#You know fucking what? Even Death T makes sense in the lens of him being 15 and traumatized come on

[kintatsujo]

You know how sometimes I go on "hey guys Seto Kaiba is canonically a child" campaigns

It's because this fandom constantly puts his behavior in the lens of him being an adult

And it's like no of course it would be ridiculous if a 25 year old was doing some of this

... But he's fifteen and it makes perfect sense that he acts like this

Also you can't put an adult lens on his relationship with Mokuba oh my fucking god stop it they are fifteen and ten, ten and five, a literal pair of children trying not to get separated by adults, that is a different fucking relationship from abusive codependency

[eolewyn1010]

How Star Trek: Picard managed to piss most of its potential down its leg

Hi, I write overly long, cranky comments on stuff that I watch. It's all my biased, terribly argued, rude personal opinion, and it's generally chokeful of spoilers as far as spoilers can go. Feel free to ignore.

First, because I'm petty: I could have done without the lens flares. They were annoying in the J. J. Abrams movies, and they are annoying here. Put that light elsewhere, will you?

And now let's get into how characters get fucked over. Continuity? Who's that? ...didn't Picard have, like, a brother or something? How comes said brother never shows up or is even mentioned in the flashbacks to his childhood? It's always Jean-Luc here, Jean-Luc there. And then the absence of Lal in all these talks of Data's daughter(s). Was she ever even mentioned in passing? She should have been the main point of reference for Data's species of androids procreating. Also, we get zero reflection on Picard's opinion on his synthetic body. What was even the point of introducing Picard's fatal illness in the first place if he was supposed to survive it? Dude is canonically older than ninety; it would have been perfectly alright to have him die a natural death. Honestly? When that plot point was introduced, I was like, "oh, makes sense; they wanna give him a deadline - this is a one-season thing to introduce the next Star Trek generation and send Picard off heroically." And then they just… didn't. He survived the end of the season. As a synthetic human. Which he doesn't take an issue with. Despite the massive trauma he had from his stay in the Borg collective that sent him up the wall back when he first met Hugh. No issue with being an android now tho. Cool.

I also find it strange that holograms are not forbidden at all - even though we know from previous Star Trek series and get reinforced here via Rios' crew that they are indeed a form of synthetic life, with personalities and autonomous intelligence and all. They argue with their boss, for heaven's sake! The news lady holo deliberately provokes Picard! (And I love the archive's Index; they're awesome.) What, are you telling me holos can't be corrupted the same way androids can? Then I gotta ask you how your computers work. They aren't striving for freedom and being put on equal level with organic life? I got a Doctor over here who'd like a talk with you. This double standard weirds me out.

Cristobal Rios and his holo crew were btw a favorite of mine in season 1. I loved the scenes with them, their interactions with human Rios, all the snark. So, of course season 2 wasted no time in doing away with them. Not only did Seven apparently unite them all into one (WHY? That's just IDIOTIC; Rios created an entire crew to man his ship - WHY WOULD SHE ROB HERSELF OF THE HOLOGRAPHIC STAFF???), this one also only shows up for introducing Seven's situation, and then bye. Y'know, I love Rios himself, and his storyline in season 2 with the cute doctor lady and the entire immigrant issue of the 21th century tackled is intriguing. But still, throwing away the holo crew was a sucky decision.

Then. Seven and Raffi. Seven of Nine? Great character. Awesome character. Loved her back in the ever-so-flawed Star Trek: Voyager, love her even more now. They really made something of her, and damn if she doesn't look fine in something that's not a skin-tight catsuit. And the development she went through between Voyager and Picard! I love how they reintroduced her character. And Raffaela Musiker? Hell, I learned to love that woman within five minutes of screentime. She's doing so great. ...and yet, when they ended the first season with these two great ladies holding hands, I was like, "huh??? What the actual fuck?" Gotta say, it is a real accomplishment to set up a queer relationship between two characters I love and annoy the shit outta me with it. Because Seven and Raffi? Have exchanged maybe three sentences at that point, in a situation of high crisis. And then one of the last shots of the season is them sitting there, holding hands and making heart eyes at each other? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM??? Did they have any heartfelt interactions? Moments of great trust shared? Did they get to be there for one another? None of that! (Also, why is it Seven again? Her relationship with Chakotay at the end of the Voyager series came out of nowhere all the same. Is that supposed to be a running gag?) Of course, then comes season 2 and catches up on that, building their relationship - after they have basically ruined it, because the season starts with them being at least geographically long-term separate and Raffi lowkey moping that she'd hoped for something more. I'm a little willing to cut them some slack because over the season, they spend a lot of time together and talk about their relationship (and are hilarious squabbling girlfriends in between and I'm here for it), but that really didn't get off to a good start.

And for all I like season 2 and the positive changes, they have picked up on The Curse(TM). Of killing off sympathetic characters to get across how dark and edgy they are, that is. Seven's adopted son Icheb? Got fridged graphically in his, like, two minutes of screentime so Seven suffers and is vengeful. And then they take that EXACT storyline and recycle it for season 2! By killing Elnor so Raffi suffers and is vengeful! That is so DUMB. Only they already introduced Elnor within this series' canon over the course of the first season to us. They made him funny, and sweet, and a bit of a dumbass. This fine, cute himbo material who might be a killer machine but has the social competence of a rock. They made us care. Me, anyway. And then they toss him away in season 2. Fuck. You. Wasn't Hugh enough? I say Hugh was already too much. I kept reading "Hugh survives" premise fanfic for weeks on end because I just couldn't believe that they would throw away a beloved character like that. But I guess after tossing away Hugh, it was easier to toss away Elnor, too, who was bonding a lot with Hugh during the first season. Don't need one, don't need the other either, amirite? Just kill them; it's not like the audience loved them or anything. (Ill logic also that Raffi loses her cool, but Seven doesn't this time around when she was kind of a parental figure toward Elnor, too.)

There's one more character who falls prey to The Curse(TM) and in an ungrateful manner, too - offscreen, that is. Zhaban dies between seasons for... no reason I can logically discern. He wasn't ill as far as I can tell, he wasn't very old. He was admittedly not as consequential of a character as Elnor and Hugh, so it didn't leave me with the same amount of hurt, but it left me wondering just what the hell was that for. He was a nice guy, he would have been taking care of Picard's estate with Laris while Picard's off on adventures. Honestly, I'm bitter enough at this point to wonder if they only killed off his character so they could do what they do best, hook up their old white male lead with a woman twenty years his junior - yeah, I know, Romulans age slowly, so Laris is approximately the same chronological age as Picard or even older, but my point is that she, as a woman, is required to look younger to be considered as a romantic partner. Is that why Zhaban had to die?

Note also that they kicked off the plot by killing Dahj's boyfriend (how charming that the first dude dying in this series is not only a non-Terran, but also a POC; that jibes really well with the anti-racist message), and then they killed off Dahj herself. Sympathetic, relatable, friendly and positive Dahj to whom we were introduced for an entire episode is killed off - to give us Soji instead. Who is snappish, hostile, arrogant, and proves willing to kick off a galaxy-wide genocide of trillions of people to save the synthetic species on cost of every single organic species of the galaxy. Gotta love her. And I wasn't even willing to cut her some situational slack because at that point, they hadn't put much effort into warming her up to me in general.

But that fits into the protagonist-centered morality, doesn't it? Which pisses me off a lot, because previous Star Trek series always made a point of how the protagonists could be in the wrong and had to bear the consequences of their actions. Soji wants to kill off organic life in the galaxy and only got talked out of it last-second via Picard, our great hero, because who even cares about other life than him? Oh, goodie; all is forgiven and she goes on to become a celebrity ambassador of the galaxy. Agnes Jurati, after all she has done, murder and conspiration for more murder and whatnot? Yeah, she runs around freely in season 2. Not even psychological care after the entire Romulan brainwash thingie? Okay, whatever. She seems like a stable, reliable person. And Picard - I would find it funny that he gets repeatedly called out on his sheer fucking hubris if the people doing the calling-out weren't permanently framed as being in the wrong. Because it is hubris. Dunkirk?? Fuck you. Fuck you and reframing of real-life history to set yourself up as some kind of great hero. This comparison doesn't hold up, because the death of the Romulan planetary system was not a war situation with two antagonistic forces; it was a natural disaster. (Also, the Dunkirk evacuation was a means of absolute despair. How good of you to try and get some glory out of the situation of a fucking despairing people, Picard.)

Not to mention season 1 spent way too much time on antagonists I found not really compelling. Narissa was just disgusting and didn't live up to her big fat ego, Narek not interesting enough for such an extended romance arc that was bound to fail anyway (plus superfluous talks about how hot he is? Got nothing else to do, Soji, do you). This takes too long. Thanks for bringing in the Jurati-Borg Queen relationship and Q for the second season! Q is also an exception in the way they treat the old characters when they bring them in, in that he's actually utilized in a way that fits him, with his dirty tricks and relations to the Borg and stuff. The others? Hugh got killed off, Riker was of minimal impact except to return as deus ex machina at the last minute (how was he even authorized to do that??), and Deanna was of no consequence at all. Oh yeah, and Data is alive, kind of! As turns out in the last episode of the season. Only to kill him off then without his character being of interest at all, so the farewell scene lacks any emotional impact. And there's Guinan in season 2 as a plot device, and with not much recognition value because that actress isn't working much with what's established of her character. I know they try to justify it with the fucked-up time she lives in, but that only goes so far. Can't wait for season 3; they already announced the return of all the old crew, Worf, Geordi, Doc Crusher... presumably to have them show their faces once and then get outta there ASAP. Or get killed off.

TL;DR: Shoot me now. There are just enough things about this series that intrigue me sufficiently to keep me watching, and just enough to gnaw my fingers off in frustration. This could have been so good! Stop killing off the characters with potential!

[rotationalsymmetry]

General gripes about DS9 and gender (some spoilers) (content notes: some references to sexual abuse/trauma, and specifically spiritual abuse/sexual misconduct in religious leaders, also death/murder):

I swear to fuck these people do not know how to write female characters without shoehorning them into romance plotlines. (Or weird fucked up stuff, like when that Cardassian serial murderer kidnaps Kira.) Especially noticeable with Ziyal -- when Kira takes her to DS9, the writers apparently can't think of a single thing to do with a young woman other than ship her with a much older Cardassian. Then, she's starting to get her own life and make a name for her as an artist, and they fucking refridgerator her. The fuck. (And: the focus is on how her death affects Dukat, that fucker. Which, obviously sure it's going to affect him...but it's also going to affect Kira, who sees Ziyal as like a younger version of herself and was trying to protect her. And then Ziyal dies. That should have some sort of effect on Kira! And did no one else on the station make any sort of connection with her when she was there?) This is arguably not primarily a gender thing, but it is partly a gender thing: the show keeps demanding Kira find sympathy for her oppressors, over and over again. (This is a gripe fest: of course there's a lot of things about Kira's character that are done really well.) She keeps getting thrown in situations that show (some) Cardassians in more nuanced lights and that more or less force her into relationships with them, while meanwhile her old resistance cell friends all get killed off, her parents are dead, if she has any other family we don't hear about it, and she's basically left with no Bajoran friends even, as far as we know. She gets Bajoran lovers who... OK, about that. First, Vedek Bareil. Now, Bajorans are shown to have a pretty relaxed attitude towards their clergy (eg Kira is frequently rude to Winn even after she becomes Kai with apparently no consequences) -- but still. Vedek is roughly equivalent to, what, cardinal? He's high up in the heirarchy. And, he's put himself in a role of spiritual authority relative to Kira: she gets access to one of the Orbs through him. They've got a power imbalance and one that's connected to Kira's ability to do her religion. I don't care what the social norms are on Bajor that is 100% sexual misconduct on Bareil's part. If something went wrong in their relationship, it could fuck up Kira's connection to her faith. And in the show it's presented as no big deal.

(Star Trek seems to be aware of this when it comes to ship's captains! For all that Kirk notoriously fucks everyone, he never voluntarily (/outside of the mirror universe, outside of odd transporter malfunctions that split him into two parts, etc) came on to a crew member. But it's no less important for religious authorities.) (Also: this has nothing to do with celebacy. I'm fine with Bajoran religious figures being allowed to have sex and being allowed to have sex outside of marriage. But: a religious leader having a sexual relationship with someone who they're in a pastoral relationship to is wrong, and while Bareil isn't exactly Kira's pastor I think there is some level of, he's providing spiritual guidance to her. That means she's off limits to him, or should be. In the same way that bosses shouldn't fuck their direct reports, college professors shouldn't fuck their students, therapists definitely shouldn't fuck their patients, etc. Regardless of how they handle their sex life outside of those restrictions. And regardless of whether there's love involved or not -- romantic love absolutely does not make it better.) And then there's Shakaar, the former leader of her resistance cell. That she joined as a teenager. It's...yeah, it's been many years, yeah she's not directly under him any more, and yeah goodness knows a band of resistance fighters is probably not going to have a clearly written up sexual harassment policy so it's not necessarily unrealistic...it's not as blatantly "oh god no" as Bareil, but it's got some...is anyone thinking of potential abuse of power issues here? Anyone?

There was one episode where Jake and Nog were double-dating and it goes badly due to Ferengi, uh, gender roles not meshing well with Federation egalatarianism. And, then the rest of the episode is all about how they're going to repair their friendship. And I was thinking: we didn't see either female character either before or after, and why is a sexism issue being shown from the lens of "how can I, a nice guy, stay friends with my male friend who has sexism issues" and not "how am I, a young woman, going to deal with this affront to my basic personhood" or "how am I, a young woman, going to repair my friendship now that I talked my friend into a double date so I could date the guy I liked but his friend turned out to be garbage?" Like...out of all the potential relationships there, why is Jake's friendship with a guy with sexism issues (who's made it clear he's not going to change, at least as far as dating goes) the one presented as being in most need of preservation? I know, it's because Jake and Nog are more central characters and their friendship has been significant in the show for seasons now. But...that just brings up more questions. Like why does this show have a significant bro friendship between two teenage boys, but there's no friendship between two women (or between a woman and a man for that matter) that's given as much weight? There's some bonding between Kira and Dax, but it doesn't have the same presence and significance as Jake and Nog or, say, Miles and Julian. (I'm having first name/last name inconsistencies here. Ah well.) Keiko has no on-camera friendships. Kira has no on-camera friendships that have Jake & Nog or Julian & Miles weight. Dax maybe does with her Klingon buddies from Curzon's lifetime. (Benjamin Sisko also doesn't.) Ziyal could have, but doesn't. Molly could have, but doesn't. Miles doesn't seem to have any (on-camera or otherwise acknowledged) parent friends (like...there's one couple mentioned who can babysit Molly at times? That's it? We never even see them?), which is weird because fuck knows parenthood can make it hard to have any friends who aren't parents. Odo's got his weird frenemy thing with Quark. Garak has his standing lunch with Julian (if you read that as platonic, which ... yeah, there's not a lot of arguments for seeing it as platonic beyond "they're both men.") I am, don't get me wrong, extremely for showing male friendships. Very much for it. It's just...I want friendships that aren't between two guys also. And I want them to be shown as significant and meaningful and worth overcoming obstacles for. Friendships between women, friendships between people of the same race or culture (or alien species, since we are talking Star Trek here), friendships between men and women that aren't just a precursor to romance. And...parenting that isn't just...I want to see Keiko have problems with parenting that she overcomes with help from other people. I want to explore the emotional ramifications of Kira being a surrogate mom to Kirayoshi or being a semi adopted mom to Ziyal and then having her die. I want Kira to talk about how her own upbringing in times of famine and war and occupation affects her sense of her ability to potentially be a parent. I want a female character to calmly talk about her decision to not become a mother and have that decision be treated with the utmost respect. I want the sort of struggles that male characters have with parenting on the show, like Worf's difficulty connecting with his son or Benjamin's conflict over watching his son grow up and get less interested in spending time with his dad, be shown for female characters as well. And the joys, like when Benjamin remembers holding Jake as an infant, like when they reunite after Jake gets caught in a war zone. Rather than parenting be this thing that mom characters apparently do on autopilot without any internal conflict or feeling out of their depth or particular moments of joy and amazement. There's so many plot lines and moments and bits and pieces that could be amazing moments that give

mother characters balance and nuance and characterization, but they only ever get shown for fathers. (And this is not just Star Trek either...look at all the kids movies that are about father/son or father/daughter bonding, and somehow the moms...just aren't there. It's so good when there are single father storylines, just...where are all the mom storylines that could be like that?) And why do teenage boys get focus and their own stories (especially with Jake in DS9, but also TNG has Wesley Crusher and Alexander, and TOS had one story centering on a teenage boy) but girls either aren't there at all or don't get to have stories that are about them? Ziyal's stories aren't about her, she doesn't get to form her own friendships and only barely gets to develop an interest of her own before her life is taken away from her. Molly doesn't get stories that are about her. (And yeah, Molly's a lot younger than Jake, but those are still choices: DS9 could have been set when Molly was a teenager, or the show could have introduced a different teenage girl as a significant character, or Jake could have been a girl rather than a boy, or Benjamin could have had two children...)

[draganasimpsforjeff]

Hunting Dogs: Chapter Seven (proxies x reader)

Age was nothing but a number to them and most, if not, all the time it meant nothing. Like part of the human race, you can die at any moment but you take precautions and you try not to be a dumbass and take care of yourself and you'll be fine. Every year was celebrated with a birthday, announcing that you were still alive to your loved ones.

But when you're a proxy, there is nothing to celebrate. If there was, it was just to get by another day. They didn't live life by miles and those are limitless and no one knows when those miles will stop. For proxies, if you reached the age of 25, it was like a big deal in a way that not many men got to see or get to. Yes, in the mansion there are countless beings older than such, but there was less pressure as there was on these three men.

It was complete hell for Hoodie and Masky when they first started as Slender thought he would need to test every aspect of them in anyway he could, even if that meant putting them near death. But, they are over the age of 25. Although, don't be a complete idiot if you think that makes them safer. It doesn't. It just means they got past a milestone that a great percentage didn't have the opportunity to get to. Toby was the youngest out of them, 23, almost 24. But hell, no great being like a Slenderman could threaten to ruin his life when the damn boy does it to himself everyday. The only difference is that He could make it the ultimate ending and act like Toby never existed and he would expect the same from others.

So, in ways the three men relationship was complicated, much like a Zeppelin Bend, when they worked together they were stable, so tight-knit that they knew each other's next move, thoughts, feelings.etc., they could be stable when they wanted to and be the scariest goddamn creatures ever known to man. But, if something was in the way or their thoughts didn't link together, the connection between all three was nonexistent. Like it wasn't bad enough that after a good day and a mission completed, they would cut the cord so fucking quick and lash out, becoming blood thirsty monsters that just wanted each other dead.

And who could blame them? The stress of them job mixed in with their emotions, the need to survive, and whether or not a mission was high-impact or not they were expected and felt the need to have the right. And you wanna know what their treat was for not fucking up? Not a nice dinner, no hot baths with bubbles, no 'here take a day or two to rest' or any bullshit like that. It was, Congratulations! You get to live another day! Now go back to your dim lit rooms with just a desk, bed, nightstand and closet, that half the time it looks like they had nothing to themselves. Whatever they had, they could fit in a backpack, but what was the point of personalizing a room to your liking for your own self expression when there was a chance you could be gone and hell... they didn't even know who they were, self identity  was a crucial factor here.

