simply being around others. I always felt like such an outcast, having been bullied as mercilessly as I was. He pushed through dozens of girls standing around him, and came to say hello to me. It made me feel special. I remember that day. The rest of the relationship was long, complicated and painful, after that initial phase, I had to compete with other women all the time for his affection. The seed of not being special was planted then. He never officially became my boyfriend, and I always felt like I was never good enough because of that. It totally crushed my self esteem, and set me up for romantic failure in the future.

I had boyfriends in between, who were simply there. My first real one was a cheater, I punched him in the face the first time he did it, and have been violent towards men ever since.

The next person of significance was someone I grew up with, who had pined for me and loved me from afar for six years. When I was finally in a place to receive his love and love him back, of course he didn’t want me then. He put me on a pedestal as this perfect woman. Writing poetry for me... stalking me on the internet. He was terrified of me, he couldn’t accept my love, and he was hurt because I rejected him in our youth. I did this because I was being sexually abused by an older boy at the time, and I was so traumatized from the assault that I developed sexual aversion disorder. I found out he harbored desires for me, and I threw up in a trash can. The very thought of sexual interaction with ANYONE made me want to cry and vomit at the same time. Left me shaking all over.

I think of my thirteen year old self, and I just feel so sad for her. My long time step father and my mother were fighting horribly, and on the verge of divorce—so home life was a drag. I was being abused, and had my virginity forcibly taken from me. I began drinking at twelve to cope with the ptsd. My parents avoided the house, so I had to babysit everyday, and being forced into a position of responsibility so young—alienated me from my peers. Not that it mattered really because they all hated me anyway. I never fit in anywhere. I had no friends at school, a few outside of school, but I was considered a social pariah on campus.

I felt suicidal nearly everyday, but I tried to hold my head high and ignore the constant taunts, and humiliations on a daily basis. It was a sad, lonely existence in those days. He loved me through all that, and thought I was strong. I guess I am strong, but I didn’t feel that way inside. I escaped through books, movies, imagination. I wrote short stories, ran multiple websites, learned html, had pen pals. My only friends were in the computer. People told me how ugly I was every day. That my nose was crooked, that I had overlarge front teeth. They called me underfed vulture, satan (because I wore all black), Bucky beaver. One day they poured pickle juice on my head and told me I was the ugliest thing they had ever seen. One boy cut my hair in class.

That was hell. Once high school came around, I was considered “pretty”, and the same boys who threw me in garbage cans, asked for my number. The fucking nerve, I swear.

Anyway, that stalker boy painted a picture of being the perfect mate for me. Grew his hair out long like mine to “feel closer to (me)”. I was 18, and fell madly in love with him. I soon came to discover however, that something wasn’t right. He had a personality disorder, and three months after we started dating, he crushed me like an insect, with seemingly no remorse. He was convinced I didn’t love him, and took great pleasure in hurting me because I had hurt him in the past (Unconsciously).

It was a long 7 year back and fourth saga with him, and only at the end did I realize he was a narcissist/sociopath. Literally incapable of returning my feelings. I really did love him... I don’t know if I’ll ever feel quite like that again, about anyone, but there was nowhere for that situation to go. He was never going to change, and I deserved better than to be treated like garbage. I went through so much grief, had an identity crisis... realizing I had been tricked and manipulated for years. I felt stupid for falling into the trap because I was blinded by love. It still hurts sometimes, but I forgave him. Not because he deserves it, he was horribly abusive and cruel to me, but because I deserve peace. I had to just accept that that is who he is, and it’s not my fault. Any wrong that I may have done was a result of childhood abuse, and I more than paid my debt back. He pined for me for six years, then I pined for him for 7. That’s 13 years, nearly half my life of being connected to this person. A part of me died with that relationship. The idealistic, romantic, carefree spirit I had, died.

I became an alcoholic and a drug addict to escape the pain of surviving narcissistic abuse. Then I met the man I thought I was going to marry. He swooped in, and it was all fire and passion between us. He told me he loved me, and wanted to build a life with me. He used to think I was the one. However, we were both so damaged by our past relationships that we tore each other to shreds emotionally. It still breaks my heart, we were mismatched. I knew it, so did he, but I loved him anyway. It wasn’t something I could help, I just loved him. He reminded me so much of my father, all the wounds he left in me... were lit up so strongly by this person. He said I was the most special to him, but he had so many options available all the time, and deep in my gut I never felt like he was really mine, or that I could trust him. He was so angry inside, even when he was speaking softly and being nice, I could feel that rage burning inside him. Not towards me... necessarily... though it often manifested that way. I failed so much in that relationship, but I tried my best. I really did. I think he did too.

When he left after three and a half years, I was brutally broken hearted. He seems to think I never really loved him either, and that is so not true. I just wanted to be the most precious thing in his life, but I never felt that I was. I try to make peace with it now. He no longer loves me, not that way, and I just have to accept that and move on. As much as it hurts. I have no other choice.

Then my last boyfriend, who made me feel incredibly special, and shared many similar interests. We had a lot of fun, but there was a lot of problems too. The age gap was a problem, communication styles were very different. We were both damaged people, who unconsciously were damaging each other after a certain point. I really tried my best to get better and be the best person I could be, but I always walked away feeling like a bad person. I always felt like I was constantly hurting him, or being inconsiderate, sometimes people grow apart I guess... it happened with all of them.

I just feel so sad, and tired. Every time I had a crush on a guy, who was good looking, and seemed to have a lot going for them—I would make my feelings to them known, and they would reject me. So I don’t feel comfortable pursuing men as a result. If I think a guy is attractive, my immediate thought is: I’m not pretty enough, he will never like me.”

All my life people told me I was this great beauty. As a child people would always tell my dad: “oooh! What a beautiful little girl!”

To which my dad would reply, with a hint of dread in his voice: “yeah... I’m going to have to keep a bat by the door when she gets older to keep the boys away.”