Sure, they may remember bits and pieces of what they like or, rather, what they thought they liked, but it was all blurry and covered in smudges, like imagine going to see ophthalmologist and instead of having you look through lens to correct your vision, it's worse and it's covered in black shit, yeah, that was basically they're mind. Amnesia though was the worst for Masky, but not like it was new to him at all. he suffered through it during his childhood and teenage years up till now. Hoodie just stopped caring even though he does miss his life in college and he became so invested in his study of Psychology and maybe that's something that comes in handy with this job, studying emotions, body language, and movement from a person or anything to be honest,  the best course of action, why someone may be acting a certain way(most of this thought goes towards Toby) Masky lets himself be easy to read, even with the mask, nothing could hide an animal like him...unless sedated. Although, Hoodie does remember Alex and how he was no longer Brian..okay well, he was Brian, but...not the same.

It's life, going through life lessons and you're in the process of character development, it was like that but it happened so quick for him that he was like a switch, he doesn't remember the last time he felt 'normal'.

Now, Toby. It was like a slow boil, adding in ingredients, not following recipe and wondering what was gonna be created. So much had happened to him with bullies, his step dad and whoever else wanted to get on his nerves. He didn't have much but Lyra and that was pretty much all he remembers now. Bits and pieces of his past, only just enough to make sense of why he should be grateful for Slender and why Toby has taken this position among the proxies. But he didn't mind it so much, why the fuck would he want to remember his past- apart from Lyra. Yeah, sure it hurt and feels like there is a piece of him missing all the time, but, at least there was a reason for him being so unhinged.

"Wake up, Tobs." Hoodie says, kicking the edge of the mattress a little, trying to stir Toby awake with his best ability to not also make him upset. If there was one thing that he could agree with Masky on, it's that Toby becomes the biggest dick ever when forced to wake up- that or he's whiny. He got no response back from Toby and he sighs, kicking again, but again, no response. "Dammit...Masky, did you force the sleeping pills down his throat?' He growls, looking over his shoulder at Masky who was leaning against the wall by the door.

"And have the possibility of me having to carry him around like a limp dick that he is? No thanks. Maybe he just hasn't gotten enough sleep lately." he shrugs. Hoodie sighs, nodding as he looks down at Toby, who as he was an active sleeper, his legs were tangled up in the blankets, pillow tossed over his face, his body angled in a weird way and the bed sheets were pulled off.

"NO!" he suddenly shot up, the pillow flying and his eyes widened and like he was out of his mind, psychotic almost, but Hoodie knew better. He rushes over as the younger one breathes heavily, cold sweat breaking around his skin as he starts to shake.  Hoodie sits near his legs, making sure to get in his line of vision. He doesn't snap or touch him as that would trigger Toby and it's not a good thing to snap someone out of an episode like this. "Hey, hey.. It's okay, You're safe." Hoodie says softly, moving his gloves hands in different motions and directions, making Toby focus in and follow them. "Breathe, inhale...1..2..3...hold...1...2..3..4 exhale." he continues this for a few more minutes until he knows that Toby's breathing was back to normal and was blinking, looking around at his surroundings, bringing himself back to reality.

"T-thanks. " He mumbles, he hates having to get help over something he should know how to deal with already. He's had these fucking nightmares for years and yet, they always feel like the first time and remain fresh on his mind until he snaps out of it. Masky swallows thickly, watching the two with mild interest before noticing the change outside. "It's not raining anymore." he says, making the other two look at the nearest window and nod, agreeing. "Let's get back to the mansion. Grab the things we need and see if BEN can figure anything with the girl." He says, standing up slowly from the bed as his back still hurts from when he fell off the ledge. He recovered mostly, thanks to Slender but his spine did give him a hard time whenever he had to bend a certain way. He use to be the type of sleeper to be on his back, but after the injury he had to figure out another way to sleep.

The men got situated, tightening their shoes and securing their items. Medication check, gun and bullets check, making sure they didn't leave anything behind of theirs or something that they may have missed in the apartment before leaving.

It was still chilly and their clothes were damp, but it was better than nothing and they were sure they spotted a laundry mat a few blocks down. Masky collected some quarters around the house so, at least they could get their hoodies warm and dry. After that, they made their way to the mansion.

"I don't know ma, I already paid for the room so I might as well use it." your mom called you this morning, wanting to visit you or vice versa. She thought that you could use a little break from working so hard and being 'so alone' at your place. Which, you appreciate the thought and could definitely get away from all the bullshit that was happening, but you were scared to go back to your apartment and pack what you needed. Plus, you didn't know if the men were there and just waiting for you. The thought makes goosebumps spread over your arms and neck, rubbing it nervously as you were forming an ache from the cheap bed. "I know, honey, but here, I can pay you the money you spent and take you out. It's been a very long time since I've seen you and I miss you sooooo much." you couldn't help but smile at that. Who could say no to getting paid for the money they wasted, getting spoiled and whatever else would happen.

For fucks sake, it wouldn't hurt you and you wouldn't have to think about being hunted and feeling like you can't close your eyes for even a few hours of sleep. "Okay, well, you know I don't have a car-"

"I'll pick you up. Just give me the address again and I'll be there in a few hours, mama had lots of coffee." she giggles, making you shake your head as she was a bit hyper when she has more than three cups of coffee. "Alright, just be careful. I'll text you the address." you say, stuffing items back into your bag and grabbing your keys and wallet, letting your pockets swallow them. "Okay, bye, love you." she says and you say the same, hanging up.

You blow out a breath, making your bangs lift up a little as you muster enough courage, picking up the bag and leaving the hotel room.

Please let things go back to normal.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Pissed

A little Au-ish in where Lisa also joined the Legends. Might be OC like but then again they are in private...? Idk but I felt like some Snart siblings fluff is needed so here it is.

It had been two months since Lisa had join the Legends and admittedly Leonard had been rather pleased to have his sister by his side again.

He would never tell anyone but he had worried about her back in Central while he was traveling around and he was more than relieved that the ever hanging threat of the villain of the week threatening her was gone.

Now, he was remembering how hard it was working with her. For whatever reason, she woke up in a bad mood and when she was in a bad mood, she showed it. And brought it to everyone around her.

Now with Rouges it had been okay because let's face it after a fist fight it was generally over and during heists it wasn't like anything would go exactly as planned so her bad mood didn't affect them.

But during this mission with the Legends, Lisa was just uncooperative, talked back to Rip, didn't listen to anyone and did her own thing, stealing the Hope Diamond with Mick.

Rip had been furious, sure no one got killed (that they knew of), but he didn't like things going so off kilter especially since Mick was getting a partner in crime and hell knows how much energy it took making sure he didn't torch the Empire State Building's Lobby, he didn't want to deal with the Statue of Liberty having a gold crown.

Rip had been about to go to the training room to lecture her but he had stopped him, and offered to talk to her instead.

He knew after years of dealing with her awful temper that she was looking for a fight and if Rip lectured her, she would yell or more likely punch him, there would be a fight, punishment and her mood would get even worse and she would make things happened. Things that Leonard would rather forget.

As Leonard walked into the training room he encountered Lisa beating up a punching bag. "Hey," Leonard announced his arrival and Lisa stopped and scowled "What do you want?" Lisa hissed.

"Rip wanted to grill you about your attitude today."

"If he didn't like it, he should deal with it," Lisa replied with a roundhouse kick.

Leonard tried to go over the situation with his mind, he wasn't used to these kinds of "We must work as a team" pep talks.

"Well, Lisa it.. It's just that this matters, it's important to follow the plan in order to succeed."

"The plan should be more flexible." "You still should cooperate." "I'll decide on that."

Leonard rolled his eyes. These moods were really annoying and worse, she didn't listen to reason until she got over them. She didn't usually listen to reason in a good mood but during these time she was all out deaf.

"No, you work at the mission and then you can get your little pissed child routine to your room."

"You cannot be serious Leonard. Why don't you go read Kafka or something old man." She hit his shoulder hard.

"Once you actually start acting like an adult I might," Leonard growled back. Leonard had a strange sense of déjà vu. The whole thing reminded him of when he used to take care of her. When she was a eleven or nine, she would come to his apartment angry and hit him whenever she got annoyed by him. He just had to make her smile at something, anything and then it would be gone.

He looked at her, a thirty something woman, glaring at him like he was Hitler or Lewis. She was more or less the same, definitely had the same course vocabulary. Leonard shook his head. How did he make her smile, he wasn't one to carry around 5001 Snart jokes book.

Then he remembered. It was stupid and incredible childish but damn the results would be hilarious and bodily harm, guaranteed.

"Shut up," Lisa tried to hit him again. Leonard caught her arm and put her in a lock.

"Remember what you use to get if you tried hitting me?” Leonard smirked.

"I don't remember what I got, but YOU got your ass kicked," Lisa flipped him over.

"Like you could beat me after all your my baby sister." Leonard teased.

She charged at him and he used her anger to his advantage. A few swift moves later, she was pinned and he straddled her legs.

"Get off of me,” she grunted. "Make me," Leonard challenged. "You have a heavy beer gut." That was a low blow even for her.

"Enough with the piss, smile it will make you feel better." Leonard commanded.

"Says who?" "Says science," Leonard shot back. "I'm not in the fucking mood."

"I figured." He trailed his fingers down her legs "Now do you remember what would happen when you tried to hit me?" She glared.

"You get a visit from the you-know-who." He squeezed her knee caps to no success. She rolled her eyes.

"You got to be kidding me," she mumbled, "This is stupid and childish. I'm too old for this crap. You are way too ancient for this crap. And Len I'm not some kid anymore, I freeze people in gold and seduce speedster's engineer. We're serious people, Lenny. We are hardened criminals. Besides I'm not even..." Lisa stopped her rant and squirmed as his hand shot into her armpit.

"What was that? I think you still are" he smirked as he lightly traced circles. "Just smile and I'll stop.”

Lisa squirmed, pushed, bucked to no avail "No. I'm not ticklish." She stammered as she used her one free hand to futile pull his hand away from her.

"I think you are. You can't hold it in forever." He could tell that she wanted to break, it was laughingly obvious. Her grinding her teeth and biting her lip was almost akin to constipation.

"Smile Lisa. As your big brother I just want to make you happy and not in such a shitty mood all day" Leonard taunted as he used his left hand to squeeze her stomach.

She was being stubborn about it. He could just see it, her mouth was twitched up but she wouldn't break out into a smirk or half-smile.

She just squirmed and hid her face in her hair or against the floor. "I didn't think you would be this difficult. Fine you wanna play, we're gonna play."

Lisa eyes widened as she felt his fingers tap up her ribcage, "If I remember correctly, your ribs were your worst spot. Hmm?"

"Len, no I'm no..t" She stopped. "If you're so not, you can finish the sentence." Silence.

"I'm giving you one chance. Smile voluntarily and I'll let you go" He waited a couple of seconds before deciding the silence was a definite no. And he proceeded to emit the most surprising sounds out of the younger Snart.

Leonard almost started laughing himself. The girly, bubbly, giggly laugh didn't fit at all with the image of a villainous, leather clad woman who thought nothing of killing a man for the money. He swore that if he closed his eyes he would have thought it was coming from some vapid model especially as it went higher a few pitches when he climbed up her ribs like a piano.

Though the squeals were followed by more Lisa-like obscenities on how he would die a horrible death by fire.

She was spending way too much time with Mick.

What Leonard was most surprised was how much fun he was having. He felt like some dumb kid, and the whole situation felt normal. Nothing of Lewis' abuse or juvie or the next big heist sorta like a normal childhood activity in a regular family.

He stopped every once and awhile to allow her to breath in air and a chance for mercy.

"Are you done with your attitude?" He asked as she gulped a breath of air.

"No." Then with a battle cry she tackled him, pinned him down and dug her fingers into his shirt. He blinked.

"Stupid parka!" She cursed and tried to take it off.

Ohhh. He realized she was trying to turn on the tables on him. He calmly pushed her down and resumed position. "Sorry sis, but I'm not ticklish. There's more than one reason why my name's Cold."

He bend down to blow on her ribs and her laugh went up almost three octaves. Honestly, he thought Lisa looked adorable right now.

She looked so carefree and happy, and there were freakin dimples coming out. The laugh was just icing on the cake. Too often he just saw her as the little girl in the hospital getting stitches, refusing to talk about Lewis or a girl having nothing going on in life except the next big thrill. No dreams. No big ambitions.

"Lisa, if you want me to stop you have to start fighting." Leonard drawled as Lisa tried to squirm and bang her fists against him.

"LENHEHaNo!" Lisa screeched when he managed to get his hand under her shirt, scratching at her ribs with his nails.

"This is the third rib right? Or is it the fourth? I should count them don't you think?"

"NOHAHANOFUCHAHADON'THAHATHE TEASING MAKES IT WORSE!" She managed to screech out.

It went on like that for awhile. But eventually she bended over into curled ball, banging the ground.

"YOU WIAHAHAHAHAN YOUHIHAIHAHAHAHIAHAHIHIHAHAH" "And you'll stop your shitty mood?" Leonard asked as she unfurled herself, panting heavily.

"Yes, for the love of whatever God, yes" Lisa answered, nodding her head eagerly.

"Good," Leonard scrambled off her legs and helped her up.

"So we're good" Leonard asked cautiously. He knew it would work but he didn't think she would be so so calm afterwards. Maybe she didn't take enough air in.

"I guess. But know this" Lisa placed a hand firmly on his shoulder "I will get you back. You're not the only one with a good memory. And anytime as soon as you take off your shoes and parka. I will get my revenge. In public, in private, in front of the team it doesn't matter. I will do it.”

Leonard would have laugh if he didn't know how serious that threat was.

"So, any reason why you were pissed?" Leonard asked.

Lisa froze and then frowned "I heard Mick and Jax talking. How you took me because you were worried that some villain was going to hurt me.”

"Yeah so?"

"I don't want to be chosen just because I need protection. I can do stuff, Lenny. I don't want to follow the Team around so you could keep an eye on me. Like how you and Mick were a package deal. What am I? The back order?” "Lisa, if we had only chosen you so we could protect you Stein's wife would be here. Sara's dad would be here. Jax's dad would be here. Rip's family would be here. We chose you not just because of that but because you would actually be useful to the mission. You know how to work a crime scene, you know how to plan a mission, you know how to fight. You can do something with the Team, you can help. That's why you're here."

Lisa stared at him, disbelievingly "No bullshit?" "No bullshit."

A few nights later, Leonard was in the kitchen putting away his late night drink when he got tackled with a vicious screech.

The rest of the Legends woke up and ran to the room to see the two Snart siblings rolling around the floor, laughing, growling and almost knocking over the table.

"What the hell?" Sara asked.

"Just walk away slowly and maybe they'll stop" Jax muttered.

They took his advice, slightly worried for the next day and still wondering what the hell was going on.

"Admit it!" Lisa yelled. "NOAHA" Leonard croaked.

[hvlfwygod]

shiver | griffin, ben, gabriele, len, patrick

summary: it’s an unusually cold night in New Athens trigger warning: anxiety/panic attack mention, blood

The temperature had dropped lower than expected, and Griffin wished he’d brought his sweatshirt. His exposed arms were covered in goosebumps, and the slight breeze that rustled grass and leaves compelled him to cross them, trying to coax warmth back in.

“Are you cold?” Len asked from their spot beside him and snugly wrapped in a cardigan.

Griffin eyed the clothing enviously. “I just don’t want to make another shirt. I have so many.” His words seemed to carry a flair, like he was bragging. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared another night (it was true he hadn’t paid for an outfit in five years, and that, to him, was noteworthy) but it felt like a particularly cruel jab now, with Len this glum.

If the comment bothered them, though, they didn’t show it. “We can go back now if you want, I feel like I’m just complaining in circles.”

“You’re allowed to complain in circles, though,” Griffin replied with a tiny shrug. Another breeze cut through the uselessly thin t-shirt he was wearing; he valiantly ignored it. “Would you let me complain in circles?”

Len shrugged in return. “Yeah. I know. It’s just frustrating. I know that people have had, like, years and years to train but I feel like I should be picking up on something by now.”

Griffin couldn’t understand why this mattered so much, but he supposed he had a failsafe if he couldn’t hold his own in battle, so he kept this opinion to himself. “I think we all suck at first.” He winced. “Not that you suck. Sorry. Just that...”

“No, I get it. I’m much better at learning like, languages and memorizing words. I need more time.” Len said. “Stage combat was always my weak spot,” they added, chuckling in a resigned way that made Griffin think he was doing a poor job at comforting them.

He shivered again. “Yeah. But I don’t believe that you’re doing as bad as you think you are.”

Len smiled a little. “You’re so cold, dude, let’s go back.”

“I’m fine!”

“You’re literally shaking. It’s late anyway.”

“I don’t care. Here,” Griffin pointed to the spot of orange glowing up ahead. “Lets go sit by the fire. I promise I won’t freeze to death.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” Len said, but the were clearly cheered that Griffin didn’t want to end their night just yet.

When they asked if he was willing to take a midnight stroll through camp, he’d been surprised. He never thought he’d be one of the people they’d turn to when they were feeling down. Maybe everyone else was already asleep, sure, but he chose to believe Len picked him specifically.

Already at the campfire sat a pale, skinny man, staring blankly into the crackling flames. Len, upon seeing him, became serious all over again, as quiet and stiff as when they first started walking. Griffin, upon seeing him, jolted; he had been trying to find a funny video he saw hours earlier and hadn’t looked up from his phone until they were in the circle of benches.

The man’s eyes lifted from the fire and he frowned at their collective expressions. He looked familiar, but Griffin couldn’t recall a name. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“No,” Len answered, at the same time that Griffin said “do you work at the cafe?”

He looked between the two of them for a moment, then nodded. “I do, yeah. I can get out of here if you guys want to be alone.”

Len sat down at the closest seat to them, which happened to be the furthest from the man. Griffin frowned. “I mean... If you want. You live in... town?”

Another small nod. “Yeah. I just liked to um... come here, sometimes.” Another quick glance to Len, and Griffin followed suit. They looked supremely uncomfortable. “But it’s late,” he continued, “so...” He unfolded himself and got to his feet— Griffin wasn’t sure why, but he was expecting someone shorter to emerge from sitting.

"See you around,” Griffin offered by way of goodbye. The man just nodded for a third time, and walked off. Once he was gone, Griffin sat down, exhaling loudly. “That was weird. Do you know him?”

“Not really,” Len said. Already, tension was melting off their shoulders. “My siblings have pointed him out to me, though. They don’t like him. I’m not sure why but from how they talk it’s not good.”

“Yikes.” Griffin stared into the nighttime as if he could still see the man’s retreat. “I bet you could take him, though.”

Len snorted. “You think so?” They smiled at Griffin and he felt himself relaxing again, too. He put a palm flat against Len’s back, between their shoulder blades and moved his hand in little circles, trying to comfort them like his dad might have. The heat from the fire spread over them both.

“Forget him. And forget all that stuff about combat. Tell me about your... hm, your favorite playwright. Living playwright.”

Len scooted a little closer to him, their smile spreading. “Just one?”

                                                 —————

He barely remembered the walk through town, through the woods, through camp, ending at the fire. Which was concerning.

Everything beforehand was still clear, at least, though it got fuzzy around the time he’d been lacing up his shoes. He’d had, gods, a lot of whiskey, repeatedly refilling the glass before reaching the bottom so he never finished his first cup. A simple enough explanation for the gaps in his memory, but no less concerning. Ben never drank that much anymore.

His entire torso was a hopelessly tangled knot of nerves. A rumbling panic followed him like a shadow no matter where he stepped. It loomed on the horizon, pleasantly and casually informing him that he couldn’t outpace it forever. I know, Ben grumbled to— he needed to stop personifying his anxiety, he was talking to himself.

He wondered if Jacob would still be awake when he got back, still sitting in the same place he’d been when Ben announced that he was taking his walk. He wondered if, when he came back inside, Jacob would sense the drifting, uncertain manner of speech, the slight quiver in Ben’s limbs, that always preceded panic attacks. He wondered if Jacob would feel vindicated, then immediately scolded himself for the uncharitable thought.

A whisper of noise caught Ben’s attention (and brought his heart straight up into his throat) but when he swung his gaze around he saw nothing but grass swaying in the breeze. He shivered. “Gods,” he said to no one. “Fuck. Calm down, Bentley.” 

Ben hated to admit it, but he knew Jacob was probably right to essentially bully him into therapy. He hated it. He hated every single morning his roommate cheerily asked if he’d made that appointment yet— which was every morning, and had been for weeks. He hated that it was starting to wear him down.

Damn him, Ben thought bitterly. He regretted explaining a single thing about his childhood, now that it led to this. Jacob had the common decency to not treat him like a porcelain doll— Ben might have moved out if that was the case— but this wasn’t much better.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell on Jacob because everyone would agree with him. No, the worst part was that he agreed with Jacob.

But what was he going to tell a therapist? I know exactly what the problem is, the ghost of the person I killed follows me around and I’m starting to lose it.

Alternatively: I’m hallucinating everything, so on top of being a murderer, I’ve already lost it.

He shivered again, and picked up his pace. The trees started to clear, giving way to the edge of New Athens.

Ben could very nearly hear the voices of several friends tell him there was plenty more reasons to go, but he shoved them away. He didn’t want to think about it, because then he would start to think about letting them down. It felt different this time. But everything led back to Colin and it would never stop. His life preceding that afternoon and all the years after circled back to him, over and over. How could he explain why he couldn’t make this useless appointment to Jacob without Colin bubbling up through the floorboards?

A familiar, sharp guilt sprang out from the tangle of nerves. His heart felt impossibly heavy as it thudded too fast in his chest. He felt alone and exposed under the dark sky, no more trees left to conceal him.

Stark, irrational fear greeted him along with the bare sidewalks. He saw people in the distance like hazy, dreamt-up visions, streetlights dangling in the darkness, surreal and unreachable. Please don’t happen right now.

He’d had way too much whiskey. And he was sure, he was certain, he wouldn’t make it home before a revenant found him, dragged him back to shadow. Please, please don’t happen right now.

Shaking, Ben hurried home.

                                                —————

It was uncanny. Gabriele exited the bar— feeling a sudden need for chilly, fresh air— just as a person passed the building. They were rushing, and clearly nervous. It felt like a cue. For a fleeting, disorienting moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost. But... no, this person was far too alive, and Gabriele was almost embarrassed to have made the mistake. Their hands were hidden in their pockets, face tucked down, moving just shy of a jog. It seemed that whoever they were, they were hoping to pass by unseen.

Shame, then, that the sight compelled Gabriele so urgently to follow. His goddess was watching, arched over him, staring down with the endless voids of her eyes. It might be nothing but curiosity on Nut’s part, or a simple observation she wanted him to see. He waited for the figure to get further down the street before he started to walk behind them.

She was saying something, but he didn’t quiet catch it. The ancient tongue did not click in his brain, not when he was so focused on keeping the stranger in sight and looking as cool as ever while doing it. The breeze bustled him along, unseasonably chilly.

His cue quickly seemed to change. Maybe she’d lost interest, or maybe this stranger was just meant to be the first step of many. He could sense his goddess like she was walking with him, a scatter of footfalls echoing in his mind.

Sure enough, the stranger turned left, and Gabriele felt a tug on his elbow, guiding him to the right. He obliged, leaving the stranger behind. Whatever they were running from, he wished them well.

What followed was a half-empty street. Gabriele frowned as he slowed his gait. Many of the homes had lights shining, still; when he passed beneath a window, he heard a quiet croon of music. This street was populated. But the feeling that came to him was incomplete. No, monco— only the Italian served. Incompiuta, maybe, or... interrupted, sospeso.

Gabriele stopped moving altogether. His goddess was whispering again and he strained to hear it. It sounded like her voice was falling directly from the sky, pattering off the sidewalk like large drops of rain. More of the same: guasto, frammentare, jagged and bloody stitches.

Worry moved him now more than curiosity. He found a bench and sat, tucking his legs underneath him. The wood was cool, and he shivered. Taking a deep breath, Gabriele looked up to the sky. Show me. She did. 

Gabriele watched the stars until they came down to him. Endless eyes gave him sight, and he stood, walked, until he reached the banks of a river he did not know. She knew it well, though, and urged him to step in.

Gabriele made it as far as his knees before he heard the chatter. A current begged him to swim home, no... away from home. The water gathered around him, soaking his clothes through.

He was shivering, back on the shore, and something was bleeding. He couldn’t sense what, but he was afraid to move lest he come undone. Something was probing in the back of his mind, hand grasping at air. He felt his coming up to meet it, fingertips just, just missing. His goddess found his palm, placed something soft there. The softness went over his head, cocooned him, and he curled up on his bed. But he knew whatever waited on the other side of the veil could rip him back into inky nothingness at any moment.

The bed became earth, became a lake of scarlet spilling from a body that was and was not his, became an airless void that looked to him like the sky empty of its stars, became a name, a name, a hand grasping through the dirt, through the water. Bones and flesh rebelling against the call, unfolding and unfolding and unfolding. A bird fluttered its wings impossibly, and his heart moved in time. 

Gabriele found himself again, folded over, his hands pressed to his stomach. He trembled, cold. “Co... Cosa dovrei fare?” he asked aloud because he didn’t trust himself to form the thought coherently.

The taste of the river coated his tongue. He felt himself on a boat, rowing. He saw the stitches, bursting and wrong, all wrong, and him, picking them apart.

To this day, Gabriele did not completely comprehend the messages his goddess sent. But he understood a warning when he saw one. He understood a mission when he heard one. “Ho capito, dea. Grazie.”

                                                 —————

They wound up moving to the porch of the Dionysus cabin and Griffin finally stopped acting tough and made himself a new shirt. It looked like the flannel that someone had been wearing in a video Griffin showed Len earlier.

“That’s so cool,” they sighed, pinching the fabric. “I’ll never get used to the fact you can just, do that.”

He shrugged, but Len could see the little smile even in the dark. “Thanks.”

Music was playing from Len’s headphones, which was split between the two of them. Conversation came in small bursts at this point, Ricky Montgomery filling the comfortable silences in between. Griffin was leaning into his hands, eyes closed. Len by contrast was still replaying the frustrating afternoon they’d had. Archery practice had gone... fine. Jesse had even complimented their form, but to Len the words had felt empty. A consolation, something nice to say because everything else was critical.

Their hands still hurt, the memory of cramps in their fingers from hours before. Sighing, they cracked their knuckles.

“Hey.” Griffin’s pointer finger pressed into Len’s shoulder. “Are you on a hamster wheel in your brain right now?”

Len scoffed, their eyes weirdly stinging. They begged themself not to cry right now and their tear ducts blessedly listened. “Yes.”

“I promise you’re making it a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“I knoooow,” they groaned, putting their head in their hands. “I know, I know. I just... I dunno. I feel like I’m running out of time.” It was Griffin’s turn to scoff, but before he could argue them, Len continued. “Not like, in life. I just... I wanna go to college sooner rather than later. And I’m, I guess, afraid to go back out there and not be ready to hold my own.”

Griffin’s mouth pushed to one side while he thought about this. “Well... You did it before, right?”

“Not really,” Len mumbled. “I never really had a problem until I did, you know? And then I came right here. I was being stalked by this really creepy monster. And I didn’t even get rid of it! Oh, shoot,” they lowered their voice, “we have to be quiet because my sister is asleep. Anyway, I was pretty much useless. Do you know Brett?”

“No.”

“He’s cute. Um... I mean.” Len blushed. “He’s a child of Nike. He’s from Georgia, too. He like, by pure luck, was in town when this was happening. He saw what was going on and rescued me.”

“What? That’s so cool! Sorry.” Griffin nearly whispered. “That’s so cool.”

“Yeah...” Len sighed again. “He was sooo good. He made it look super easy. I just, I feel like I haven’t retained anything since getting here. If I walked out of here tomorrow I’d be a sitting duck.”

“I can teach you a few things if you want,” a voice behind them said.

Headphones flew as Len whipped around and Griffin jumped nearly out of his skin. Patrick waved from his spot in the doorway to Len’s cabin. His shirt was on backwards, and he was lighting a cigarette.

Len was not one to harbor negative emotions about other people. They forgave their middle school bully the first day of freshman year, and couldn’t even bring themself to hate the seniors who ruined the set pieces for 42nd Street. Patrick was no different: Len did not dislike him, but they definitely didn’t trust him. And seeing him here at this time of night felt wrong.

“Um...” they started. Griffin’s hands were fumbling to pause the music. “That’s okay. I’m already getting lessons from Jesse.” They realized belatedly that Patrick was related to Jesse, which— wow, that made no sense.

There was no sound save for the sizzle of Patrick pulling on his cigarette. He breathed out the smoke slowly, his eyes sharp with annoyance at Len’s response. The image made him look like a poor imitation of a very annoyed dragon, Len thought to themself.

“I’m not an archer,” he replied eventually.

“So...”

He took another drag before continuing. “So, pick something else you want to know. There’s more to life than whatever Jesse’s showing you. And if you’re not retaining it, maybe he’s a bad teacher. I could give you the basics for a spear, easy.”

They tried their best to stay stoic, but now Len was annoyed, too. “No thanks. If I want to learn that I already have Tai to show me.” 

Patrick’s face morphed instantly into a scowl. Len felt a terrible satisfaction. Was this petty on their part? Yes. They’d never even discussed training with Tai, but Len wanted Patrick to go and thought this was the best way to make him leave.

He didn’t. Patrick just rolled his eyes and kept smoking. “I see he’s gotten to you, too.”

Griffin crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey man, can you leave us alone?”

Patrick held up the cigarette. “The lady of the house says I have to smoke outside. If you have a problem, take it up with her.”

For some reason, knowing that their sister was up way later than she said she’d be, all over this guy, made Len actually angry. They weren’t sure what to do with their hands, so they copied Griffin, crossing their arms and glaring at the man. He stared back at them, and they huffed. “Why do you even smoke at all?”

Len felt a little invisible line keep their gazes locked on each other, like they were staring down a tunnel and Patrick was at the end of it. They didn’t look away.

Patrick paused. Len expected a comeback, or at least another eye roll, but instead the man leaned closer, frowning as if he hadn’t heard them. “What?”

Len’s nostrils flared. They hadn’t broken eye contact yet, an impressive feat for the child of Dionysus. “Do you think you look cool? Because you don’t. Those things just make you die faster.”

Patrick still looked lost. “Um... What are you saying?” He angled his head toward Griffin but still didn’t move his eyes away. “Did any of that make sense to you?”

Len flushed. How could someone be this condescending? It would never make any sense to them. “Don’t answer him, Griffin.” (Griffin, good boy, didn’t answer Patrick.) “Just forget it, don’t make my sister stay up late, she has work tomorrow.” They turned back around before he could respond, picking up their phone and pretending to search for something.

“What the fu... Oh my god. Whatever.” There was some mumbling behind Len’s back, the scrape of Patrick stomping out his cigarette, and eventually the click of the door as he went back inside.

After a moment of silence, Griffin snorted. “Dude,” he said, breaking down into laughter. “What the hell is going on? Why do we keep running into weirdos tonight?”

Len released a breath and let the anger go, then shook their head. “I have no idea.” The spell of a bad mood broke, and they started giggling, too. “Maybe we should call it a night before we catch a third strange and unusual demigod.”

That only made Griffin laugh harder. He put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Gods. Yeah, yeah, I should sleep.” He wiped a tear from his face, then slid out of his flannel. “Here, you earned this.”

“Griff—”

“I mean it. I have way too many clothes.”

“You’re gonna be cold!”

“I’m literally two minutes from my cabin. Take it. The longer you take the longer I’m exposed to the elements”

Len felt like they might cry again. “Ugh, fine, gimme.” They snatched it from his hand. “Go home.”

Griffin stood up. “I had a very nice night, Len. Um, thanks. And I hope I helped?”

“You did,” they assured him, standing as well. They were kind of glad that they’d decided, on a whim, to text him first.

“Cool.” They both paused, then went in for a hug at the same time. “I’ll see you at Gender Bender Club.”

Len laughed. “Yes. Can’t wait.”

They stayed out for a while longer after Griffin left, their headphones back in, clutching his gift to their chest. Again, they couldn’t quiet their mind. But instead of the afternoon replaying, now it was the look of utter confusion on Patrick’s face. The way he’d stared back at them for so long, like he’d been stuck in place.

(Had he blinked? Had they? A small shiver travelled up their spine.)

Len shook their head. They weren’t putting energy into worrying about him. As the song faded out, Len stood up and turned to go inside. It really had gotten cold tonight, which was good news for them. They were going to throw open all their windows to let the chilly air inside, and sleep in Griffin’s flannel.

[cheonsans]

Escapism

Group: ULTRAVIOLET.

Featuring: UV (Jamie-focused), TMRW’s Dabin ( @ttmrww​ ), staff.

Genre: Angst, a bit of soft if you squint. It just hurts, I’m sorry.

Word-count: About 2.8k.

Warnings: Mentions of death, strong language, mild violence, general emotional pain (including references to anxiety). 

“No, fuck it, fuck this. I’m done, I’m going home, all of you can shove it. Get the camera out of my face.”

Jamie has no idea how much the cameras cost, but likely more than he’s expected to earn in years. He feels no guilt over pressing his palm to the lens and shoving it away from him, feels no remorse as the cameraman loses his grip on the device momentarily and the corner of it smacks with a resounding note against the doorframe, chipping as if it were made of nothing more than cheap plastic. All he feels is bitterness, toxic and bubbling between his ribs, coating the roof of his mouth with every exhale. His fingertips are buzzing with unrealized panic, each frantic beat of his heart sending more icy-hot anxiety suffusing his veins.

They’re only three days into filming their reality special, and that is simply three days too many. Three days of cameras in his face at what feels like every waking hour, from the moment he rolls out of bed to when he’s too tired by the end of the day to bother remembering from where they are being recorded. Three days of endless questions, ridiculous challenges, humiliation from the other members, and a palpable lack of already debatable privacy. He’s an idol, he should be used to every step being monitored and the soreness in his cheeks that comes along from faking smiles, but enough is...enough.

Lucy’s death had been one of the last straws, really. She was an old spaniel, it had been expected really, but to get nothing more than a call from his Mom after he’d practically grown up with that dog...no, it wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. Crying on the couch with King’s arms around him might have sufficed if those damn cameras didn’t eat up every second of it. They’ll edit it out later, you can tell them you don’t want it included in the show. King’s reassurances had helped in the moment, but now that Jamie has had time to process, he doubts the company would pass up an opportunity for fans to see the ‘real Jamie.’ ULTRAVIOLET: they’re just like you! He can see it now, bubble letters racing across the screen for the viewers to lap up the news like champagne in the first episode.  He has put on a brave face for two days now, and what finally breaks him is being denied a short break due to a delay with getting started that morning because of Minsung’s probably fabricated migraine.

He’s opening the front door before he knows what he is doing, ignoring King’s shout from behind him and the deeper tone of their manager as he removes himself from the group of staff members to chase after him. Jamie isn’t interested in giving him the chance. They had been preparing to leave as a group soon, so at least he has a face mask hooked under his chin already, which he tugs roughly into place the moment the door slams behind him. He doesn’t look back as he walks down the front path to the sidewalk, unsure where he’s going, and only now regretting that he hadn’t thought to grab a coat. His flannel and t-shirt are doing nothing to ward off the bitter chill of the late Autumn morning, and the wind stings his eyes until he ducks his head.

“Jamie--” It is King’s voice that carries over the wind. He’s certainly as cold as Jamie himself, for when Jamie turns to face him with the beginnings of burning tears gathering behind his eyes, he finds that the leader had also neglected to find a jacket before giving chase. He supposes he should have been touched that King had thought of him before himself, but any affection he might have felt normally is overpowered by that noxious, churning need to escape.

“What the hell is going on with you? Come back inside, you’ve got nowhere to go!” King moves as if to reach out to him, but stops when Jamie draws back an arm defensively as if to hit him, ignoring the pang of genuine pain that blooms in King’s eyes at the action. Jamie is far from a violent person, but when this driven by emotion, rationality is out of the question. Logically, King must know that their lovable, if not a bit chaotic, maknae is far from a threat...but in that moment, all the leader sees is a panicked young man, both taller than stronger than he is, and it gives him pause.

“I don’t fucking care.” He’s playing the part of classically belligerent teenager a bit too well, but he can’t be bothered to adjust his attitude. “It’s too much, I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” Although his voice is somewhat muffled from behind the mask and it’s getting harder to breathe with the crushing pain of warding back proper tears, his voice only trembles slightly. He loses the battle with himself, however, as their manager hurries down the walk, Siyun and Taesong only shortly behind him. Minsung is still inside, probably desperately trying to pretend nothing is going on. For once, Jamie is grateful for Minsung’s non-confrontational attitude, as it gives him one less person to be humiliated in front of.

He pulls the mask down again once it truly becomes difficult to breathe, tears tracing steady pathways down his cheeks. Their manager, Byungwoo, steps forward, but is stayed by King’s arm. Miraculously, the older man listens, looking nearly nauseated with stress. King takes a step towards the youngest member carefully, as if approaching an infuriated and feral dog.

“Jamie, I know things might seem rough right now, but--”

“No. fuck you, hyung, you have no fucking idea what it’s like being across the world from your...your family, your f-friends. You don’t know shit.” His words are snagging in his throat with encroaching sobs, but his image is the last thing on his mind now that the cameras won’t dare capture this. He doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel again and continuing to attempt getting some space between him and the others.

Jamie doesn’t think before lashing out once a hand snags the back of his flannel. His palms connect firmly with King’s chest, and with only the base instinct to preserve his personal bubble, he shoves hard enough to send the leader to the pavement. King hits the ground hard, likely scraping up his lower back and hands in the process. He grunts as he goes down, a curse dying in his throat as Byungwoo steps forward to intervene. The manager doesn't make it far, however, and his grip on Jamie’s shoulder is wrong, all wrong.