Ha, yeah no that never happened. Boys are afraid of me, they feel intimidated by me because I am highly intelligent and very outspoken. I have a lot of male energy to me, and that threatens most men I have experienced. Makes them feel like less of a man or something. That explains why many of my exes picked smaller, meek, and more easily controlled women (or seemingly so anyway). It’s kind of lonely, being a strong woman. Feeling like men run from me because I’m “too much” as many of them have said.

The men who do approach me usually are losers or playboys. My dad is a playboy so it makes sense, it’s what is familiar to me. It’s almost like... I don’t think I deserve to be happy or loved, so I attract people that won’t or can’t love me, or people who love me so much but are not a match for me. It’s just fucked. I want to be a whole person, and attract another whole person who has their shit together and inspires me to be the best version of myself. I’m tired of small mindedness, of limiting constraints, limiting beliefs, I want to grow and expand. I want a wider world to live in.

Working for the wealthy family that I do, they have shown me the heights to which one can go in life. The dad came from nothing, and built himself up to where he was because he believed that he could. He believed in himself, and made this beautiful life for him and his family. Of course we all have problems, but they are constructive in dealing with them. Not toxic. Seeing a relationship of mutual live and respect, of comfort and stability. Of abundance... I want that. I have been poor and depressed all my fucking life, doubting myself, struggling with mental illness and trying to die.

I don’t want to die anymore, I am tired of dying. I want to be happy. I don’t want to struggle so hard, scraping for food and for money, I want to generate a beautiful life with love, friendship, creativity, travel, art and giving back to others, to the world. That’s what I want. There has to be a way to achieve it.

I know it starts with me, and these negative beliefs that I have about myself. I’ve been seriously working on my self esteem, on recognizing my value, of taking care of my vessel... I am getting much better, despite my occasional relapse, they are getting farther apart. However, days like this, where I feel so empty and sad... frighten me.

I have been to the darkest places of the human heart. I have got rock bottom and nearly died many times in my life. I have experienced the dark night of the soul, been utterly alone, broken, abandoned, abused—and I’m still here. I survived it somehow, even though I am full of holes, and they still bleed occasionally—I’m still standing.

Romance, seems like a thing I will never be able to have on a reciprocal level, not until I can learn to really love myself. It’s been my life’s work to undo the trauma of my childhood, but sometimes I wonder... will I be alone forever? Will I ever know how it feels to be as madly in love with someone as they are with me. My lifestyle is so unconventional, and I have so many quirks and issues... everyone gives up and leaves. I try my best to be better, and I think I finally am in the healthiest emotional place I’ve ever been, but today I face my fear of crippling loneliness... and it weighs heavily on my heart.

I don’t want to be with anyone for a long time. It hurts too much to be connected to someone. It’s so much stress and pain, and I don’t know if I can go through it or put someone else through it again. Right now I’m feeling pretty hopeless about ever getting married, or having children. I want it so bad, but the conditions have never been right. I also, if I’m being honest with myself... truly don’t believe anyone can love me. I think I’m too much, and too fucked up to be cared about. I don’t think I’m educated enough, pretty enough, or good enough to be loved. That’s my main problem. I just wish I knew how to fix it.

It’s a process, and it doesn’t happen overnight, but how long will it take to feel comfortable in my own skin? I just want to breathe easy and feel confident for once in my life. I want to be valued, seen, heard, and truly known... but I keep hearing that Pink Floyd song in my head..

“Is there anybody....out there?”

[kriscme]

One Life to Live

Here’s the latest!   Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”  It can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction.  Chapter 34 The next morning I call in on Haymitch.  He’ll have to be told before the television crew arrives.  We might be able to get away with pretending to the rest of 12 that Peeta and I are back together, but not Haymitch.  I can imagine what he’s going to say.  Probably something about why no one lets me make the plans.  And he’ll be right.  How stupid of me to risk exposure like that.  What was I thinking? ��Going into the woods with my famous lover and Plutarch’s own production team.  If I’d listened to my gut and stayed home, it never would have happened.   And now I’m back to owing Peeta.  I guess I should be grateful, and I am. He doesn’t have to do this and he is saving Marcus and me from becoming a national laughing stock. But still, I hate owing.  And how will I ever repay him?   I find Haymitch sprawled on his living room sofa, snoring heavily and with a bottle clutched in one hand and a knife in the other. He’s been on his usual weekend bender by the look of it.  That would explain his absence when Plutarch arrived.  It would take the noise of ten hovercrafts landing to rouse him from it and even that’s doubtful. Before I wake him, I go into the kitchen to make him some strong coffee.  He’s going to need it.  It’s a pigsty in there.  Dirty dishes piled in the sink; moths fluttering from the pantry; blackened saucepans on the stove; the floor so sticky it makes sucking noises when you walk across it.  But after a bit of rummaging, I find the coffee pot, fill it with water and ground coffee and set it on the stove to brew.   Then I return to Haymitch and find that Peeta is there too.  He sets a freshly baked loaf of bread on the table.  

“I saw you leave your house,” he explains at my questioning look.  “I think we should tell him together.” I nod in agreement.  He’s right.  For good or ill, we’re in this together now.  

Peeta gingerly attempts to prise the knife from Haymitch’s hand but without success.  His fingers seem t “I have a better idea.” I go back into the kitchen and return with a basin of cold water. “Stand back,” I warn.  I dump the water over Haymitch’s head and spring out of the way.  He comes to, gasping, swiping at the air with his knife.  He casts bleary eyes in our direction.

“Oh, it’s you two,” he says, as if we’re the biggest drag on his life.  He runs a hand over his head and peers down at his shirt.   “Why am I wet?” “Never mind that,” I say.  “I – that is, Peeta and I, have something to tell you. We need your help.”   Haymitch groans and reaches for his bottle. “I need a drink first.”  He goes to take a swig but the bottle is empty. Disgusted, he throws it to join the pile of discarded food containers and other assorted rubbish by the window. “So, what is it?”  His eyes dart between Peeta and me.  “More boy trouble?” “That’s enough, Haymitch,” says Peeta.  I shoot him a grateful look.  He saved me the bother.  If we have to work together, this show of mutual accord is a good start. “This is serious.  Katniss, I think you should be the one.” Right.  I guess the story does start with me.  I tell Haymitch everything.  My relationship with Marcus.  Being secretly filmed.  Plutarch’s visit and his conditions for not leaking the video.  And then Peeta’s willingness to help me out.  To save time, I hand him the paper Cressida gave me. “This is what they want us to do – to prepare.”