Jamie isn’t sure when he curls his fingers into his palm, isn’t sure what his intention is when he angles himself and drives his fist into the older man’s jaw. The pain that sparks in his knuckles is negligible compared to what Byungwoo must be feeling, but the only thought in his mind is on how hitting someone in the face had hurt much more than expected. He’s thought of doing the exact same thing to countless assholes in high school before debuting, but he’s never acted on the impulse so cleanly. “Fuck! Oh my God, I-I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t wait to take in the aftermath, after that. 

Jamie is running before it catches up to him, barely managing to fix his mask in place again before rounding the corner and scrambling up a chain link fence gracelessly. He tears his flannel in the process. He’s never been the type of kid to manage to pull a move like that off smoothly, anyways. The last time he ran from someone was when his cousin Josie had a lizard in her hand, and he certainly has no practice evading anyone cool like bullies, the police, or one very pissed off team of staff members. For a while, the only sounds he registers are the pounding of his heart and the rhythmic smack of his converse on pavement. Slight seclusion gave way to the crowded streets of Hongdae quickly. Suddenly, the danger of being recognized in his current state becomes very much real, and his lack of a real plan settles over Jamie’s shoulders with definitive weight. So, he turns left and begins to move mindlessly towards the first place that kindles within him a sense of security.

It is over two hours later that Taesong pulled up in front of TMRW’s dorms. Dabin is anxiously waiting by the curbside, and he gets in the car without so much as a proper word of greeting.

“Where the fuck is he?” the Australian boy’s jaw is set, and he taps his phone anxiously on his knee. Taesong sighs, heavily, long fingers flexing and unflexing on the wheel.

“I have a feeling, but you need to relax.”

“Relax? I get a call from your fucking manager, who sounded stressed half to death by the way, asking if Jamie were at my studio...you take two hours to show up to go looking for him, and you tell me to relax? Where the fuck is my friend, Taesong? What happened? What took you so long?”

They’ve yet to pull away from the curb, and it is evident that the rapper’s stalling. He continues his rhythmic gripping of the wheel, blunt fingernails digging into his own palms.

“Is this even your car?” Dabin continues, noting the cloth upholstery rather than the leather of Taesong’s usual sports car that he swears isn’t compensating for something.

“...I stole our manager’s keys, wanted to stall him a bit more. I told him I’d handle getting Jamie back but he didn’t seem particularly convinced.” Taesong’s tone is clipped, barely contained. “Look, you’re only here because I’m not sure if he’ll listen to me alone. Keep whining at me, and I swear to God, I’ll leave your tiny ass here and go drag him back myself. Shut up.”

Dabin looks him in the eye for one long moment before simply opening the car door and...getting back out. He slams it behind him with much more force than necessary. Taesong sits there, shellshocked, for only a moment before he unbuckles his seatbelt and hauls himself out of the car as well.

“What the fuck is your issue?” Tae gives up on keeping himself neutral, his expression contorting in blatant frustration. “Get back in the car!”

“I’ll find him myself. You could at least pretend to care about him, he’s your fucking member, and you’ve waited this long to do anything? What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the one who lost him, take some goddamn responsibility. I knew you were an asshole, Taesong, but this? He’s a kid.”

Dabin is yelling, matching Taesong’s aggravated tone note per note. For once, Taesong seems at a loss for words. His brows draw together, as if he’s trying to comprehend just how this tiny producer has managed to shut him up. Irritated, Taesong slams an open palm down on the hood of the car.

“I’ve waited because i know he needs space, okay? I love that idiot, you have no fucking right--” Taesong cuts himself off with a groan, swallowing the last of his pride. When he resumes speaking, his voice is more forcibly controlled. “You know how he gets. If someone tried to find him before now, it would have made things worse, more public. I need you, okay? Right now, you’re probably the only person he wants to see, and I need to make sure he’s safe. I couldn’t care less about how you feel about me, but get in the fucking car for Jamie, and stop acting like you know shit, when you don’t.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, and Tae exhales sharply before getting back into the car, shoulders relaxing once Dabin relents after a moment’s hesitation and gets back in beside him.

This time, he doesn’t stall before putting the car in drive.

“I’m surprised you aren’t at the airport by now, dude.” The merry chime of the coffee shop’s door when it closes behind Taesong and Dabin is a stark contrast to the absolutely caustic expression on Jamie’s face as he makes eye contact with the rapper. His gaze does soften, however, as he notes Dabin by his side...even if only a little bit. Jamie is curled up at a table in the far corner of the small shop, a plate dusted only with crumbs on the table in front of him, and a half-empty mug of coffee warming his palms. His knees are drawn up to his chest, shoelaces untied and dangling off the edge of the chair, and while he looks a bit worse for wear...he’s safe, and that’s what matters.

“I’m an idol, Tae, you really think I could afford a ticket?” Jamie’s tone is resigned. “What is he doing here?” He sounds genuinely surprised to see Dabin, but far from upset about it.

The Australian replies readily.

“They thought you might be with me, so I got a call and got worried. You really think I wouldn’t come help?”

“How did you know where to find me..?” Jamie picks up his coffee and takes a slow sip, shoulders relaxing further as the flavors of cream and sugar melt over his tongue.

“I remember we stopped here two weeks ago and you mentioned how the strawberry tart reminded you of your mom’s, so I figured you might…” Taesong sounds nearly embarrassed to admit it, scratching the back of his neck with one hand.

They’re lucky the shop 9s tiny and empty besides the three of them and a concerned looking barista, busy wiping down the counter. No fans are gossiping outside, snapping pictures on their phones. In fact, it all felt quite...normal. How odd it is that normal is more suspicious than anything to the three men in the cafe, hovering in the space as if it weren’t made for people like them.

“I didn’t think you would pay attention to something like that. Tsundere ass bitch.” Jamie takes a sip of his coffee to hide his expression while Taesong pretends he knows what that means. Jamie doesn’t fight as Dabin approaches him and drags the chair from the other side of the table around to sit beside him, tentatively reaching out to drape an arm over his shoulders. Jamie relaxes visibly, leaning into the touch with a sharp exhale that rattles the crumbs remaining on his plate. Taesong feels overwhelmingly awkward standing there, as if he’s intruding, but he tosses the stolen keys from one hand to the other to break the odd tension.

“It’s been two hours, let’s head back. Sungmin’s not mad at you, don’t worry.” Taesong tries, and although he has no idea whether or not the leader’s going to hold a grudge, that doesn’t much matter now.

“...Shit, i’m gonna be in so much fucking trouble.” Jamie groans and let his head fall to the side to rest on Dabin.

“Anyone tries messing with you because of this, I’ll kick their ass, alright? Siyun’s rich as shit, anyways, he can probably just pay someone off and call it a day. Let’s go.” His lame attempt at a joke is met with a dude, really? expression from Dabin, and Taesong shrugs, helplessly.

Jamie hesitates, however.

“Uh, about that...I don’t actually have any money on me? The barista was an angel and took one look at me before saying I needed something sweet, but…I don’t think the promise of a signed album’s gonna be enough.” He looks at Tae expectantly, who sighs in response, but fishes in the pocket of his leather jacket for his wallet.

“The things I do for you, I swear to fucking God.”

“Aw, come on, you know you love me, hyung.” Jamie’s heart is only half in the attempt at playful banter, and he sniffles before getting to his feet. Dabin is still clinging to him, now via a protective, or even possessive, grip about his waist.

Taesong glances at the two of them, not rolling his eyes or scoffing as Jamie might have expected. Something seems to click as he notes the way Dabin’s face is pressed into Jamie’s upper arm, the familiarity with which his fingers gather the fabric of Jamie’s t-shirt to bring him as close as possible. It’s a conversation for later, surely, but things seem a bit clearer, even if it isn’t Taesong’s business.

“Yeah. I do.”

[sparrellow]

it’s a long way home

It's a long way home when your childhood friend is haunting you from the passenger seat of your car.

rating: T+ genre: supernatural/angst ships: one-sided!rin/len, mostly platonic TW: self-harm, suicide

i saw you in a dream

then it came to an end

i wonder if you’ll come and visit me again

you’re taking your time to reappear

i’m starting to believe that when i call your name—

.

Rin sipped her coffee; her eyelids heavy, but her heart even heavier.

A week ago, she wouldn’t have thought she would be making this drive so soon, so suddenly. But a phone call came from her mother, and in her soft voice, she told her something that made the world shatter around her.

Len was her neighbour, her childhood friend. 

They’d grown up together, went to school together, graduated together. They had made so many memories together. Of course, they went their separate ways when it came to university, but it was never a bitter goodbye. Rather, it was one filled with hope and anticipation that they’d see each other again.

Of course, this wasn’t her idea of a reunion.

She gripped the steering wheel tight, her knuckles showing white. The years had gone by so fast, and with him in Osaka, and her in Tokyo, the chance that she’d hoped for never came.

Then, it was too late.

Instead, she’d be bidding her farewell to him at a funeral. Did her 18 year old self ever imagine this was how she’d be saying her last goodbye to her old friend?

A lonely ache spread through Rin’s chest. She didn’t know the fine details of how he died, but she knew enough that it made her stomach churn.

Len had been a bright, somewhat happy boy in their childhood; popular and social and active. He always dreamed big and laughed so carelessly. He was the last person for her to imagine dying so young.

Who would’ve seen this coming?

She sure didn’t.

Rin reached up to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging her makeup across her cheeks. It wasn’t ideal to be driving at this time of night, in this kind of state, but she had no choice with work only granting her one day off to attend the funeral. Although rural Saitama wasn’t that far, the drive seemed longer at this hour, and she was exhausted after a long day of work.

She wondered why on earth they chose to have the funeral at such an ungodly hour of the morning, but it couldn’t be helped, and she didn’t want that to be the reason why she didn’t go.

Of course, Len deserved better.

Her eyelids began to betray her again, so this time, she opted for the radio, turning it up louder in an attempt to wake up her brain. As she did so, for some reason, she sensed another presence with her in the car.

Of course, there was no one, she knew there was no one, but to ease her paranoid mind, she glanced up at the rear view mirror.

A pair of pale eyes stared back at her.

Rin stomped on the brake and jerked her car off the road. The car behind her laid on their horn, spelling the words fuck you with their beeps.

She immediately unbuckled her seat, jerking around to face—

A ghost.

She screamed.

.

Rin was not one to believe the paranormal. No, no. She’d always thought, growing up, that once people died, they like, died -died, as in, never ever coming back died.

Maybe that was a little dark and dreary for a child to believe, but that was what kept her, well, sane . It comforted her. It saved her from all those nights in the dark believing the shadows on the walls were monsters or banshees or demons.

So, after screaming for a bit, she calmed down and began to think more rationally: No, maybe it isn’t a ghost. Maybe I’m just hallucinating. I’m tired, I’m caffeinated, and I’m probably going through shock. I’m probably—definitely—hallucinating.

Rin shook her head, closed her eyes, sat back in her seat. Okay. Okay. Let’s just breathe.

While counting herself through what was probably an oncoming anxiety attack, the feeling of someone else being there in the car did not ease. She had never hallucinated before, so she wasn’t even sure if this was normal or if she really was experiencing some strange, life-changing event.

A part of her was begging for it to just be a hallucination. It just had to be, because there, sitting in her back seat, was Len.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she popped open her eyes and slowly turned to look back over her shoulder.

She did not get there, though.

Because.

Because— Len was now sitting in the front seat.

Staring at her.

Rin didn’t know if she wanted to run for her life, scream, or just pass out. This was too much. This was too much for this entire week.

She leant forward, resting her forehead on the steering wheel, trying to steady her breathing.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” she muttered to herself.

And yet, when she lifted her head, he was still there. It wasn’t working.

She went to put her head down again, but he then spoke, to her utter horror. “Rin.”

Rin screamed and went to open her door, but it was jammed. It wouldn’t open. Had she fallen asleep at the wheel, and this was some crazy dream before crashing to her death? God, if it was, please wake up (or die) so it would end .

“Rin,” Len repeated, leaning towards her so that their faces were only a breath apart.

She froze, avoiding meeting his gaze. “He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real,” she whispered to herself, desperate to keep her sanity.

“You don’t have to believe I’m real,” he said. “You don’t have to. But please look at me.”

She began to cry. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was so terrified, or because it really felt like Len was there with her, in the car. 

“Rin,” he repeated, his voice soft. His hand drifted up, pale and translucent, and his fingers grazed the side of her face. It was like cold water trickling down her cheek. “You can look at me. I won’t hurt you.”

Finally, Rin obeyed. She wrenched her gaze away from the steering wheel to meet his eyes.

Len smiled. Her chest tightened, and her gaze began to wander over his ghostly figure. It wasn’t as lanky as she remembered. He was wearing a button up shirt and pants, like he’d just come from work. Her eyes immediately dropped to his left arm, where his sleeve was rolled up.

She couldn’t help but notice the deep gashes in his wrist, looking as if they were freshly made, although no blood was seeping from them.

Tears stung her eyes again. What a horrible hallucination.

Len noticed the direction of her gaze and covered his arm with his other hand. His expression went sad. “It doesn’t go away,” he explained, as if reading her mind. “It doesn’t go away, even after death.”

Rin sobbed hideously. She wanted this to be over and done with. She wanted out of this nightmare.

Of course she wanted to meet Len again.

But not like this. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry this is how it is.”

Rin shook her head. “Even if you were real,” she said, “I could never be happy with this— ”

“I know.” He looked away. “I know that, Rin. I’m sorry.”

She slammed her palm against the wheel. “Are you sorry? Are you really sorry? This isn’t just something you can apologise for. You can’t just appear, expect anything but my tears, because you’re dead and you’re not coming back and I never even had the chance to say goodbye.”

Len was silent.

Rin refused to look at his face. She knew how he looked. With that guilty expression, the sort of face he would pull when they’d have stupid arguments back in junior high. His eyebrows would meet and his bottom lip would pucker out like a kid who was refused candy.

She crossed her arms over the steering wheel, rested her cheek against them, feeling her wet tears as they smudged black eyeliner across her skin.

Her parents were going to shit themselves when she got to their house. If she got to their house.

“I don’t regret it,” Len then said.

She sighed to show she was listening.

He continued, “I don’t regret it at all because I didn’t want to live anymore.”

“Are you happy now?” she asked him.

“Not even dying made me happy,” he said. “Nothing would, Rin. I knew that.”

“So why? Why? ”

There was a long silence. Rin thought he had disappeared, but then he answered, “I just wanted to be free from it all.”

It hurt to know how much pain he was in. She wished so desperately she knew earlier. She wished so desperately she’d been a better friend and kept in touch more. She wished so desperately she could turn back time.

But time travel was just as unrealistic as a ghost.

She stared out her window, watching the occasional car drive past on the highway. Their headlights would illuminate everything in front of them, before they’d flash past, and all would go pitch black again.

“Rin,” Len said. His voice was closer. “It’s a long way home. You should get moving before it gets too late.”

You’re right , she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form in her mouth. She lifted herself up, not casting a glance in his direction, and indicated to merge back onto the road.

It was silent again for about ten or so minutes. Len was still there, in the corner of her eye, watching the road. Eventually, he said, “Hey, you remember in high school, when I came late to school with a bandage on my arm?”

Rin thought for a moment. She could remember that day vaguely. “Yeah.”

“I know I said that it was a burn from ironing my uniform—” For obvious reasons, she knew what was coming. “—but that was a lie. I tried to cut myself open the night before. I tried to die.”

Her eyes stung with tears. The road started to blur. She blinked hard several times, trying to clear her vision. Something wet trickled down her cheek.

“So why didn’t you?” she croaked, when he didn’t continue.

“I don’t know. I guess—for a moment, I thought of you. You were my best friend. Perhaps no one else would care much if I died, but you, I was scared of knowing if you would care too much, or not care at all. I stopped myself before it got too deep. Told my mum I slipped and sliced myself on the bed frame. I don’t think she believed me, but she didn’t question it.”

Rin hated it. You were my best friend.  

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, a wave of anger shaking her. “That’s not true,” she spat. Was she really having an argument with a hallucination right now? Perhaps it was time for therapy. “Everyone loved you Len. Everyone loved you so much. Everyone would have been so devastated to have lost you. Even now—I’m sure they are, or will be.”

The corners of Len’s lips twitched upwards. “That’s the thing. My brain just couldn’t comprehend it. Even if everyone did love me—”

  I just couldn’t believe it at all.

For a moment, Rin was standing in an empty classroom with Len. It was four in the afternoon. He was hunched over his desk, a bad mood. And his words, they settled like rocks in the pit of her stomach.

“I can’t help but think like that, you know?” he was saying, with a haunting grin on his face. It looked so out of place. “No matter the truth, I just can’t believe it. I don’t think anyone needs me around.”

Rin nudged his desk with her foot. “I need you,” she said, her fingers brushing the skin of his arm; a simple, secret gesture that no one but her could read.

Len lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“I need you.”

  Rin sniffed, wiping at her eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop. They just kept overflowing, overflowing, overflowing.

“Rin,” Len said, from the passenger seat. “Don’t cry.”

“Shut up, stupid,” she snapped, her voice wobbling. She was angry, she was sad. This hallucination was getting out of hand.

He stared at her, nothing to say.

“I cared about you so much it hurt,” she continued. “And whenever you insisted I didn’t, that drove the knife in even deeper. I loved you, Len, but you held me at arm’s length. I felt that if I said that—how I really felt—you would just deny it, and that, that would break my heart.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I wish I didn’t do that. I wish I let you in.”

Rin inhaled. “But somehow, I could forgive you for that anyway. And I still love you, somewhat, even if it’s not quite the same, pure love that was.”

Len reached over, placing his cold hand over hers on the gear stick. It was rotting, melting, skeletal. Not human at all. “It was never meant to be, anyway.”

She looked over at him, and he looked at her. “Yeah, well, my hopes were already dashed years ago.”

He smiled, looking sad. “I’m sorry to do that to you, Rin.”

“It’s too late to apologise for anything now, Len,” she said. “It is what it is.”

The familiar lights of their hometown began to pass by as they reached the outskirts of their small city. It was a sight of nostalgia, and a sight of pain. How many times Rin would make this drive before it would be her last, she didn’t know. Perhaps this would be the last.

Perhaps she would never have to come here again.

One could only wish.

Len was gone. She could no longer feel the cool breath of his palm against the back of her hand, nor the piercing gaze of his lifeless eyes striking the side of her face.

She wiped her face again, turning off the ignition. She fixed herself as much as possible in the mirror, before gathering her last remaining courage to meet her parents.

Like in the past, she knew this pain, this wound, would heal with time.

And life would go on.

.

—you just don’t hear me anymore

and i know that i shouldn’t even try

it’s a waste of time

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

Apparitions

Gifted with the ability to see ghosts, Emma Swan considers this more of a curse than a blessing. When a pair of ghosts named Milah and Liam request her help in befriending a loved one, Emma is introduced to a heartbroken Killian Jones. Easy enough, right? But somewhere along the way, Emma begins to see Killian as more than a friend, and must wrestle with realities of dating while hiding her secret while also helping his loved ones move on.