Haymitch takes it over to the window to read.  Not that he can get very close with the rubbish piled beneath it.  After a few moments, he lifts his head to stare out the window.  He appears to be considering something.   “Here,” he says, as he returns the paper to me. “You should get started on it.  You’ve a lot to do before the cameras arrive.” I swap puzzled glances with Peeta. That’s it?  No recriminations for getting myself into this mess?  No anger that the media will be swarming all over the Village and disturb his peace?   We start to leave but Haymitch’s voice calls us back.  “Have you decided on the house?” “Um, mine.”  I turn to Peeta.  “Buttercup,” I say as way of explanation.   He gives a nod.  I don’t think he cares either way.  It’s only temporary.   “You need to move all your things over to Katniss’s, then,” Haymitch tells Peeta.  “A couple living together don’t split their possessions between two residences with hers in one house, and his in the other.  And they should be where you’d expect to find them.  You don’t want any nosey crew member poking around and finding your clothes in the guest room instead of sharing closet space with Katniss’s.  Even the slightest suspicion that it’s an act has to be avoided.  The next person who gets hold of anything incriminating won’t go to Plutarch but to another media outlet.  And then you’ll both be exposed as frauds.” This just keeps getting worse.  We can’t trust anybody with the truth.  Not even the people who work for Plutarch who’ll be producing this travesty.  We have to fool not only the TV audience, but everyone around us.  Any slip-up and we could end up as social pariahs accused of a cynical attempt to cash in on our former fame.  The only consolation is that Plutarch has as much to lose as we have, so at least we don’t have to worry about any leak coming from him.  I take a look at Peeta.  He must be regretting the impulse that had him volunteer for this, but there’s no hint of doubt in his expression.  In fact, it’s the most energized I’ve seen him in a long time. “I’ll get on it right away,” says Peeta. “Apart from clothes, that really leaves only art materials and maybe some specialist baking equipment. They’ll expect to see both.” Yes, Peeta is known Panem-wide for this painting and baking.  And since most of our household goods are duplicated in both households, that cuts out the need for Peeta to take anything other than personal effects.   Haymitch continues.  “You also need to be seen in the town so that it’s established in people’s minds that you’re together before the television crew arrives. Everything a couple does, you must do. That includes eating together and sleeping together.  Starting from now.  It has to be second nature if you’re to pull this off.  You know how intrusive the camera can be.”