Rating: T

Author’s Note: I'm so glad to finally be posting my "ghost fic", as its been named in my Google Drive for months. Originally inspired by a conversation in the Hub, and written for the CSLB/ @captainswanbigbang, this is my foray into writing the supernatural. Many, many thanks for this story go to the Hub, which inspired me, and to my wonderful beta, @lenfaz, who is a delight in so many ways. (Especially considering I broke Rule No. 1 with Dead Liam.) 

I'm so excited for you all to see the art by @bleebug and @welllpthisishappening. They're great artists and cheerleaders. This story doesn't really have any triggers, however if this might be upsetting to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one or for those who struggle with death, in general, because ghosts are dead people and the concept of dying comes up a lot. 

Warnings: This might be upsetting to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one or for those who struggle with death, in general, because ghosts are dead people and the concept of dying comes up a lot. 

Art: [Photoset by @welllpthisishappening] [drawing by @bleebug]

Read also on AO3!

Apparitions 

"I see dead people."

Emma hates The Sixth Sense. She hates the jokes people make in reference to the movie. She hates how the movie portrayed the ghosts, all gory and terrifying. But most of all, what Emma hates is that she can see dead people.

-/-

Her gifts first developed when she was child and attended her first funeral. It had been that of her foster mother's father, a portly old man that Emma thought to be charming, the type of man she had thought a potential grandfather should be.  

She was five and didn't understand the concept of death completely. Was it like abandonment, she would wonder, like what her parents did to her on the side of the road. Death, she was told, was forever. 

So imagine her surprise when she saw the deceased wandering around his own funeral!

Emma had pointed out the old man to her foster mother, insisting that the woman's father couldn't be gone forever because she was right there! What Emma didn't realize at the time was that no one else could see the old man, resulting her in foster mother believing her to be crazy.

-/-

 Crazy (adjective  cra·zy  \ ˈkrā-zē \) not mentally sound : marked by thought or action that lacks reason

Used in a sentence: Emma is crazy because she sees dead people. Not.

 -/-

 Ghosts look like the living. Well, mostly. Ghosts look like the living, only a little blurred around the edges, almost as if someone had shifted the lens of life while taking a picture.  

They aren't bloody. In all honesty, they look how a person would want to on the best day. They're not malevolent. Well, mostly. Emma's encountered an angry one or two, but they're in the minority.

More often than not, they're usually sad.

 -/-

 Emma is at the bar when she sees a group of them. Normally, ghosts don't flock in packs. It's not how they operate. Usually, ghosts are solitary creatures, hovering around a loved one or place they aren't ready to let go, or vice-versa.

So imagine Emma's surprise when she sees two ghosts following the man who had just walked through the door. She takes a long sip of her drink as she studies them. The two of them, a man and a woman, appear concerned for the man, both looking impossibly sad and reaching out to him.

He won't reach back. The living never do. Why would they? They can't see the dead.

How sad the afterlife must be, Emma thinks.

Surreptitiously, over the course of the hour, her eyes keep flicking back to the man and his ghosts. She wonders who they are to him. Siblings? Friends? He is important to them, if they keep hanging around him like this.

She considers talking to them. The thing about seeing dead people is that she can also interact with them. She's done her fair share of communications with ghosts over the years. As a young girl and teen, she tried to avoid it, fearing that families would be afraid of adopting her if they caught her talking to air. But Emma was never adopted, the young girl as lost as these ghosts that hang around the living.

As a detective, she's learned the usefulness of these ghosts. They can point her in the correct direction of a case, and every now and then, it'll be the victim she meets. They can't testify, of course, and "a ghost told me" isn't the best evidence, but they help her build cases. It assists them in moving on, Emma's come to learn. 

At any rate, her spectral assistance gives her quite the reputation as a detective. No one at the precinct except her partner, David Nolan, knows about her abilities. In that regard, it feels a little unearned, but crimes are being solved.  

That's all that matters at the end of the day.

 -/-

 Lily is the first person Emma ever confesses her abilities to. Lily's eyes go wide, and tells Emma that she can see ghosts too. It takes awhile, but Emma eventually figures out that her friend is lying, playing along as if it is a some silly game and not Emma's reality. Emma stops speaking to her after that, embarrassed, hurt, and afraid.

The second person she tells is Neal, her first love. She believes she is going to marry him someday, and since she also believes that husbands and wives shouldn’t keep monumental secrets from one another, she shares everything. He doesn't believe her, this much Emma can tell, but he humors her. In the end, it doesn't matter, he still leaves her anyway. 

She is forced to tell David out of necessity. He's a detective, and her behavior is erratic and strange when it comes to ghosts. He asks her questions, mostly about the deceased. "Are they hurting?" "Do you help them?" "Are they able to move on?" No. Yes. Sometimes. David Nolan is a good man, a caring one. Emma is proud to have him as her partner.

David tells his wife. One evening over dinner, Mary Margaret lets it slip. At first Emma is mad. It's not his secret to tell, and he really does look ashamed. Emma is angry, because this feels like just another betrayal. It's the next day that Mary Margaret hunts her down at the precinct, insisting that they talk.

"He's amazed by you," she says. "And he's worried about you. It must be an unbelievable burden to carry alone. And I know I won't ever understand, but we'd like to help you carry it, if you'd let us."

And as afraid as she is to do it, Emma lets them. It's one of the best damn decisions she has ever made.

 -/-

 Emma's mistake is going to the bathroom. The ghost of the woman moves into her direction, and Emma sidesteps to avoid her, making eye contact.

Fuck.

The living don't make eye contact with ghosts. They can't see them. Thankfully, the ghost woman waits until after she pees -- but before she washes her hands -- to confront Emma.

"You can see me?"

There's no use in denying it, so Emma doesn't. "Um. Yeah. It's a thing I can do. Think of it like my superpower."

She tries to sidestep the ghost woman, but the ghost moves in front of Emma. Emma considers walking right through her. Ghosts are incorporeal, after all. But she's heard enough ghosts complain about how frustrating and rude that is so she refrains. 

"I need you to speak to my husband," the woman requests. "It's our anniversary, and he's...not dealing."

 "I don't think your husband would react well to someone telling him his dead wife is haunting him," Emma replies. Even though she utilizes the help of ghosts for her cases, she's really not about the whole Ghost Whisperer thing. Jennifer Love Hewitt, Emma is not.

"I don't need him to know I'm here. He just needs someone to talk to. Please." The woman looks at her with pleading eyes, and Emma feels tempted to give in. She hates these types of situations.

"Who's the other guy? Your ghost friend?" Emma asks, nodding toward the bathroom door.

"It's his brother, Liam."

Emma feels a pang of sympathy for the man. She can't imagine how it must feel to lose both a brother and wife. "He's worried then too?"

"As I said, he isn't dealing well," the ghost woman responds bitterly. "Killian's hurting especially bad right now. He's new to the area, and he doesn't have many reliable friends right now."

"You've been haunting him pretty closely, then," Emma replies, finally moving around the woman. She flips on the water, waiting for it to grow warm. Ghosts always make everything feel colder. 

"I prefer the term 'watching over'." 

"How do you know he even wants company?" Emma asks, and god, she's considering honoring the ghost's request. She remembers how the man looked hunched over the bar, defeated and alone. It's a feeling Emma knows well.  

"I was in a relationship with him for five years. I think I know him pretty well."

People change, lady, she thinks bitterly. Instead she replies, "So his name is Killian, right? Anything else I need to know?"

The other woman smiles. "He likes sailing."

 -/-

 The ghost woman's name in Milah. Not that she tells Emma that. Instead, she reads the name inked on Killian Jones' wrist. Unconsciously, she fingers the buttercup tattoo on her own wrist.

"Hey, sailor," she greets.

His brother's ghost looks at her questioningly, and Milah waves him off. Killian looks equally confused, raising a brow carefully, "How did you know I'm a sailor?"

"I didn't. Lucky guess," Emma replies. It's better than telling him that his dead wife told her. However, knowing she needs more than that answer, she points to the keychain beside him. "The anchor there might have helped me."

He laughs, but it's a hollow sort of thing. "Perceptive, you are."

"I better be. I'm a detective."

"Are you here to interrogate me for a crime?"

"Should I be?"

"No, lass, you shouldn't. Not that I would tell you if you ought to."

He winks at her, and Emma wants to laugh. She would under normal circumstances -- if she were just a woman and him a man meeting by chance in a bar. But this isn't a normal circumstance. She's talking to him request of his dead wife, and he is here impossibly sad and more than a little on his way to being drunk. His words are slightly slurred. Emma can tell he had likely been drinking before he even came to a bar. There's also a bit of an accent, and Milah's words about him being new to the area flicker through her mind.

"You're not from around here are you?" 

"It sure sounds like you're interrogating me," he eyes her suspiciously. To Emma's surprise, he waves over the bartender, and asks for two glasses of whiskey. "If we're going to play twenty questions all night, then I'm going to need more to drink, and it's bad form to leave a lady without."

He winks again. He means it to come out as an innuendo, but his melancholy taints it. Not that Emma would give into it considering his wife and brother are watching. He's handsome, though, dark hair and bright blue eyes. He's her type, and for a brief moment, Emma finds herself mentally congratulating Milah for locking him down.  

"You never answered my question, you know," she says, trying to snap herself out of her inappropriate line of thought. 

"Shouldn't my accent be evidence enough, detective?" he responds, and then after a beat, he tells her, "I spent most of my life in London. Just moved here a few months ago."

"Why?"

"I needed a change of pace, and as luck would have it, a job opportunity popped up that allowed it," he replies, clearly evading her question.

Emma doesn't wonder if his desired change of pace has anything to do with the loss of his wife and brother. She knows it does, and her heart calls out to him. After Neal left, she bounced from place to place trying to outrun the memories.  

It didn't work.

"May I ask you a question, love?"

"I'm not your love, but sure." 

"Why are you here speaking to me?" he asks. Emma tries to hide her panic as he continues, "Now, I know it's not just my devilishly handsome good looks. So it must be something else. What is it?"

Thankfully, Emma is good at thinking on her feet. "Because you were drinking alone. I was drinking alone. And I thought that if you wanted, we could drink alone together."

Her answer is close enough to the truth that she doesn't feel guilty saying it. Emma always feels weird speaking to living when the reason she is there is because of their dead loved one.

"I'm afraid I'm not pleasant company tonight," he says.

Emma notes how he isn't ushering her away. She can tell part of him wants to, but the bigger, lonelier part wants her here. The desire for a human connection always wins out in the end -- for both the living and the dead.

"Trust me, you won't be the worst drinking buddy I've ever had." 

"I have a hard time believing that." 

"Oh, well you haven't met Leroy then," she replies before launching into a long tale involving Leroy and bar-fight that she hadn't been involved in that resulted in three stitches.

 -/-

 They split a cab when they leave the bar. Milah sits between them, and the brother sits in the front. All in all, it still isn't the most awkward taxi ride she's ever taken, but it ranks in the top ten.

"You aren't going to sleep with him are you?" Liam asks, peering over the back of the seat. "It's bad form to fuck a man on his wedding anniversary."

"Liam, that's rude," Milah scolds. Regardless, Emma can tell if the other woman were alive, she would be blushing.

"You mean to tell me if you watched her join Killian at his flat, you would be fine?" Liam asks in response. Emma decides she doesn't like Killian's brother, which is somewhat unfair, because he's dead. "I've seen how you get whenever he brings home other girls."

"I'm dead. He's allowed to bring home whomever he wants."

"Yeah, but she knows you're around, not like the other women."

Emma wants to shout that she's not going to sleep with Killian, and that this is a conversation that she very much does not want to be privy to. It embarrassing for all parties, and she's sure Killian wouldn't want to know about the comments his brother is making.

And that's the thing: Killian has no idea that his brother and wife are having these conversations because he can't see or hear them. He's not the one stuck with shitty "I see dead people" powers. For all the shitty things life seems to have dealt him, he at the very least has that gift.

She must make a noise in annoyance, because Killian suddenly asks, his voice still slurred, "You s'alright, love?" 

"Um, yeah, just thinking about things I don't want to," she replies.

"Bad things?" 

"Something like that."

"I as well."

Emma can see Milah's heart break at Killian's words. Even Liam looks bothered. The media always makes ghosts about to vengeful, but they're really not. They feel. They love. Their no-longer-beating hearts shatter. 

Eventually, the cab gets to Killian’s place -- a brownstone on a nice street. He turns to her before exiting the vehicle, reaching out his hand -- unknowing that his arm moves right through Milah -- to clasp Emma’s.

“Thank you,” he says, squeezing her hand just once. Emma isn’t sure how to answer, so she doesn’t. Instead she gives a shaky nod, and watches as the steps out of the cab and fumbles up the stairs, taking his ghostly loved ones with him.

She doubts she will ever see them again.

 -/-

 She does.

 -/-

 Emma is at the station going over case files the second time she sees Killian Jones. He’s standing awkwardly in the lobby, a box of doughnuts in his hand, looking half-lost but hopeful.

“Swan, at last,” he says as he sees her, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that wasn’t present when she’d first met him two night prior.

She’s surprised to see him. She is less surprised to see that Milah and Liam are still haunting -- no, watching over -- him. Emma makes brief eye contact with Milah, who gives a hopeful shrug. They both ignore Liam, who is prodding at a few files at an empty desk.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asks her guest. Though she said she was a detective, she’d never told him the precinct. To find her, he’d have needed to search her name. The thought makes her uneasy, and not just because she feels a hopeful swoop in her gut. His ghost wife is haunting him, Emma reminds herself.

Killian thrusts out the box of doughnuts toward her. “I wanted to thank you for keeping me company the other night. I wasn’t in the best of places, and you kept me from going someplace worse.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Emma tells him as she takes the box. She takes a peek at the contents inside. “Though if it gets me bearclaws, I’ll do it more often.”

Her reply is more flirtatious than she intended. Both Killian and Milah’s eyes widen in surprise. “Ah, well, I’m hoping I won’t need to be rescued anytime soon.”

“Yeah, you don’t strike me as a damsel in distress.”

“I do prefer the term ‘dashing rapscallion’ over ‘damsel’,” he replies with a wink, swaying toward her. Catching himself, he takes a step back. “Anyway, I hope you enjoy the doughnuts.”

“I’m sure I will.” She can feel her cheeks flush. “I hope you don’t mind me sharing them with the office. We’re all doughnut fiends.”

“Sharing is caring. Isn’t that how the saying goes?” Emma is momentarily distracted by his wide grin. He ducks his head, and scratches behind his ear. “Well, I have to get back to work. Thank you, Emma Swan.”

“I should be thanking you,” Emma replies, raising the box. “Bye, Killian.”

It’s only after she returns to her desk, doughnuts in tow, that she realizes two things. First, that she had forgotten Milah had been present. Second, that Killian had stuffed his business card into the doughnut box, his cell phone number hastily scrawled onto the box.

 -/-

 “So David tells me you met a guy.”

Emma nearly spits out her bloody mary. Leave it to Mary Margaret to cut to the chase over brunch. “David is full of shit.”

“So an attractive man didn’t bring you doughnuts the other morning at work?” Mary Margaret raises a well-manicured eyebrow, a look resembling victory settling on her face.

“Was David the one who called him attractive?”

“David has eyes,” Mary Margaret answers with a shrug. “How’d you meet him?”

“David? Well, I was assigned to work with him when I was hired…” Emma trails off, trying to bite back a laugh as her friend glares. “Look, this thing with Killian--”

“Oooh, Killian.”

“--isn’t what you think. I was introduced to him the other night at the bar.”

“Just because you met at the bar doesn’t mean it can’t be something special. On Grey’s Anatomy, Meredith and McDreamy met at a bar, and they had eleven seasons of passionate love and romance.”

“That was promptly ended by a semi. Or contractual disputes. Either way, no thanks.” Emma shakes her head. Leave it to Mary Margaret to relate everything back to fairy tales or epic television romances. “Besides, it’s really, really not what you’re thinking. His late wife asked me to talk to him. Emphasis on late.”

Emma watches Mary Margaret’s eyes grow wide. Though she’s in on the whole “seeing ghosts” thing, the knowledge that it’s something that actually happens still surprises her. Her friend takes a long drink from her mimosa. “That’s heavy.”

“Yep.”

“So why did she ask you to do it?”

“She’s worried, thinks he’s lonely and sad, and didn’t want him to be alone,” Emma replies, remembering the melancholy in Milah’s voice when she’d practically begged Emma to talk to Killian. She must love him a lot, Emma thinks. “He moved here from England not long ago, so he has no friends.”

Mary Margaret is quiet for awhile as she absorbs this information. Emma half expects her to launch into another speech about love, or make some Patrick Swayze reference, but instead she says something worse. “You should invite him to the party next weekend.”

“What?”

“His wife wants him to meet people, right? Make friends? Well, David and I are having a party, so you should invite him,” Mary Margaret explains thoughtfully. “Maybe he’ll make friends, and maybe it will help his wife find some peace. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if I were in her place.”

Sometimes Emma takes for granted that Mary Margaret is one of the kindest people on the planet. Of course she would be the one to consider the ways making new friends might not just help Killian, but also Milah.

 -/-

 Hey. So this is Emma from the bar. Thanks again for the doughnuts. They were a hit. So much so that my partner wanted me to invite you to this party he and his wife are having next weekend. Super casual. I’ll be there. Let me know if you want details.

Text message sent. God, Emma feels like a teenager.

 -/-

 Emma taps her fingers against her beer bottle in a staccato rhythm. She’s nervous, something Mary Margaret will not stop noting, either verbally or with her smug smiles. Emma takes another pull of her beer, and attempts to distract herself by listening to Ruby her “worst date ever”, a story Emma has heard too many times.

Killian is coming to the party tonight. Or rather, he says he’s coming to the party tonight. There’s a chance he might feel too tired or have other more exciting plans come up. So it very much is within the realm of possibility that he might not even show. Which is fine. Probably for the best, as it means that his ghostly loved ones won’t be here. Ghosts at parties suck. They keep distracting her, making everyone think she’s drunker than she really is because she keeps staring at an empty space.

(It’s not an empty space. It’s a ghost.) It also makes things awkward because she normally has no idea who the ghost is there for. The host? A random guest? Is it a brother? A girlfriend? A college roommate? Considering that it’s a party, she rarely has the time or space to find out. And because there’s no “Missed Connections” for ghosts, they remain forever that: missed.

So, really, it might actually be best if Killian doesn’t show, ghosts in tow.

 -/-

 He shows.

 -/-

 She doesn’t get into too in-depth of a conversation with him. She doesn’t have time before David swoops in thanking him for the donuts, and Robin excitedly shouts about meeting another Brit. Before Emma knows it, Killian’s in a deep conversation regarding soccer -- football, he calls it -- and she’s nursing her beer and listening to Aurora discuss her new job at the hospital. It’s all well and good anyway, Emma supposes, because the entire point of her speaking to Killian in the first place was so he wouldn’t be alone. And at this party, he’s certainly not alone, not when David is clapping him on the back and he’s laughing uproariously at some joke Anton made. She is struck by how charismatic he is. She wouldn’t have guessed so based on the first night she met him, but then again, that had been a very bad night. She realizes that she is seeing baseline Killian, something closer to the man Liam knew and the one Milah fell in love with.

It’s not a bad look. -/-

 “Are they here?” Mary Margaret asked in a hushed whisper, or rather, what she perceives to be a hushed whisper. The smaller brunette is already three sheets to the wind, and Emma can’t help but laugh when she responds. “Who?”

“Killian’s, you know, friends.” She makes weird wobbly motions with her hands that Emma interprets as being a gesture for ghosts. “Are they here?” Emma looks around, and much to her surprise, they aren’t. She doesn’t know what shocks her more: that they aren’t or that she didn’t notice until now.

 -/-

 As with the night they met, Emma and Killian split a ride home. Unlike the night they met, they’re both only a little bit buzzed and there’s no ghosts around to bug her about sleeping with him. Emma prefers it this way.

“Your friends are nice,” he tells her. He taps his fingers against his thigh, and Emma wonders if it’s a normal tic or a nervous one.

“They’re honestly assholes, but they’re my assholes,” she replies.

“Ah, so true friends then.”

“Something like that.” She wonders about his friends back home in England, but feels like it’s not her place to ask. “Thanks for coming out tonight, by the way. I know it’s weird to show up places where you don’t know anyone.”

“It was either that or sitting alone in my house, or worse, drinking myself into another stupor at the bar alone,” Killian answers with a shrug. Realizing that his response could be taken the wrong way, “Really, I enjoyed myself and this wasn’t the last resort. I truly appreciate the invite.”

“Yeah, well, thank David. He was super into the doughnut delivery,” Emma says, causing Killian to chuckle. “And I was too. They were pretty excellent.”

“So you’re saying next time I want a night out, I should ply your precinct with fried dough.”

“There are worse ways to try to score a date.” The words come out before Emma can really think them through. They both freeze.

Killian breaks the tension by saying, “Aye. I would know. Pretty sure I tried every trick in the book at one point.”

“Really now?”

“I was quite the cad in my youth,” he supplies. He runs his hand behind his ear and sighs. “Definitely not some of my finest moments, I assure you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure we all did pretty stupid things when we were young,” Emma assures him. She tries not to think too hard about her misadventures with Neal or Lily.

“Regardless, I like to think I’ve improved as a person now.”

“Oh, so you’re better at scoring dates now?” Emma’s not really sure why she’s goading him right now, other than the fact that she’s having fun and he’s incredibly easy to talk to. She shouldn’t be flirting with him, especially since she knows for certain he’s being haunted, but she can’t stop the words from slipping out.

“A gentleman never scores and tells,” he answers with a wink. “See? I’ve matured.”

“I think saying you’ve matured completely negates any or all maturity.”

“You wound me, Swan.”

“Swan, now?” she asks. She’s used to people calling her by her last name, but that’s always been in a workplace setting. Not in a cab with guy.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” he asks. His expression turning serious, he says, “If it bothers you, I can--”

“No, no, it doesn’t,” she assures him. “Really, it’s fine.” “Alright.”

“Alright,” she repeats. On the radio, a sappy love song plays. Emma glances out the window, watching the city lights pass by. They don’t speak much more after that. When the taxi pulls up to the townhome, Killian turns to her before exiting the car.

“I truly did enjoy myself tonight, love,” he says, and God, his voice is so earnest. Then he reaches for her hand, and brings her knuckles to his lips. It’s something out of a romance novel, something that Emma is glad his ghost compatriots aren’t here to see, and something that makes her heart pound in her chest. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone, racing up his stoop. As the cab pulls away, Emma can see the flick of an apparition appearing beside him.

-/-

Fun fact about ghosts: They don’t have to linger around the person they’re haunting. They can appear anywhere they desire.

 -/-

 Emma’s on her morning run when she sees Milah. She jumps at the other woman’s sudden appearance, and she’s grateful there’s no one around her to pass judgement at what appears to be her startling over nothing. Emma stops, chest heaving as she raises an eyebrow at Milah.

“You don’t have to stop on my account. A perk of being dead is that I can keep up and not feel anything,” Milah tells her. Emma eyes her warily, but goes back into a jog. As promised, Milah sticks beside her. “You know, I hated running while I was living, but now it’s not so bad.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be feeling like you right now,” Emma grumbles. She then winces when she realizes that she more or less said she envied the dead. Milah, however, isn’t phased by the statement. “Honestly, if our roles were reversed, I’d be envious too.” She laughs. “When I was living, I used to hate all those women who could run 5ks like it was nothing. Never understood it. Now that I’m dead, I could do a marathon and not even break a sweat. Irony’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“If you say so.” Here’s the thing about the dead: they like making jokes about being dead. Despite having her powers for literal decades, Emma has yet to figure out the proper way to respond. As such, she goes for the tried and true method of ‘smile and nod.’ “So why are you here, anyway?”

“I wanted to see how the party went. It’s not like Killian monologues to himself.”

“You could have gone. It’s not like anyone other than me would have noticed you.” Emma averts her eyes as another runner passes her, not willing to look like a crazy woman talking to herself.

“I don’t watch over him every second. He deserves his privacy,” Milah explains, making Emma think back to Liam’s comment about the women Killian would bring home. Surely she or Liam wouldn’t watch -- no, not thinking about that. “So, how did it go? Did he enjoy himself? He seemed less broody than normal.”

Emma can still feel the brand of his kiss on her skin. It had been such a simple thing, incredibly sweet, but something told her that Milah wouldn’t want to know that. And even if she did, Emma doesn’t feel the need the share. Not wanting to examine why, she reports on the more rowdy aspects. “Well, he certainly got along with many of my guy friends. I’m pretty sure my partner is already developing a bit of a bro-crush.”

Milah smiles widely, seemingly pleased by the revelation. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, it is,” Emma replies, but she’s only speaking to air. Milah has disappeared, leaving Emma alone in her run. Another thing about ghosts: manners, they go completely out the window. -/- Two weeks pass. She doesn’t see Killian, but they text every now and then. They talk about the food they’re eating or the television shows they’re watching. They make jokes. All and all, it’s fun.

What they don’t talk about is him kissing her hand. Emma can’t tell if that annoys her or not.

-/- A child is murdered by her father.  Wendy Darling, age 9. When Emma and David arrive at the scene, there’s no ghost, a small mercy. Every murder investigation is hard, but children make it worse, and Emma doesn’t think she can bare to see an apparition of a small child.

(On the best days, her powers aren’t great, but at their worst, they feel like a curse.)

Emma and David do all of their necessary work, and at the end of a too late night, David goes home to Mary Margaret, and Emma goes to the bar alone.

(She’s always alone. This is nothing new.)

 -/-

 She’s a rookie the first time she sees the ghost of a child. It’s a little boy, Henry. He’d been poisoned by his step-mother. Emma is the one to explain what happened to him. No one else can.

He cries. How many people expect ghosts to cry?

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, though. Ghosts, after all, were once human. Why wouldn’t they cry?

Another question: how often do ghosts make Emma cry?

 -/-

An hour in, she gets a text from Killian, “Jefferson’s is on Hatter Street, aye?”

She doesn’t respond, both a little too drunk and unsure as to why he knows where she is. But no sooner can she wrap her mind around the idea does he come walking through the bar doors.

“David told me you’d be here,” he says to her when he reaches her at the bar, answering her silent question. “Thought I’d return the favor.” “Favor?”

“Last time I had a rough night, you were there for me.” “I don’t need your charity.”

“But perhaps you need a friend.” They’re silent while he flags down the bartender and orders a beer. Emma considers trying to wave him off. She’s a bit too raw right now, but something compels her to stay, or rather, to not convince him to go. So she doesn’t. Instead, she tells him about Wendy Darling, about the kids are hardest part of her job. He listens and comments when necessary, but nothing more. She appreciates him for that. As with most of their meetings, they split a cab ride home. “We have to stop meeting like this,” Killian jokes, but she can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“But what fun would that be?” Emma replies, and she’s surprised she has it in her to flirt and to joke right now. Being around Killian is easy. It’s as terrifying as it is exciting.

He instructs that cabbie to take her home first. She argues that she’s fine, and doesn’t need someone to escort her home.

“Allow me to be a gentleman, love?” And she does, because he sounds so earnest, because he was there, even if he didn’t need to be. She definitely understands why this man is being haunted. -/- She’s being haunted. Sort of. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the spectre of Liam Jones hovering behind doors and around desks. Emma ignores him for awhile. She has work to do. By luck, Wendy Darling’s father had been picked up at a traffic stop, the idiot. She’s already spent much of the morning interrogating him, even as Liam Jones attempts to distract her in the corner. It’s late in the afternoon when she finally feels like acknowledging Liam Jones. She navigates her way around the office and to one of the few single occupancy bathrooms found in the precinct.

“You can come out now.”

“Technically, it’s not coming out if I’ve not hidden myself,” Liam Jones says, appearing suddenly by the locked bathroom door. He surveys the small room, and raises a brow. It reminds her of Killian, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. They are brothers, after all. “A bathroom? Really?”

“It’s not like I can talk to you at my desk,” she tells him. She crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

“Are you normally this prickly to others?”

“When they interrupt me at work? Yes,” she answers coolly. She does her best to put on the air of authority she uses in the interrogation room. Considering the day, it’s easy. “So what do you want?”

“To the point then? Okay then,” Liam begins. His expression turns serious. “I’m fairly certain my little brother fancies you.” Emma is unable to hold back a slightly hysterical laugh at Liam’s comments. It’s insane and stupid, and honestly something Mary Margaret’s students might pull, not a grown adult man. But then there’s the tiny swoop in her stomach that she does her best to ignore, because Emma is an adult even if Killian’s dead older brother apparently isn’t.

“You’ve been haunting me all day to tell me that?” Emma asks, sobering herself and falling back into interrogation mode. “What are you, fourteen?”

“Perpetually twenty-nine, I’m afraid,” Liam answers in deadpan, causing Emma to wince. “It’s quite frustrating, you know, for your little brother to now be older than you.” “I’m sure it is.”

“At any rate, I’m here to tell you that my no longer younger brother fancies you,” Liam says, turning back to the matter at hand, “and when it comes for him to attempt to court you, I’d request that you turn him down.”

She blinks, not quite believing what she’s hearing. “So let me get this straight: you’re here to tell me that your brother has a crush on me, and that when he asks me out, to turn him down. You’re not really helping the case that you aren’t a child, buddy.”

Liam rolls his eyes, and for a brief second, Emma can see the distinct resemblance to Killian. “Be that as it may, Detective Swan, I’m looking out for my brother.”

“So what? You don’t think I’m good enough for him?” She shouldn’t be feeling a pang of insecurity her inquiry, but she does. She schools her features as not to let Liam realize it.

“I think if you were to date, your entire relationship would be built on a lie. Or were you planning on telling my dear brother about your abilities any time soon?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“But it’s Killian’s. I won’t have him blindsided or lied to,” Liam argues, his voice raising. It’s stupid. It’s completely stupid and insane, and Emma wants to yell back at him. But she can’t. Not without coming out sounding like a freak. “He already has an idea about you that’s nothing like the reality.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you aren’t some savior that reached out to him out the goodness of your own heart, and that you needed to be coerced into by his late wife. That you know more about him than he could ever know about you. You’ve put him at a distinct disadvantage, you know.”

“I think whatever happens between your brother and I is up for us to decide,” Emma furiously whispers. “And, frankly, I’m not going to take the advice of a ghost.”

Liam glares at her, but says nothing more. A moment passes, and then he disappears, leaving Emma alone with the weight of his words.

 -/-

Emma and David grab dinner at a nearby diner. During the few lulls they had during the day, he’d been skittish around her, likely worried that she’s mad he’d sent Killian to check in on her the night previous. She doesn’t blame him. Under most circumstances, she would be. But, well, things are different with Killian. She’s drawn to him, and not just because she’s been recruited by his ghostly wife. She likes him. “Like likes him” as Mary Margaret’s students might say, and if Liam is to be believed, he likes her too.

But Liam’s other words weigh heavily on her mind, as well. Poking at her ketchup with a French fry, she debates discussing this with David. She loathes talking about her feelings, but she knows she needs a sounding board for this.

“Can I ask you something?”

David eyes her warily. “Listen, if this is about me sending Killian your way, I recognize it was out of line, but—“

Emma raises her hand to wave him off. “No, it’s not about that. Though I’m also curious why you sent him, now that you bring it up.”

“You needed a friend.”

“I have friends!”

“Okay, so I took a page out his dead wife’s book and thought another friend would be nice,” David answers sheepishly, eyes darting around when he says “dead”. “Besides, he’s been asking about you.”

Emma’s eyes narrow, even as her heart begins to pound in her chest. “Asking about me?”

David shrugs. “I invited him to Tuesday Night Trivia after he seemed to hit it off with everyone at the party.” At her expression, he asks, “Wasn’t the point of inviting him so he could make friends?”

“I’m not bothered. Just surprised.” She doesn’t want to sound like she accusing him of hanging out with Killian behind her back, or talking about her to him. “How is he at trivia?”

“Pretty clutch, actually.” He stops to take a bite out his burger. After chewing thoughtfully, he says, “So if you weren’t asking about why I sent Killian after you, then what did you want to ask me?”

Emma debates chickening out. David somewhat sidetracking her original question had her rethinking things. Suddenly wishing her Diet Coke was something more like whiskey, she takes a sip to buy time and find her courage.

“When you and Mary Margaret first got together, did you guys keep any major secrets from one another?”

David laughs. “You know how Mary Margaret is with secrets. I don’t think it would have been possible for her even if she tried.” He sobers at her pointed glare. He pauses for a moment, and Emma see a flicker of understanding cross his face. “Emma, there’s a difference between hiding things and not revealing everything about yourself upfront.”

“I think you’re stretching things a bit,” she tells him. She swirls another French fry in the ketchup. Maybe this would be a conversation better saved for Mary Margaret, but talking to David means she’s less likely to hear a hope speech. “It’s just…I don’t know…relationships are supposed to be built on a foundation of trust right? How do you cope if everything is a lie?”

“What do you mean?”

“So let’s say Killian and I get together,” Emma says, allowing herself to visualize an idea of their relationship for a brief moment. “What if he asks why I approached him at the bar or why I get weird about certain things? I can’t just say,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “that I see ghosts and his dead wife asked me to hang out with him.”

“No, you can’t,” David agrees. “At least not at first anyway. It’s perfectly understandable why you wouldn’t want to share your secret, but don’t let that serve as an excuse. You never know, people might surprise you.”

 -/-

Here’s the thing: Emma Swan doesn’t date. Dating is difficult enough even if you’re someone without a Big Secret. Because Emma has a Big Secret, dating is practically impossible. Her heart is broken by Neal, and from that moment on, she swears to not reveal her Big Secret unless the guy really is The One. Not that she exactly believes in The One, but that’s what she tells Mary Margaret who is a very big believer in True Love and soulmates. Of course, it takes dating to figure out if a guy is anywhere close to being The One, and here’s another thing: Emma Swan doesn’t really date. She has one night stands and short flings, because Big Secrets don’t really matter, for the most part. Those sort of affairs don’t lead to heartbreak, not really, and she doesn’t have to worry about revealing her secret and then watching it all come tumbling down. She tries, once, with a cute guy that David sets her up with. His name is Graham and he works in a different precinct. He’s charming and sweet, and Emma actually believes she might be able to tell him her Big Secret. And she does, but it’s only when he’s a ghost and she’s walking him through the events that had led to his death. So, yeah, dating and Emma Swan don’t go together, with or without the Big Secret. But here’s one last thing: Emma Swan does sort of want to date Killian Jones. -/-

 None of it matters. It’s all very likely that Liam is project in his own weird ghost way, and Killian won’t ask her out.

 -/-

 He asks her out.

 -/-

 It’s a week before Emma sees Killian again, but this time she expects him when he arrives at the station, a box of donuts in hand. He had texted her the night before asking about her favorite place for bearclaws. Emma had considered not responding, her longing for baked goods at war with her anxieties over Liam and lying, but in the end she felt compelled to advise him to visit her favorite bakery, a small place named Granny’s. And now he’s here. With his brother. Not that he knows that part

“What’s the occasion?” she ask him as he presents the box to her. Emma tries not to both salivate at the smell of freshly baked doughnuts or focus too much attention on the spectre of Liam, but she’s pretty sure she fails. Killian doesn’t seem to notice, however, appraising her cautiously.

Killian scratches behind his ear. “Do you remember our cab ride home after David and Mary Margaret’s party?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. Her eyes flick over to Liam, but she able to pass it off as a beat officer also passes by, walking directly through him. “What about it?”

“I believe we agreed that next time I wanted a night out, I should bring doughnuts.”

“Unfortunately, none of my friends have any parties scheduled anytime soon,” Emma tells him. She’s unable to suppress the slight teasing tone, especially once she notices the way the tips of his ears turn red.

“No matter, because I’m interested in a night out with you.”

“You sound like you’re asking me out on a date.”

“I am.”

She takes a deep intake of breath at the statement, blinking once, twice, three times. She’d known this had been coming. She’d been warned by Liam, after all, and he now stands behind his brother glaring at her.

He wants her to say no. It would be easy to. A dozen excuses spring to mind.

“I don’t date guys who ask me out at work.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“I’m busy.”

“Your ghost brother asked me to.”

Emma chances one last glance at Liam before once again making eye contact with Killian. He’s staring at her so earnestly, so hopefully. And despite all of the reasons, despite her Big Secret, despite the clear lack of familiar approval, Emma realizes one thing: she doesn’t actually want to tell him no.

So she doesn’t.

“Okay, then. Does Friday night work for you?”

-/-

 “So you’re allowing people to surprise you?” David asks when Emma comes back to her desk, box of doughnuts in hand.

“Shut up.”

 -/-

Emma refrains from looking up anything about Killian in the days leading up to their date. Because she’s both a cop and woman with access to Google, she has the ability to do a deep background check on him. Just one click. It would be incredibly easy.

Whether out of self-preservation or curiosity, she’s tempted to do so. But she doesn’t. She can’t, not with Liam’s words hanging heavy over her head. He’s right that she knows more about Killian than she does him. There’s no need for her to add to that, even if she is insanely curious about the man and the company he unknowingly keeps.

She’ll just have to find it all out naturally, and not hear it from his dead brother and wife.

 -/-

 Emma is preparing for her date when she feel the presence of someone appearing behind her. Turning around, she sees Milah reclining on her bed, appraising her. “Nice lingerie. He likes red,” Milah comments, noting Emma’s lacy underthings.Emma blushes under the other woman’s gaze, feeling both vulnerable and embarrassed.

“I’m not planning on sleeping with him tonight,” Emma blurts out, guilt bubbling to the surface as she shrinks away from Milah’s gaze. Grabbing the robe that had earlier been discarded to the floor, she covers before she says, “I like wearing fancy lingerie because it gives me the confidence boost.” “Calm down, you don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re allowed to wear whatever you want. You’re a beautiful woman going on a date with a handsome man. I’d wear sexy lingerie too,” Milah tells her. Emma can’t detect any bitterness in her voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Oblivious to Emma’s discomfort, Milah continues, “You can sleep with him tonight, by the way. There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s handsome and unattached -- and he’s quite good at it, just so you know.”