I remember.  But share a bed?  That’s going way too far.  Who’s going to know if we share a bed or not?  “Do we really need to sleep together?  It seems to me that – “ Haymitch doesn’t even let me finish.   “Which shouldn’t be a problem.  You’ve done it before, haven’t you?   And you were play acting at being a couple then too.” Yeah, but that was different. We’re adults now, not frightened teenagers seeking comfort.   Besides, I’m not sure how I feel about being so close to him all night.  Not with the way things stand and in a situation that many would consider decidedly sexual.   “It will be all right, Katniss.  I promise not to try anything,” says Peeta, with an infuriating smirk. I scowl at him, embarrassed at his insinuation that I have sex on my mind, which I do, but it’s not the point.  “You won’t unless you want to lose a hand.  Maybe I’ll borrow Haymitch’s knife – “ “Stop it.  Both of you,” admonishes Haymitch.  “You’re supposed to be in love, remember? Start acting like it.” I back down because he’s right, of course. But in this moment, I almost wish I had taken the alternative option.  Especially as Haymitch and Peeta continue to make plans without consultation from me. This is what started the whole star-crossed lovers thing in the first place.  The two of them making decisions that affect me.  They’d argue that it’s for my benefit, but still. “Since I’m apparently not needed, I’ll get started on making room for Peeta’s things at my house,” I say tersely before I stomp out the door.  I’m rewarded by a look of astonishment from both of them.  Maybe now they’ll get the hint.   Fortunately, there’s not a great deal to do from my end.  The master bedroom has a huge walk-in closet and I barely use a quarter of it.  Once I’ve cleared some space in the bathroom, I’m finished in that part of the house.  Peeta will need somewhere to put his art equipment, of course, and it will be expected that he’d have a proper studio.  I guess we could use my mother’s bedroom.  Her home is 4 now and in the unlikely event she comes to visit she can stay in the guest room.  I pack all her things into boxes.  Maybe I’ll ship them to her in 4.  It would serve as a sort of symbolic rejection of her in return for hers of me.   I know it’s not fair but I don’t feel like being fair.  I want to lash out at something or someone and my mother right now is a safe target.   After that, there’s nothing left for me to do but to help carry Peeta’s things from his house to mine.   I show him his new studio.  He’s happy with it.  He says the light is good.  The bedroom furniture we’ll store at his house.  It won’t look odd if it’s discovered since it’s likely that’s what we would have done with it if Peeta really had moved into my house. By early afternoon most of the moving-in is done.  Haymitch suggests our next priority is to be seen in the town together behaving like a couple in the early days of courtship – which we would be if there was anything real about this.   Peeta holds my hand as we walk.  There’s no one about.  The only people who use the road from the Village into the town are us victors but you can never be sure that somebody isn’t watching.  I’ve learned that the hard way.   There hasn’t been a lot of conversation between us that hasn’t centered around moving in.  Peeta seems to sense that I’m not happy with him and has mostly left me to sulk in peace.  But as we near the town he attempts to draw me out of my bad mood with some light-hearted talk to which I respond with yes or no answers or none at all.   “What are you so angry about?” Peeta asks. “Is it because I teased you about the bed sharing?  I’m sorry. I thought you’d laugh about it.” “No,” I say, even though it is part of it.  “It’s a lot of things.  But I’m mostly just sick of you and Haymitch making decisions that affect me without first asking if I’m okay with it.  Like with the star-crossed lovers thing and the fake pregnancy.  You don’t like it when Haymitch and I keep things from you.  I don’t see how this is any different.” “You’re right.  It’s not.  I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. If it involves you, you should be asked first.  I promise not to do it again.  Okay?” “Okay,” I say, mollified.   “Let me make it up to you.  How about I buy you an ice-cream?” Ice-cream?  I’m not sure about ice-cream.  The ice-cream parlor was Peeta and Lace’s favourite hang-out.  I also don’t have good memories of the last time he bought me one.  It was right before he told me I can’t use his guest room at night anymore.  But it is the best place in town to be seen, and it’s consistent in people’s minds with Peeta’s courtship habits.  I guess I can tolerate it just this once.   “Okay, but I’m not licking ice-cream off your face,” I say.   “I should hope not.  That’s disgusting.  Especially in public.” “You liked it well enough when Lace did it,” I point out.   “She didn’t lick it off.  Sometimes she’d kiss it off.  Not that it’s much better.” “Then why did you let her?” He shrugs.  “I guess I liked the attention.” It seems a dumb reason to me.   He must have been pretty desperate for it if that’s the case. The ice-cream parlor is as crowded as I’ve ever seen it.  The store is packed with customers and all the outside tables are taken. “Maybe we could go sit in the football field and eat our ice-cream there,” suggests Peeta. “No!” I burst out before I can stop myself. That’s where he took me to eat our ice-creams that other time.  “I mean, we’re here to be seen, aren’t we?  No one will see us in the middle of a football field.  We’ll find a table.  Look, there’s some people leaving now.” I almost drag Peeta along in my hurry to secure the table.  “I’ll mind the table while you get the ice-cream.” “What flavours do you want?” “Surprise me.  Nothing coffee flavoured though.”   Peeta leans down to give me a light kiss on the lips.  Oh right, the romance thing.  I smile up at him with what I hope is a suitably soppy expression.  “Miss you already,” I say.   “Miss you more,” he says in return and gives me another kiss. “Just go,” I say laughing and I give him a push.   He threads his way through the tables and enters the store.  I do a quick sweep of my surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. And that’s when I see him.   Max, a couple of tables away.  Staring straight at me, a mixture of incredulity and amusement on his face.   He’s with Saffy from the bakery and another couple I don’t recognize.  I give a small wave in acknowledgment.  That’s a mistake, because after a few words to his companions, he heads towards me and takes the seat opposite. “I didn’t give you permission to sit here,” I say. “Don’t need it.  It’s a public space.  So, you and psycho boy, huh?  When did that happen?  Wasn’t he supposed to be married by now?” “It’s new and the wedding was called off, as you well know.  And don’t call him psycho boy.”  Of all people it had to be Max.  Talk about being plunged into the deep end.  He’ll be the hardest to convince.  A natural skeptic and with an uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking before I do. If I can persuade him, then I can persuade anyone.   “Rather sudden, isn’t it?” “No, not really.  Peeta and I have known each other for a long time.   It was more like picking up from where we left off, now that other distractions are out of the way.” “Other distractions being Lace, I presume?” “Lace was a . . . an aberration.”  There, that’s a good way of putting it.  “A symptom of what the hijacking did to him.  But thankfully he’s now fully recovered.  As for me, well, I never really fell out of love with him.  So, when he asked me to give him another chance, I said yes.  And I don’t regret it.  In fact, I’d go so far as to say we’re as much in love as ever.  Maybe even more so.”   “Hmm.  Well, I’m happy for you.   But can I ask you one question?”  He doesn’t wait for an answer but leans over the table, arms crossed in front of him. “Why?” “What do you mean why?” I ask, irritated. “Is it so impossible that he could be in love with me?” “Not him with you.  You with him.  Have you forgotten what this man has put you through?  Not only has he tried to kill you but he’s been parading a girlfriend in front of you for months.  And now you’re letting him back in?  It’s crazy.”

“I’ve told you before.  There are some things that Peeta can’t be held responsible for and trying to kill me is one of them.   As to the rest, well, there’s things you don’t know.  He’s taking a chance with me too.  All I know is that I love him and I have to go where my heart takes me. Whatever happens, happens. You don’t have to worry about me.  I’m strong enough to take it.” Max gives me a searching look.  “Well, if you’re – “ “Everything okay?” asks Peeta.  He puts down a dish of three scoops of ice-cream in front of me.  He’s bought himself a cone but not the usual soft serve.  Strawberry, I think.   “Everything’s fine,” I say, with a reassuring smile.  “Max just dropped by to say hello.  He’s not staying.” Max thankfully takes the hint.   “Yeah, I should be getting back.  My date will be getting restless without me.” Max pushes his chair back from the table. “See you at work tomorrow, Katniss.” I watch him rejoin his group.   As dubious as he is about my reasons for being with Peeta, I don’t think he doubts that my love for him is real.  

Peeta is also watching.  “Saffy is Max’s date?” He seems surprised.   “Yeah, appears so.”  The other couple are cozied up together so it’s not one of them. “Why?  Is something wrong?” “Not really.  It’s just that Saffy told me she likes girls.”   Oh.  Poor Max.  Saffy flirts with everyone.  He probably got the wrong idea and she accepted his invitation as a friend.  Max doesn’t seem to have much luck when it comes to romance.  Which reminds me. “Want a taste?” I ask Peeta, offering him a spoonful of my ice-cream.  “Do you remember in the cave when I fed you broth and mashed berries?” “I do.  One spoon equals one kiss if I recall.” “I don’t remember that part.  But I always insist on paying my debts.”  I put my face forward to be kissed.  Peeta cheats and takes two.  Over his shoulder, I see the people at the next table watching with interest and then turn to each other to gossip among themselves.  At least people are talking about us.  As with Max, I don’t expect that everyone will approve. Some will say I’m a fool for taking him back.  Others, who don’t know that Lace is with Arthur now, might blame me for Peeta and Lace’s breakup.  And yet others, and I’m hoping they’re the majority, will sigh and romantically declare that order has at last been restored to the universe.  But whatever they think, as long as they believe that Peeta and I are genuinely together, that’s all that matters.

I go back to eating my ice-cream.  It really is delicious.  Chocolate, honeycomb, and butter pecan.   “Katniss, can I ask you something?  You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” “Sure.  Go ahead.”  The butter pecan is amazing. “How serious was it with Marcus?” My spoon freezes half-way to my lips, so surprised I am by the question.  Why is he asking me this now?  We’re supposed to be projecting romance, not talking about former lovers.  But then, why shouldn’t he be thinking about it?  It’s because of my indiscretion with Marcus that we’re here in the first place recreating the star-crossed lovers routine.  He deserves an honest answer.   I think about Marcus and the short time we had together.  It wasn’t a great love affair but for a little while it did reach the heights of one – for me, anyway.   There’s no heartbreak or any sense of loss now that it’s ended, but the memories are sweet.  A rebound, Johanna called it.  But I don’t think that really sums up what Marcus was to me.  He was . . . a haven.  That’s it. A haven.  A place in which to shelter and gather strength.  And I think Marcus would like that.  How apt for a man whose life mission is to create safe spaces for nature to thrive.   I so like the notion that I can’t help smiling. And then I become aware that Peeta is watching me, a look of consternation on his face and I realise that I haven’t yet answered him.   I take a breath.  “Well, we had a lot in common and I liked him a lot.  He helped me and he made me feel good about myself again after . . . you know, everything.” I see Peeta wince slightly at the “everything” although it wasn’t my intention to make him feel bad.  “It was intense for a while but we never could have lasted.” No, not with me stuck in 12 and Marcus’s job that takes him all over Panem.  “So, to answer your question as to whether it was serious or not, I guess the answer is, not very.   Does all that make sense to you?”  

“Yeah, it does,” he says, thoughtfully.  “It makes perfect sense.”   For some reason, this rubs me the wrong way. How would he know?  Oh, yes that’s right. It’s how he viewed his relationship with me.  Something that seemed all- consuming at the time but, as it turned out, not serious at all.   An illusion, in fact.   “I don’t have to ask how it was with you and Lace.  I mean, marriage.  You don’t get more serious than that.” I try to keep my tone light, but there’s a bitter edge to it.

His brow furrows in confusion.  “What?  No, Lace is who I meant.  That’s who I wasn’t serious about.” “Peeta, don’t do that.  I saw it all, remember?  You don’t have to try to make me feel better.  I was reconciled to it months ago.” I push the dish of ice-cream from me. It’s half-melted anyway in the hot sun. “Do you think we can go now?  I think we’ve been seen long enough.” I don’t wait for an answer but get up off my chair and start walking.  Peeta has no choice but to follow. “Katniss, wait up.  People are looking.”  He takes my hand and I don’t pull it away.  I might be upset with him but we still have to look as if we’re smitten with each other.  I even manage a fond smile that I hope doesn’t look too much like a grimace. As soon as we’re out of earshot, Peeta tries again.  “This is something we need to talk about.” “We don’t, actually,” I say, wearily.  “Look, isn’t there enough to deal with right now?  Just drop it.  Please.”    

He opens his mouth to argue, but then seems to think better of it.  I don’t want to talk about his relationship with Lace.  It’s still too raw.  And how can I trust Peeta to know his own mind, anyway?   He’d told Lace that I was the one he wasn’t really serious about.  So now Lace is the one?  Peeta can’t keep re-writing history like that.   We spend the remainder of the walk back to the Village mostly in silence.   Any attempt by Peeta to make conversation is wet-blanketed by me. I know I’m being moody and difficult when Peeta is going out of his way to help me but I just can’t seem to shake it off.   This is much harder than I expected.  I’m beginning to understand what it was like for Peeta during the Victory Tour, when he was the one in love and I wasn’t.  Hugs and kisses, so cherished when it comes from someone you love and who loves you back, is torture when you know that the person you love is putting on an act.  Something is not better than nothing.  An honest nothing is far preferable. Haymitch joins us for dinner.  I don’t know if Peeta invited him or Haymitch invited himself but it provides a welcome buffer between Peeta and me.  We tell him about our visit to the ice-cream parlor and make plans for tomorrow before we move on to general conversation.  After we’ve eaten and cleared up, Haymitch and Peeta set up the chess board.  They try to engage me and I watch them for a little while but eventually I move into the sitting room to watch television.  I feel left out of whatever understanding there seems to be between them.  Maybe it’s because I’m not an equal in this. They’re the heroes coming to the rescue and I’m just the idiot who needs rescuing. I flick mindlessly through the channels until I come to a news program.  It’s covering the mayoral elections in 7.  Johanna’s only real competition is this vile looking man with a ridiculous comb-over who is funded by the logging companies.  Referring to Johanna, he says he likes his heroes not to be captured. It doesn’t go down well.  He’s lucky Johanna isn’t there too.  He’d be dead for sure. When it’s time to retire for the night, we politely take turns using the bathroom and then get into bed.  It’s a large bed so there’s plenty of space between us if we keep to the edges which I’m determined to do.  

So ends the first day of the new adventures of the star-crossed lovers.  

[ask-lightning-n-dusk-blog]

Unsure about doing this... here goes

I have announced on this blog before that I am an MRA, well yes, that does mean at times I will pause to talk about issues relevant to that. That being said, here is a warning that the following will contain mature subject matter. Only read if you can handle adult discussions.

This is my own experiences with sexual harassment.