“You don’t need to be telling me this,” Emma says, even though all she really wants to say is This is really weird and I’m incredibly uncomfortable. But then, Emma thinks, maybe Milah might be just as uncomfortable, as well. It is her husband -- former husband -- that Emma’s about to go out with. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s not.” Milah’s expression turns sad. If Mary Margaret were here, and Milah were corporeal, Mary Margaret would give her a hug. Emma’s not Mary Margaret, so she stands still and waits for Milah to say something.

“I appreciate the concern. Truly,” Milah says after a moment. “But I’m dead, and have been for years. And as much as it hurts to see him excited to take out another woman -- and yes, Emma, he’s excited -- it hurts more to see him miserable.”

“Oh.”

“Killian is a wonderful man. I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t. And you seem like a lovely woman. Certainly caring, if you were willing to provide help when I asked it of you.” Milah fixes her stare on Emma, who tries not to shirk away from the intensity of it all. “If I can help him, I will. Even if it’s this.”

“I feel like you’re telling me to not screw this up.”

Milah laughs, a brittle thing, but a laugh nonetheless. “Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?”

 -/-

 He picks her up at 7:00 p.m., and Emma is surprised when he leads her to a black GTO.

“I know you said we had to stop meeting in taxis, but you didn’t have to get a car for me,” she teases as she slides in the passenger seat. She takes note of the spotless nature of his car.

Despite her obvious joking, she watches as his cheeks color, “I’ve had this for awhile. We’ve just tended to meet when drinking was involved.”

“As an officer of the law, I appreciate your dedication to staying off the road while inebriated.” A dark look crosses his face at her comment, but the words don’t match his expression when he says, “So, any music preferences?” He dangles an AUX cord in front of her. “And if the radio isn’t sufficient, feel free to play DJ.”

She takes the cord. “I hope you enjoy some ‘80s rock then.”

He expression cracks into a grin. “Rock on, Swan.”

 -/-

 He takes her to restaurant by the pier. It’s there he tells her that he’s always happiest by the water, and how he’s thinking of buying a boat.

“I could take you sailing, you know,” he tells her over appetizers.

“That would require a second date.”

He takes a sip of his water. "I know."

She raises a brow in response. "You're quite confident in yourself."

He shrugs. "Are you having a bad time tonight?"

Emma shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Then trust me when I say a second date will be more fun."

 -/-

 The rest of the date goes like this: He tells her about growing up in England, and how he's still growing accustomed to the culture difference between there and the States.

"Crisps. Chips. Fries. And you drive on the incorrect side of the street!"

"You're making me real confident in getting back in the car with you, buddy."

She tells him about the first time she went to trivia with David, and how because of her wildly offbeat answers, she banned from ever participating with the team. ("I can still drink, though.")

They talk. They laugh. And Emma has an excellent time, so much so that she's disappointed when he pulls in front of her building. Ever the gentleman -- "I've told you before that I'm a gentleman, love" -- he walks her to her door.

"So?" he asks, hands in his pockets as they stand around awkwardly, trying to buy more time together.

"So what?"

"Did I prove myself worthy of a second date?"

Emma answers with a kiss.

 -/-

 That night when she lays in bed, she realizes that she didn't think of ghosts the entire date.

 -/-

 They go on more dates.

On the second date, they visit an art gallery and make fun of the babies in Renaissance paintings.

On their third date, he tells her about Milah. Emma schools her expression into something resembling surprise when he tells her, but it morphs into something genuine when he shares with her the details of how she died.

There had been a car accident. A drunk driver. She'd died upon impact.

"I'm so sorry," she says..

She ignores the knot of guilt in her gut, and the ghost sitting in the corner of her room.

 -/-

 She’s eating a bagel in her apartment when Liam appears.

“You’re still seeing him.”

She doesn’t bother looking at him, choosing to continue to read her paper and enjoy her breakfast in peace. However, Liam is persistent and phases right next to her, his head poking through the feature. “It’s rude to ignore someone speaking to you.”

“Seriously?” Emma asks. She pushes herself out of the barstool and walks across the room. “It’s super fucking rude to do that.”

“I’ll be rude if it gets you to listen to me,” Liam says. He crosses his arms, “Which clearly you haven’t been doing, since you continue to be courting my brother.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but believe it or not, your opinion doesn’t even factor into who either I or Killian date.” Emma places her hands on her hips, asserting her position. “What I don’t get is why you even have so strong of an opinion on this? Jesus, even Milah seems to be encouraging it.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yes, because she knows what’s best for Killian.”

“She was his wife.”

Liam laughs, but it’s a bitter thing. “I’m not denying she doesn’t love him, but you can care about someone and not be good for them.”

There’s something in the way he talks about Milah that sets something off, as if a lightbulb had suddenly come to life at his statement. “That’s why you’re still here, isn’t it? You didn’t think she was good enough for him, so you stuck around. I’d been trying to figure it out, because it’s fairly obvious you and Milah didn’t die at the same time. But that’s it. That’s why you didn’t move on when he found someone.”

“Perceptive.”

“I’ve been around the block a few times with people like you,” Emma tells him, more than a little smugly. She can tells she’s knocked him down a peg, and with how frustrating he’s been acting, it feels something like a victory.

“You can say the dead. I’m not that sensitive.”

“How am I supposed to know? All you do is complain about me dating your brother, and he hasn’t even mentioned you yet.” It’s only after the words leave her mouth that Emma realizes she might have gone too far. Liam looks as if he’s been slapped.

“He hasn’t mentioned me?”

“I mean, we’ve only gone on a few dates. There’s not a lot of time to--”

He’s gone before Emma can finish.

 -/-

 “So I think I fucked up,” Emma tells Mary Margaret on the phone that evening, long after her conversation with Liam and after a particularly grueling day the precinct.

“How so, honey? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” It’s at times like this that Emma feels like Mary Margaret is more of a mother than a friend, but she’ll take it now. “I’m fairly certain I convinced Liam that Killian doesn’t think to highly about him.”

“Liam, as in the dead brother who you not to go out with Killian?”

“More like demanded, but the same guy, yeah.” Emma falls back onto her sofa. She feels a bit like a cliche, with her being a patient, and Mary Margaret a faraway therapist. “I told him that Killian hadn’t brought him up, which he hasn’t so far, and he completely disappeared on me. He seemed pretty hurt.”

“Well, no one really wants to know how they’re viewed after they die.”

“I guess, but I hardly think that’s it. I mean, Killian and I have barely had the chance to talk about the heavy stuff. He just now told me about Milah and how she died,” Emma says. “I’m sure he’ll tell me about Liam any day now, but a person can only handle talking about so much heavy shit. I mean, I’ve barely even told him anything about the foster system or Neal.”

She’s been thinking about it though, because if Killian can begin to share his heartbreak with her, then maybe she can with him. She’s not at the point where she can reveal her Big Secret, and wonders when she ever will be -- God, it’s terrifying -- but people rarely share their life story all at once. She hasn’t. Killian hasn’t. Why can’t Liam understand that? Or give her the chance to understand it.

“What really sucks most is that I can’t talk about any of this with Killian.”

“Because it involves his dead brother.”

“Exactly.” Emma sighs and rubs her free hand over her face. “Have I mentioned how much these abilities suck? And please don’t say I’ve done a lot of good with them, because I really don’t want to hear a greater good argument.”

“Okay then,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma knows she had been about to make that argument. “They certainly suck, but use them to help you in this case. You can’t talk to Killian about it, but there’s someone you can talk to: Milah.”

Emma is unable to hold back a laugh. “You mean to tell me that I should talk to the guy I’m dating’s dead wife about his equally dead brother and how he doesn’t like me? Or her either, apparently.”

Emma can practically envision her friend shrugging on the other side. “She’s the only one who knows both men in your scenario.”

“Yeah, but...it’s weird.”

“Emma, everything about your relationship right now is weird. Embrace it.”

 -/-

Finding Milah is more difficult than either Emma or Mary Margaret might have imagined. Though Emma can see and interact with ghosts, she can’t summon them, and the more time she spends with Killian, the less she sees Milah. A flicker out of the corner of her eye every now and then, but mostly nothing.

A selfish part of Emma wonders if the other woman is moving on. It would be easier to carry on things with Killian without being haunted. But she knows that’s not it, that even though Milah may be fine in theory with Killian moving on, it’s another thing to see it.

 -/-

 The morning after their fifth date, he tells her about Liam. He’s making her breakfast -- cinnamon rolls, because he knows her love of all things cinnamon -- when he tells her that his brother would make him the same breakfast often in his youth. He shares with her how Liam practically raised him after their mother died and their father bailed.

“He died when I was twenty, and in a way, this makes me feel closer to him,” he says. Killian reaches out to grab her hand. “I’m glad I can share him with you.”

 -/-

 The more time she spends with Killian, the more the guilt at keeping her secret gnaws away at her. She’s lying to him.

Once while at dinner, he catches her watching a ghost call to a loved one who just won’t listen. “Is there anything bothering you, love? Do you know him?”

She shakes her head. “Just staring off into space.”

Emma hates herself more with every little white lie.

 -/-

 She’s not sure why this is bothering her so much, to be honest. She has friends with whom she doesn’t share the knowledge of her abilities.

But, well, she’s starting to want to share more with Killian.

She thinks she’s starting to fall in love with him.

 -/-

 Three months in, Emma almost tells him. She’s just solved another case with the help of an apparition. They’re curled on his sofa with a celebratory bottle of wine and a cupcake.

“You’re amazing. Did you know that?” Killian asks her, twirling the ends of her hair with his fingers. “You do so much good for people. You’re a regular hero, Swan.”

She wants to tell him more about the victim, a woman named Kathryn who’d been murdered by a jealous ex. She wants to tell him about how Kathryn was more concerned about the fiance she’d left behind than her own death, how she’d cried when her murderer was arrested.

She wants is to tell him about the other cases, about the ghosts who move on after their murdered are convicted, or when they feel their loved one can move on.

What she wants is to tell him about Milah and Liam.

But she can’t.

Not yet.

 -/-

 April brings Milah’s birthday. Killian is sullen, but less so than when she’d first met him months ago on their anniversary. He tells Emma about his late wife, and she listens because he needs to, listens because she wants to know more about the woman who encouraged her to meet this man many months ago.

“She’d have liked you, I think.”

 -/-

 Milah comes to Emma that night. She’s surprised, but not.

“Happy Birthday,” Emma tells her. She’s forty now, but she’ll be frozen forever at thirty-seven.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Killian.”

“He needed some time alone to mourn,” Emma says. She keeps her voice soft as she speaks. “I could say the same, you know.”

“When I realized he was alone, I thought it best to speak with you.”

“It’s been awhile.” Weeks since she last saw Milah’s apparition. “I was beginning to think you moved on.”

Milah shakes her head. “It’s harder than I thought. I’ve always wanted to see him happy, but it never really sunk in that I’d have to walk away. I’m beginning to understand Liam a bit more.”

“I wish I could,” Emma says as an aside. She’s seen flickers of him every now and then. She wants to tell him that Killin’s shared more of his life with her, but Liam has never given her the chance.

“Liam is overprotective. I don’t think he’s ever moved past looking over Killian, and I know he never fond of me. After I passed her called me a bad influence, you know.”

“That’s...an incredibly shitty thing to be told.”

“But not completely false, either.”

Emma knows more about the story of Milah and Killian now. She’d been married when she’d met Killian at a bar, and had run away with him leaving her husband and young son behind. Milah had been older than Killian, but she’d enchanted him, and they’d been happy. But even Killian has admitted to her that Milah had encouraged his vices. Drinking, partying, gambling. They had lived for a good time, and she’d died seeking one.  

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t being a jerk. You didn’t deserve that.”

“If it makes you feel better, he apologized eventually. We’ve come a long way in three years.” A wistful expression crosses her face. “But enough about me, I’m here to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Killian. Do you you love him?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. Emma’s long since stopped being thrown by Milah’s bluntness. “I’m falling for him. He’s a fantastic man. But I don’t know if I’m there yet.”

Milah straightens her posture. “Well, figure it out. I can’t move on until I know for sure he has someone to love him.”

 -/-

 She does think on it.

She lays awake that night, pondering her feelings about Killian. She thinks about it the next day when she joins Mary Margaret at the movies, and completely misses the plot. She thinks about with Killian, as they walk hand-in-hand to the pier, and he presents her the boat he’s recently bought.

“What do you think?” he asks her, eyes twinkling, and Emma never thinks he’s looked more beautiful.

“I love it.”

 -/-

 She loves him.

But if she loves him, that means Emma has to tell him...and of that she’s terrified. For years, she’s held her abilities close to her chest. But if she wants this relationship to continue, she can’t keep secrets from him.

Not anymore.

But there’s a difference in knowing you need to do something, and actually doing it.

She just has to find the willpower to do it.

 -/-

 She almost tells him during the an evening sailing. It’s the perfect date -- sunset, just the two of them out on the water - but that’s what causes her to hesitate. She wants to remember this: remember the glow of his skin at the golden hour, the way the light played on the water, and the motion of is body against hers as they make love.

It’s perfect.

But it’s not, and the guilt weighs her down like an anchor.

 -/-

 Killian tells her he loves her in a completely innocuous way, over breakfast as she reads the paper and he cleans up the kitchen.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks in the same way he might ask if she could pass the cream or if she had the sports section .“Because I do, Swan, sometimes the most when it is like this, just me and you, just us doing the complete mundane.”

“I…” Emma opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t. She can’t tell him she loves him until she tells him the truth about her abilities. She can’t do that to him. She’s already made him believe he loves the idea of someone he doesn’t fully know. And-- “I see dead people.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. “You could just say you don’t feel the same way.”

She shakes her head. “No. I do. I love you, but I also see ghosts.”

“Emma.”

“Killian, I swear I’m telling the truth. I see ghosts. It’s like my superpower. I’m not lying to you.”

He scratches behind his ear. “This...is not how I envisioned our conversation going.”

There something in the way he says it that guts her. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it. That’s all,” Killian tells her, but she can tell he’s lying. He presses his hands against the counter as if he’s trying to ground himself. “So, uh, what type of ghosts do you see?”

“It’s hard to explain. Just spirits, I guess, who kinda look like the living but not.” She sounds crazy. She knows she sounds crazy, and it’s killing her, because she doesn’t know how to make herself believe. “It’s not gruesome, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” he answers quickly. He still won’t look her in the eyes. “So how long have you been able to see...ghosts.”

“For as long as I remember.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can just say you don’t believe me, you know,” Emma says. It hurts watching the way he’s pulling away from her. “I’m not crazy. I won’t hurt you or anything.”

“Emma, listen, it’s an astounding amount of information to take in. It’s not...possible.”

“It is,” she tells him. She pushes herself off, and goes off in search of her bag. She pretends it doesn’t hurt when he doesn’t follow. Her things gathered, she brushes the tears from her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what I can say to prove this to you. You just have to trust me, but until you do, I can’t be here.”

She leaves.

-/-

 She’s alone in her apartment when Liam appears. She throws a pillow, and watches as it phases through him. “I don’t want to hear a lecture right now.”

“I’m honestly a little impressed you told him.” Emma can tell he’s being honest with her. “But I’m curious why you didn’t mention me or Milah.”

She brushes at her tears. “It wouldn’t have been fair to play the dead wife and brother card.”

“Would’ve been easier.”

Anger boils deep inside her. “What the fuck? First you tell me off for not telling Killian, and now that I did, you’re throw digs at me for not telling him differently.”

Liam raises his hands in supplication. “I will admit that my behavior earlier was bad form.”

Running her hands through her hair, Emma sighs in frustration. “You’re just now realizing this?”

He scratches behind his ear, and Emma is reminded of Killian. Her stomach twists.

“Milah might have cuffed me behind the ears a few times.”

“Yeah, well, you deserved it.”

“Aye.” Frustrated and heartbroken, she throws hers arms in the air and shouts, “You’re telling me this now? You shouldn’t even be here. It’s practically over with Killian.”

Liam laughs, actually laughs. Emma would punch him if she could. “I know my brother. It’s not over. Not yet.”

Refusing to give way to hope, she crosses her arms. “What makes you say that?”

Liam smirks. “Because he’s on his way over here.”

 -/-

 She doesn’t want to believe Liam. Refuses to. He’s an asshole. He’s against her relationship with Killian.

Besides, Killian hadn’t believed her. Not that she had expected him to. He’s just like everyone else. Neal. Lily. She’s been a fool the past few months hoping that--

There’s a knock at the door.

 -/-

 “I called David.”

She’s not sure what she had expected when she opened the door, but it’s not that. Killian stands before her, his expression mournful.

“He told me...he told me about what you’ve been able to do.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him, because it’s true, because it’s something they both need to hear. Realizing that he’s still standing in the hallway, Emma steps to the side and ushers him in.

“He also told me that you’ve been speaking to Milah and Liam.”

“Oh.” She’s can’t blame David for telling him that part. He had no way of knowing what she’d confessed to Killian or not. But there’s a part of her that’s filled with dread, because there’s now a very real chance that he might have come here specifically just for them. Not her.

(It’s never her.)

“Emma, you have to understand this is a lot to take in. I know my behavior was bad form, but--”

“It’s a lot,” she finishes, grateful that he hadn’t brought the conversation back to his dead loved ones. But maybe that’s what it’ll take to get him to believe fully, to trust her. Maybe it will give him a bit of peace. “I can help you speak to them, if you’d like.”

His eyes widen, and she can tell he wants to say yes. Instead he says, “I meant what I said earlier. I love you.”

“I know.” Emma brushes her hair behind her ears. “And I feel the same way.”

She watches him smile. “Can you tell me more about your abilities?”

 -/-

 She tells him everything she can. She tells him about the old man, about her experiences with ghosts as an adolescent. She tells him about how those experiences shaped her into pursuing law enforcement as her field. She tells him about about how sometimes ghosts ask for help with their loved ones.

“That’s the real reason why I talked you that first night. Milah was worried, and she asked.”

She’s been afraid of telling him this since the moment they met. He’s quiet for awhile, and finally says, “I told you she was an amazing woman, didn’t I?”

 -/-

 Eventually, they get to the topic on Liam and Milah. Emma can sense them in the apartment.

“You can come on out,” she calls, and in no time at all, they’re present. Killian looks around, unable to see them. “They’re standing by the kitchen island.”

His gaze falls to where they stand, looking through them. “How do I...how do I know they’re really there.”

“Say ‘Yellow Submarine’,” Milah instructs her. “He’ll know what it means.”

And so Emma does, and when the words leave her mouth, she can she tears spring to Killian’s eyes.

“That’s the song that was playing when we met,” Killian says. “You had no way of knowing that.”

“Like I said, they’re here.”

He wipes at his eyes. “Can you tell them hello?”

“They can hear you,” she says, reaching out for his hand.

“Are they...okay?” He suddenly looks concerned. Liam gives her his answer, which Emma reports back. “Liam says about as well as a dead person can be. They’re not in any pain.”

Tears are flowing freely from Killian’s eyes now.