 Over the last several months something has been called to my attention, an aggressive series of social justice movements seeking to divide people based solely on born traits or otherwise superficial identifications. One of the most dangerous trends I’ve seen is the concept of trying to say who can and cannot suffer in certain ways, for instance saying only women, transsexuals or other sexual “minority” groups can experience sexual harassment or at least their suffering is more important because they are “marginalized”. To be clear, if you are the victim of genuine harassment, rape, sexual or violent assault, murder, discrimination-anything like that- your suffering is real and understand there is no circumstance that makes it less important. We should not be governing ourselves by who we can forget, the children starving in Russia do not need our help more than those starving in the US. Each person has to decide who they will help for themselves, but do not mistaken such choices for evaluations of who is or is not important. The suffering of a white man is no less important than the suffering of a black woman. When you help someone, you really do need to be mature and realize your choice should not be based on who is or is not important, but rather what your heart leads you to do.

So here goes, my sexual harassment experiences, yes plural… they all kinda blur together over the course of a five year period. You see, about ten years ago now, I joined the army. I was told me being a virgin would be a problem, but I never understood to what degree until I entered. Outside the army some people would ask questions and maybe be a little rude trying to guess the size of my penis, but never anything I couldn’t handle… it was just seriously awkward is all. (There were a few times when the teasing got out of hand to the point of me running and crying from bullies who thought it was funny to constantly badger me about sexual concepts and positions when I was in the sixth grade for some reason, but my parents eventually homeschooled me so that stopped all together.)

(A warning, anyone even thinking of finding out who was in my units and going after them let me be clear- you try and I find out, I will ruin you. Those guys could be mean, but a damn lot of them would have willingly laid down their lives for me so screw the hell off. Maybe that’s why I sometimes hesitate to bring this up, because I know some jerk will always try to say something nasty about soldiers using this as evidence. This is not something against the army. The army has problems and this centers on one of them, but the people in there can be good people. Reform it by all means, but don’t try to hurt the people in it.)

The army was a different story though. One of the major issues with sexual harassment in the army is the frequent imposition of not being allowed to leave certain areas coupled with group punishment. This means if someone thinks it’s funny to constantly ask questions about your genitals you cannot demand he or she leave, nor can you leave yourself. Demanding they knock it off and trying to get them in trouble usually causes just as much trouble for you, if not more. If a woman, knowing you’re a virgin, begins to insist that you are therefore a pedophile, and you rightfully snap at her, you are punished right along with her and the rest of your unit. The idea is that this should create cohesion by making the unit suffer together. What it really does is silence victims because other members of the unit see it as easier to silence them, than address a trouble maker. This means, like me, many people in the army and similar services are subject to nigh and sometimes actual daily sexual harassment or other forms of harassment (people with mental handicaps have it far worse generally BTW) with little to nothing they can do about it.

It’s hard to say what was the worst of it either. Maybe it was AIT where I was constantly told I needed to compare my penis size to other men, which of course I never did nor did they want me to do, I was just an easy target because I was a virgin and they could use the “curiosity” excuse to get away from being called the dreaded “gay”. (Ironically this was a problem word even among those who were staunchly anti-homophobia.) Maybe when I turned people down to visit bars with them and constantly had to defend myself against accusations that I was either hiding the fact that I was a pedophile or fantasized about rape. Maybe it was because at times I subjected others to the same treatment because it was the only way I was ever able to be relieved from it myself (not excusing that, I never should have given in, but I did). Maybe it was experiencing the same harassment from women as men, when feminists and most of society had always taught me this was a “gendered” issue. Maybe it was my loss of innocence regarding women entirely when I slowly found out that women treated each other and other men exactly the same and only men could ever be expected to get in real trouble and only if they were harassing women. Maybe the worst was when a homosexual man grabbed me in public, rubbed his genitals on me and when I threw him off me, I was shouted down by him and my peers for “homophobia”. Maybe it was the constant need to explain to even the more rational people that no, there is no connection between penis size and virginity, nor worse yet, pedophilia, rape, serial killers or other forms of violent crime- why would there fucking be, how did that line of questioning even make sense to them anyway?!!-. Guess they thought they were “just making sure”.

Go ahead folks, tell me, which is the worst sounding of all that? Some of it was near daily, some weekly, some of it got better over time, some got worse and to tell the truth it was all so frequent it all blurred together. (To be fair the gay guy was a one time experience, though as you can imagine it stuck out.) It was worst when I first went in and didn’t know it was coming. Over time I did learn to redirect conversations and how to make people just as uncomfortable discussing my sexuality as I was. (A favorite trick of mine was to question the insecurities that must obviously be present in someone so afraid of virgins.) Maybe the worst of it was knowing no one else really had it much better and no one who wanted a solution had any idea what it would be.

I suppose I should address something that happened as a result of all this. If I were to trace the origin of this, it probably was experiences like this- but I suppose it’s possible I’m just self-diagnosing-. For whatever reason, I have lost all interest in being sexually active, even in a marriage relationship. I suppose that makes me part of a legit minority group officially recognized by a social justice group- a-sexuals… no. I refuse to play that game. You can care about me because I was human and hurt, I will not let you pretend I’m “one of you” so you can continue to neglect concern about my brothers. (Make no mistake, all men are your brothers and all women your sisters.) To LGBT, I remember how you guys acted years ago before you started adding letters. Virgins, by choice or by biology were pariahs to you guys. I have no problem with gay or trans people themselves, but advocacy groups associated with them... I was your enemy ten years ago because I didn’t want to have sex before marriage, and five years ago because I said I wasn’t interested in having sex. Now suddenly you speak for me because you wanted to add a vowel to your dumb acronym? No, you don’t get that privilege. I’m not a-sexual, I’m a virgin. It was mostly people on the political left even in the army who attacked me for my sexual choices. The left gave me the label “virgin” and refused to let me forget it, now I won’t let them forget it. I’m taking that label to my grave.

If anyone feels the desire to apologize to me who didn’t do anything to me, don’t you dare. That’s nothing more than virtue signaling. The only reason to apologize for something you personally were never involved in, is to be seen by others as being sorry, it’s profanity in my book. I hold no grudge against random gay people because one molested me, nor do I hate the sexually active because so many people of that persuasion couldn’t leave me the freak alone. If you feel sorry for me, just say that, but know that I’m fine and moving on, but don’t you dare try to legitimately apologize for something someone else did.

Do I feel like a victim? Objectively myself and many others at the time were, but now, not really. It was years ago and there’s no reason for me to demand anything now, just recognition that my problems were real and therefore, the problems of other men are too. I’m not demanding justice, nor apologies, I’m just asking people to finally realize equality means equality. My suffering is the same as yours, whether I’m part of your group or not. I guess that’s another reason I refuse to identify as an a-sexual, I refuse to give the social justice movement that kind of an out. No, I’m not an a-sexual that you can now pretend to care about when before you thought I was scum of the earth because I was a white male virgin. You either care about me as a human being regardless of my identity or you can get lost.

               So yea, that’s my story and my feelings. Do with them what you will.

[smellofparchment-blog]

The Pariahs: Chapter 1 - Outcasts

Story Title - The Pariahs (ffn link)

Story Description - "You always hated your parents' purist crap." "Not for the right reasons." - At the end of the war, they are the only ones left to blame; unfortunately, this is not their cross to bear. The Malfoys and Greengrasses are not used to being the outcasts of a society, but in this new Wizarding World, the law concerning former Death Eaters and their families is clear: eat or be eaten.

Story Rating - teen (T)

Story Characters - Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Keegan Shacklebolt (OMC), Fiona Greengrass (OFC), Archibald Greengrass (OMC), Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy, Kristopher Shacklebolt I (OMC), Zhara Shacklebolt (OFC), Audrey Weasley, Percy Weasley

Story Pairings - Draco/Astoria, Keegan/Daphne

Chapter - 1) Outcasts

Daphne let out a small sigh as she peered through the crack of the slightly opened door. She could just barely make out a form sitting in the armchair by the fireplace - a mess of light blonde hair sticking up, a bony hand gripping a glass filled with clear liquid (that she knew very well was not water). As Daphne stood still for a moment, watching him, all that could be heard was the cracking of wood as a fire burned in the fireplace and the anxious tapping of a foot.

Deciding she had bided her time for long enough, Daphne gently pushed the door to the library open and winced as it let out a horrible creak. Draco's head snapped towards the sound and a scowl set on his face when he saw who had just entered the library. He turned away in silence, setting his gaze on the roaring fire once again.

Discouraged but not surprised, Daphne approached him and sat on the ottoman across from him. She watched him carefully, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, which were a touch bloodshot, his wrinkled shirt, and his unkempt hair. Slowly, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, still refusing to look at her.

This was not the Draco Malfoy she knew.

"I miss you, you know," she finally said, once it had become obvious that he would much rather pretend she wasn't there.

Surprisingly, he responded. "I'm right here," he snapped.

"No, you're not."

Again, he turned to her with a scowl. Daphne steeled herself and remained unfazed.

"Seriously, Draco - I don't recognize you," she continued, her tone a bit softer now.

Her nose is buried in a book. Not just any book - a torrid romance novel she stole from Mother's library before leaving for Hogwarts. Not at all befitting for a twelve year-old, surely, but in that case her mother really ought to hide these things better. Ideally, the woman would never notice it was gone or forget all about it come December. Of course, Daphne did consider the possibility that her mother would both notice and remember to scold her daughter by the holidays, but she will deal with that if it comes down to it. For now, Daphne is enjoying the silence and solitude that comes along so rarely in the Slytherin Common Room.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Daphne is reminded of this as a Quaffle crashes into her book and falls into her lap. She looks up with a murderous glare to meet the proud eyes of Gregory Goyle. Vincent Crabbe stands right next to him, a similarly proud look on his face. Bloody gits.

"Pass it back, Greengrass," he orders, "if you can even throw a Quaffle, that is. Daddy might get mad if you get your hands dirty."

She is seething with anger. Not so much because she was disturbed, but more so at the mention of her father. Hogwarts is supposed to be her chance to get away from that devil of a man, and yet it seems that she still can't escape his presence.

Before she knows what's happening, her small hands are gripping the Quaffle with all of their strength and she violently throws it back to Goyle. He doesn't expect this and it hits his abdomen with a satisfying thud, causing him to double over. As she smirks, she notices Crabbe draw his wand and step towards her with a menacing glare.

"You think that was funny?" he demands.

"Yes, quite," Daphne replies smartly.

He looks just about ready to shoot a spell at her - what, exactly, she hardly knows. Crabbe is not exactly the epitome of intelligent. However, before he gets to unleash any of his magic unto the young girl, Daphne hears a quick, "Expelliarmus!" and the wand flies out of his hand. He now fixes his glare on his assailant, but it quickly disappears as he recognizes the student.

Draco is by Daphne's side in a matter of seconds. "I highly doubt your father would be happy with you if you hurt a Greengrass," he comments. "I've told you before to leave her alone - it seems you might be going deaf, Crabbe."

Crabbe simply mutters something about loyalties under his breath and turns to leave the common room, Goyle following behind him. As soon as they leave, Draco drops himself onto the couch, taking a seat next to Daphne as he turns to look at her with a smirk.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" he boasts.

"That was the first thing we learned in Charms this year, Draco," she deadpans.

"Saved your life, though," he continues, his boastful tone only slightly diminished.

"I would hardly consider Vincent Crabbe a deadly opponent," she replies.

Draco laughs. "That is a fair point," he admits.

"Still, I suppose I should be grateful that the one and only Draco Malfoy is watching out for me," Daphne continues with a joking tone. Then, leaning toward him slightly, she adds in a whisper, "All the other girls are positively green with envy."

He stared back at her with a blank look for a moment, silence filling the space between them. "Get your eyes checked, then," he finally muttered as he turned his gaze back to the fire.

"Prat," Daphne muttered with a shake of her head. He didn't react.

Draco had been in this half-drunk, unkempt state for a long time. After the war, he had completely shut everyone else out, finished his real seventh year, then simply returned to Malfoy Manor with the sole purpose of maintaining the shut-in personality he had constructed for himself. His parents may have evaded Azkaban by providing names, but that simply meant they were hated by both purebloods and blood traitors. At the end of it all, even over a year later, he felt like he didn't deserve to be alive.

Daphne, however, knew very well that this state had been inevitable even before the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been close friends for their whole lives. They both had their social cliques - Draco with the pureblood sons of his parents' friends and Daphne with their daughters - but at the end of the day those friendships were nothing compared to theirs. They had trust, and that was rare to come by in Slytherin. That was why it had become so painfully obvious to Daphne when things had started to head south in their sixth year.

She had been stupidly hopeful that, someday, the old Draco would return. That hope was getting smaller every day, though. She understood where he was coming from. How do you go from being at the peak of society to jaded outcasts?

"First year, you were annoying and full of yourself," Daphne started, deciding that if he was refusing to open up, then maybe he could at least listen. "Truly, I often fought the urge to smack you - but you were there for me when that Ravenclaw ruined my braids."

"It was Roger Davies and he was a prat," Draco muttered quietly.

Progress, Daphne thought to herself proudly. "Second year, getting that Nimbus 2001 really rushed to your head - but you were still humble enough to open up to me and tell me you were scared of the creature in the Chamber of Secrets."

"I wasn't scared - "

"Your words, not mine," Daphne interrupted with a smirk. "Third year, I got on your case about teasing Potter with that Dementor crap and you actually admitted you felt bad for it. Fourth year, you went with me to the Yule Ball after you'd heard that Montague cheated on me with Tracy Davis."

"I also gave him a bloody good Bat-Bogey Hex," Draco pointed out quietly.

"That you did," Daphne admitted with a small smile. "Fifth year, your ridiculousness peaked with that Inquisitorial Squad shite, but you weren't afraid to come to me in tears when your father got thrown in Azkaban."

This time, Draco stayed silent and kept his eyes focused on his lap.

Daphne took a deep breath. "Sixth year... I lost you, Draco," she said quietly. "You kept secret after secret, you shunned me... but still, when you saw that new welt on my arm from my father, you were there for me. Even then."

Cautiously, Draco looked up and met Daphne's eyes. He could see there was pain and empathy in her gaze, and he instantly felt bad for shutting her out so much. He couldn't help it, though. After the war, he had been at a loss for what to do. For who he was. His whole life and system of being had been stomped on and thrown out the window, and now that he had graduated he was simply expected to fit in. How could he if he couldn't even tell right from wrong?

"Why can't I just be like everyone else?" he finally asked quietly. "Why am I so fucked up."

"Draco, you are not fucked up," Daphne said with a confident tone. "All of us went through the same war."

"You didn't," Draco said quietly. "You always hated your parents' purist crap."

"Not for the right reasons," Daphne pointed out, "I just had an abusive father I wanted to spite."

Draco looked down and shook his head. "You were right, though. And I was wrong. The things I did - "

Daphne stood up from the ottoman in that moment and forcefully grabbed the glass from Draco's hands. He stared up at her with a look of disbelief and annoyance, but she simply stared back with a raised eyebrow.

"You've got to stop feeling sorry for yourself," Daphne started. "It's not all about you."

Draco scoffed and looked away from her, crossing his arms as he looked out the window. It was snowing, he realized. Once upon a time, that would have brought a smile to his face. Now, he felt nothing.

Smack.

"Ow - what the hell is wrong with you?" Draco exclaimed as his hand went up to his head, where Daphne had just given him a slightly jarring smack. He frowned at her and she glared back.

"This is what you missed while you were too busy being fatalistic to be my friend," she said angrily as she tugged on the collar of her jumper to reveal the scar on the left side of her neck.

Draco's eyes widened as he took in the scar, spanning from just above her collarbone to the back of her neck. It looked like the job of a knife or a dagger and as he met Daphne's eyes he knew exactly who had done that to her. His grip tightened on the armrest of the armchair as he felt anger overcome him. For the first time in a while, he could feel himself swelling with resentment - an actual strong emotion compared to his usual bleak demeanour.

"Why?" was all that Draco managed to get out.

Daphne sighed and let go of her jumper. "After Uncle Axel had been kidnapped, Father noticed I hadn't been around and suspected I knew something," she explained. "Unfortunately, he was right."

Draco remembered that night. It had been around Christmas time and the younger Greengrass brother had decided to throw a masquerade party. It was very typical of Axel - kick back and have fun, purebloods are entitled to that much. He also very vividly remembered the room suddenly going black and everyone somehow being disarmed all at once. Next thing they knew, Axel was gone.

"It was Keegan," Daphne finally said quietly. "The Order sent him and he told me to get out. When Father found out I was 'sleeping with the enemy' as he put it, he had been furious but... I saw that glint in his eyes. He knew it was useful information."

And then there was Daphne's boyfriend: Keegan Shacklebolt. He was older than them, but most Slytherins remember him on account of being an enigma - otherwise known as a well-liked Slytherin. Daphne's relationship with Keegan had been yet another thing he had missed when he had been too busy doing Voldemort's bidding. Her timing could not have been worse, unfortunately - a month later, the Ministry had fallen to Voldemort and Keegan and his sister had joined the Order with their Uncle Kingsley.

And Draco hadn't been around for her.

Daphne sat back down with a sigh and reached forward, her hand covering his. He met her eyes again and found kindness in them now. "We all have our demons. No one expects you to get over everything in an instant," she said softly, "but you have to at least try, Draco."

"I suppose it doesn't look too good that you knew exactly where to find me in the middle of the day," he admitted with a wry laugh, attempting a small smile.

Daphne smiled back. "Definitely not your proudest moment," she agreed.

Standing up, Daphne reached her hand out to him. He looked up at her, pausing for a moment, before taking her hand and standing up. She didn't hesitate to pull him towards her and tightly embrace him, and Draco found himself quickly hugging her back. He had forgotten how comforting Daphne could be. As far as Slytherins and purebloods went, she had a warmth about her that was unique.

After a moment, Daphne let go of him and took a step back, her expression serious once again. "All right, now there's only one thing left to do," she declared.

"And what would that be, Daph?"

"Get you into some cleaner clothes, you filthy animal."