“You can speak to them, you know.”

 -/-

 Emma’s not sure what he says to Milah or Liam. She gives Killian that peace of having a moment alone with the people he loves, even if he can’t see him. He deserves that.

After awhile, he comes to her. His eyes are rimmed red, and she pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

 -/-

 She sees Milah and Liam one last time.

“Goodbye,” Milah says.

“You’re going to take care of him, right?” Liam inquires.

Emma can only nod.

 -/-

 They move on.

It’s a beautiful thing, moving on, watching the ghost disappear into a beautiful burst of light. A small part of her is sad to see them go. A bigger part is happier they’ve finally found peace.

“I’m glad to know they’re somewhere happier,” Killian says that night, holding her tight in his arms. They don’t make love that night. The intimacy of being together is enough. “And that they think I’m happy enough to not watch over.”

“Are you?” Emma asks, surprised by the brittleness in her voice. “Happy, that is?”

He tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes. “Never ever doubt my happiness with you.”

“Okay.”

 -/-

 A year later, Killian takes her to England. They make a point of visiting Milah and Liam’s graves. Emma leaves carnations, for remembrance.

“Thank you,” she whispers to the stone markers. She owes them so much, too much really. And despite them having both moved on, as the wind blows she can almost hear them say, “You’re welcome.”

If her abilities have taught her anything, it’s this: the dead never truly leave us. Not really, in the end.

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Six

I feel weighed enough by the chains of procrastination that I wish I got a couple of breakers to smash it all down! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: The Breakers Point-of-View: Vick dan Teufel

“What sort of a name is Vick, anyway?”

“Short for Victarine.”

“Very fucking fancy,” sneered Grise. Vick hadn’t known her long, but she was already getting tired of her. “Daresay you’ve got a fucking ‘dan’ in your name, too, eh, your ladyship?”

It’s okay, Vick, I’ve just known Grise two sentences and I’m already tired of her. 

That being said, Vick doesn’t beat around the bush in her voice, does she. And this short exchange already suggests, along with the chapter title, that the Breakers aren’t as monolithic in character as the first trilogy’s peasant rebellion was, an evolution of the old of the peasantry through the ones of nobility to the new status of giving voice to the commonfolk.

Also, hell’s yeah. More working-class voices! After fantasy’s gout of prioritizing noble or royalty voices (or commonfolk who turn out to be royalty by royal blood), this is super welcome. I’m all for more eyes into the anger and wrath of the common men!

She held Grise’s eye. “I did have a ‘dan’ in my name, once. My father was Master of the Royal Mints. Had a great big apartment in the Agriont.” And Vick nodded towards her best idea of where the fortress was, though the points of the compass were hard to tell apart in a mouldy cellar. “Right next to the palace. Big enough for a statue of Harod the Great in the hall. Life fucking size.”

Grise had quite the frown on her round face now, light flickering across it as boots, and hoofs, and cartwheels clattered past the little windows high up near the ceiling. “You grew up in the Agriont?”

“You weren’t listening. My father had an apartment there. But when I was eight years old, he trod on the wrong toes and the Inquisition took him. I hear it was Old Sticks himself who asked the questions.”

Master of the Royal Mints... who... wait... Sepp dan Teufel? The guy whose finger joints Glokta chopped off near The Blade Itself’s start? Damn, that’s one hell of a deep dive! He’s not exactly a character of importance, being only in one chapter, and all we knew of him is that he was kind of a blowhard using his position and connections to try and get out of Glokta’s tender care.

Why bring the Teufel connection into this then...?

“My father was innocent. Of what they accused him of, anyway. But once Old Sticks got started…” Vick slapped the table with a bang, Tallow jumping so high he nearly hit the ceiling. “He leaked confessions like a broken drain. High Treason. They sent him to Angland. To the camps right up North.” Vick didn’t feel much like it, but she grinned. “And no one likes to split up a happy family. So they sent my ma with him. My ma, and my brother, and my sisters, and me. The camps, Grise. That’s where I grew up. So don’t question my commitment to the cause. Not ever.”

Oh damn. That’s why. For every man Glokta ruined and forced into confession, there were others connected to each body. Sepp dan Teufel himself doesn’t matter, it’s what Glokta did to Vick’s entire family is what matters. She's the consequences of the first trilogy’s actions writ small, the collateral bodies that ended up in misery and suffering because of what Glokta’s done, regardless of guilt or innocence, but sheer political expediency.

Sepp dan Teufel being a relative no-name actually works better than if it was a bigger name Glokta tortured, because he was swept aside rather quick in the greater narrative of the first trilogy... but Vick’s here, reminding us that most actions Glokta undertook had a terrible cost attached, damaging more than the men he chopped flesh off of. It’s just an extension of how monstrous Glokta’s actions really were, detached of his more wry, humorous, self-pitying narrative.

And, on a character note, that forced smile makes me think of Savine’s performance, except with greater bitterness. Whereas Savine performs to gain leverage and points over people, Vick... there’s just this feeling of negative space. This feeling that there’s nothing inside her, no joy or mirth or humor, because the camps hollowed those things out of her and all she can express is what she forces herself. It’s a greater effort, emotionally, for Vick.

You could hear the ill squelch as Tallow swallowed. “What are the camps like?”

“You get by.”

Oh, the filth, pain, hunger, death, injustice and betrayal that she buried in that phrase. The black chill of the mines, the searing glow of the furnaces, the gnashing rage and sobbing desperation, the bodies in the snow. Vick forced her face to stay blank, pressed down the past like you might press down the lid on a box full of maggots.

“You get by,” she said, firmer. When you tell a lie, you have to sound like you believe it. Goes double for the ones you tell yourself.

Oh, Vick. The fact that you can consciously recall all that misery, yet you still have to lie to yourself that “you get by” in that hellscape? It reads off as an trauma reaction, a victim rationally recalling what was done to her, but has to emotionally suppress the horrors of what was done, lest it overwhelm her all over.

My heart.

And, you know what strikes me about Vick’s general character? She feels like a refinement of Cathil, way back in Before They Are Hanged. Now, Cathil herself was a blatant device to give more insight into West and the Dogman, thanks to Abercrombie’s mishandling of his female characters, but when you think about it, she’s another survivor of the camps, even right down to the camps being from Angland. Someone who had to surrender her pride and shame, in order to get by, just like Vick.

Someone hollowed out by the camps, just like Vick...

She grabbed hold of West’s arm as he turned away. “It’s no easy ride here.” Her voice was a surprise. Soft, smooth, educated. “Cathil is my name. I can work.” West looked down at her, ready to shake his arm free, but her expression reminded him of something. Painless. Fearless. Empty eyes, flat, like a corpse.

—Before They Are Hanged, Small Crimes

... Except the Cathil figure here gets to have the POV to herself, instead of being the prop to a guy’s storyline, only to be discarded later after her use is run out.  Vick, here, gets to deal with her own turmoils and tragedies and struggles, being our lens into the Breakers as a woman actively part of the rough-and-tumble of it. I could be wrong, and Abercrombie could horribly disappoint me by killing off Vick early, but she absolutely feels like a deliberate second chance with Cathil. And, you know what? I’m all for it. Vick’s hardened in a way that the earlier POVs just aren’t and that’s equal parts intriguing and tragic.

Grise spun around as the door squealed open, but it was only Sibalt come at last, Moor big and dour at his shoulder. He planted his fists on the table and took a heavy breath, that noble face of his sadly sagging.

“What is it?” asked Tallow, in a tiny voice.

“They hanged Reed,” said Sibalt. “They hanged Cudber. They hanged his daughter.”

Grise stared at him. “She was fifteen.”

The Breakers from Orso’s chapter. You know how I said that this Breakers plotline feels different from the Tanner plotline back then? This is why. Abercrombie doesn’t let us forget that the commonfolk victims have personhood and names. They were people and not checklists to note off a coming-of-age heroic quest list. This is what happens when you give vent and voice to the working class people such royalty-homogenized stories use to prop up a king-in-the-making.

What happens when you take off the royalty lens and put a commonfolk lens onto a fantasy story. You’re pressed against all the injustices the royalty’s tools have perpetuated, committed, all for the status quo to stay.

Also, dang, even Grise is horrified that they hung a child. Not as hard as she thinks she is, huh.

“What for?” asked Tallow.

“Just for talking.” Sibalt put his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Just for organising. Just for trying to get workers to stand together and speak with one voice. That’s treason now.”

D’awww, Sibalt.

Part of why I don’t particularly like privileged royal twats is that when you compare the hardships of them to the very real threat of death, just for wanting social advancement and a bit more rights that the royalty and nobility enjoy effortlessly, that commonfolk face, my sympathy generally runs drier for those twats when common children are getting hanged for wanting better. Hence, why I loved that moment in The Blade Itself where Ardee tears into Jezal for being a giant baby about having to work hard for once.

But yes, let too much dissent like that thrive, and you allow such rebellious thoughts build up. You don’t put out the fires of revolution swift enough, and it spreads too fast and much for you to smother down the road. So, you stomp it out as soon as possible. You make examples out of the dissidents, so you put the fear into the rest of the common people.

“Then the time for talk’s fucking past!” snarled Grise.

But, at some point, you don’t engender fear so much as deep anger.

Vick was angry as anyone. But she’d learned in the camps that every feeling is a weakness. You have to lock your hurt away, and think about what comes next. “Who did they know about?” she asked.

There’s a very workmanlike quality to how Vick operates. There’s a no-frills attitude that pervades her entire POV, few details on the environment she’s in, just the important details of people’s actions and what’s said between the Breakers there. She’s very no-nonsense, allowing for her anger, but refusing to have it define her actions. Not if it overrides her thinking and plotting capabilities. In that sense, she very much reminds me of the practicality of Logen and Glokta from the first trilogy.

You have to be realistic.

Vick looked from her fist to her eye. “Whatever names they knew, they’ll have given up.”

“Not Cudber. He wouldn’t.”

“Not even when they put the irons to his daughter?” Grise had nothing to say to that, shock gradually wiping the anger off her face. “Whatever names they knew, they’ll have given up. Lots of other names, too, ’cause once you run out of truth, you start spilling lies.”

Moor shook his big lump of a head. “Not Reed.”

“Yes, Reed, Cudber, his daughter, yes, you or me or anyone. The Inquisition’ll come for whoever they knew about, and soon. So who did they know about?”

There’s a lot to be said about how much torture doesn’t work as a method of gaining information. And Abercrombie’s pretty clear-eyed about it as a tool that Glokta mainly uses it as a method of gaining confessions, rather than truth. Not to mention how much Glokta spoke of his own experiences in truth and how much, after he ran out of truth, he lied out of his ass and got nowhere. And, for most Inquisitors, the amount of bodies they make without substantial gain makes a greater point that Abercrombie really doesn’t believe torture necessarily works.

... There can be a point of criticism that Abercrombie still has Glokta capable of extracting truth out of his victims for plot reasons, thus still validating a sense of torture working, and I can see that as a problem. Which is partly why I love this acknowledgement that torture will not work and you can easily get a mixture of lies along with the truth, depending on what the victims think the captors want to hear. It’s a very stripped-down, sober look at torture as an institutional tool of the government from the side of those who might be next under the knife.

And no amount of willpower can prepare you for the very real and visceral reality of systematic disfigurement. The slow and sure breakdown of one’s body and spirit and mental strength. Anyone can break.

“Who the fuck are you to give orders?” Grise leaned down over her with a stabbing finger. “You’re newest here!”

“So maybe I’m thinking most clearly.” Vick let her hand lie on her belt buckle where her brass knuckles were hidden. She didn’t rate Grise much of a threat, for all her bulk. People who shout a lot tend to take a while working up to more. But Vick was ready to put her down if she had to. And when Vick put someone down, she made sure they went down hard.

And that’s what makes Vick so dangerous in this world, just like Logen:

Logen shrugged. Hard words are for fools and cowards. Calder might have been both, but Logen was neither. If you mean to kill, you’re better getting right to it than talking about it. Talk only makes the other man ready, and that’s the last thing you want. So Logen said nothing. Calder could take that for weakness if he pleased, and so much the better. Fights might find Logen depressingly often, but he was long, long past looking for them.

—The Blade Itself, First of the Magi

Both hardened and knowing not to give away their weaknesses, knowing when to put someone down for good. Just a fascinating contrast to the more naive and young charges of past chapters, Vick is.

Lucky for Grise, Sibalt laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and eased her back. “Vick’s right. I have to get out of Adua. Just as soon as we strike our blow.” And Moor slid out a dirty paper and unrolled it across the table. A map of the city. Sibalt tapped a spot in the Three Farms. Not far from where they’d started building that new canal. “The Hill Street Foundry.”

“Though Hill Street’s gone,” said Moor, in that plodding way he had, “since they pulled it down to build the Foundry.”

“They’re fitting new engines there,” said Sibalt.

Tallow nodded. “I passed ’em on the way. Engines that’ll put two hundred men and women out of work, I hear.”

I’ve read about how new technologies are going to replace some workers, leaving them out of a job. Now, of course, it makes perfect sense for companies to seek out new improvements that net them more profits, but without the social conscience and the consideration that you can train those old employees to work the new tools, you’re just left with money as the only bottom line, leaving countless souls helpless and scrambling without the job security that held up their families, their mental health, their very survival.

Industrial or contemporary age, human nature and greed really doesn’t change.

“We’re going to blow the lot to hell,” said Grise. “With Gurkish Fire.”

More signs of technological progression, what with Gurkish Fire being more commonplace nowadays since the ol’ days of the last Union-Gurkish War. Coming off The Heroes’ death tubes, this isn’t a surprise, but it’s definitely a nice continuity of Bayaz’s experiments with gunpowder.

I wonder if those death tubes got better... you’d think they’d be a leg-up, technologically, against Monza’s army, yet Terez said that didn’t go well...

“Well, you can stop worrying, ’cause it comes straight from Valbeck,” said Grise, smug as a king’s tailor. “Straight from the Weaver himself—”

“Shush,” hissed Sibalt. “Best if no one knows more than they have to. Don’t worry, the powder’s good.”

Grise slapped her fist into her palm. “A blow for the common man, eh, brothers?”

“Aye,” said Moor, slowly nodding his big head. “We’ll strike a spark.”

“And the spark’ll start a fire,” said Sibalt.

Vick sat forward. “If we do this, people get hurt. People get killed.”

“Only those that deserve it,” said Grise.

“Once the killing starts, it rarely sticks to those who deserve it.”

(arches an eyebrow) The Weaver? Aw, shit, is this like the Tanner all over again? Is Bayaz pulling the strings of another peasant rebellion, just to give a decisive victory to the royals? I like Jezal, and I don’t even hate Orso that much, but this will right piss me off if that happens.

I hope Yoru Sulfur, if he’s doing the Tanner bit under a different title, gets blown up by Gurkish Fire instead.

... And that last exchange is ultimately the sticking point. Revolutions are messy, messy business, and, as much as you want to keep the deaths solely on those who’ll deserve it, collateral damage is inevitable. Everyone who participates in one can die, and die ignobly.

Ultimately, I believe that revolutions are necessary, it’s what happens when you push around oppressed people so much their corpses pile up high as mountains and they cannot bear to be silent, and I refuse to wag my finger at them. Just because there’ll be blood to be had in revolutions doesn’t mean the status quo isn’t supported by gears and cogs, rusty with blood. Sometimes, inaction is a greater crime than wanting blood against those who operate the great machines.

That being said, I am all for everyone in a revolution being aware of the potential costs and trying not spill more blood than needed. But, well... easier said than done, right?

“You scared?”

“If you’re not scared, you’re mad or stupid, and there’s no place for either on a task like this. We need to plan every detail.”

As Logen would tell you:

The Northman chuckled. “Fearlessness is a fool’s boast, to my mind. The only men with no fear in them are the dead, or the soon to be dead, maybe. Fear teaches you caution, and respect for your enemy, and to avoid sharp edges used in anger. All good things in their place, believe me. Fear can bring you out alive, and that’s the very best anyone can hope for from any fight. Every man who’s worth a damn feels fear. It’s the use you make of it that counts.”

—Before They Are Hanged, Fear

Courage or strength isn’t defined by the absence of fear, it’s acting in spite of it. It’s using fear to work for you, carrying you to survive through sharpening your mind, your senses, and using it to your advantage.

Grise sneered her disgust. “All you ever fucking talk about is the risks!”

“Someone needs to. This has to be something we choose, not something we blunder into ’cause we’re sore and can’t think of anything better to do with ourselves.” She looked around those four faces, strange in the flickering light of the cellar. “This is what you all want, is it?”

Honestly, she’s right. Vick’s the one there pointing out that you can’t be a bunch of angry children playing with matches. She’s the only one right now speaking how to be mindful of starting a revolution, blessings and curses. If the Breakers are meant to be the spark to a great fire, to be a movement that’s meant to endure, they have to intend this and plan accordingly.

And they have to commit to it. All of it. No backing down.

“It’s what I fucking want,” said Grise.

“It’s what I want,” said Sibalt.

“Aye,” rumbled Moor.

Heh. I love how economic to their characters these responses are. Grise’s the heated, angry one who wants to fight back, no caution, Sibalt’s more measured and calm about how the cause needs to move and operate, and Moor’s just the big, slower musclehead. In fact, I generally like how this chapter gets across the different attitudes of the respective Breakers there. They all have skin in the game, but they’re different people with separate thoughts and input in going about breaking things.

She looked at Tallow last. He couldn’t be older than fifteen himself, and might only have had three good meals in that whole stretch. Reminded her of her brother, a little. Those skinny wrists sticking from frayed sleeves just a touch too short. Trying to put a hard face on but beaming fears and doubts out like a lighthouse through those big damp eyes.

“There’s a Great Change coming,” he said, finally. “That’s what I want.”

Is that a crack in the armor, Vick? Harder to suppress your feelings when reminders are right before your eyes. And, man, Tallow’s a brave little boy who shouldn’t have to commit to a fight that might kill him without remorse, given he found out about Cudber’s daughter’s hanging just a short while ago.

I hope he survives, but Abercrombie isn’t so gentle. So it goes, with hopes.

Vick smiled a grim smile. “Well, if I learned one thing in the camps, it’s that talking isn’t enough.” She realised she’d closed her fingers to make a fist. “You want a thing, you have to fight for it.”

Not as hard as you make yourself out to be, huh, Vick. Not as empty as you make yourself out to be, if even you’re getting carried away by the spirit of revolution. Other than that, damn straight. There’s a time for talk, and there’s a time for a fight.

She stayed straddling him for a while afterwards, his chest pressed against hers with each snatched breath. Kissing at his lip. Biting at it. Then with a grunt, she slid off him, rolled onto her side next to him on the narrow bed, dragging the blankets up over her bare shoulder. It felt chill now they were done, frost showing in the smudges of lamplight at the corners of the little window.

Wow, this book is just way more hornier than The Blade Itself. I mean, I don’t really mind, especially since this reads as more wholesome and sex for wanting it, rather than more abusive, like the first trilogy’s sex scenes, but wow.

Finally, he turned towards her. “Sorry I couldn’t step in with Grise—”

“I can look after myself.”

Sibalt snorted. “No one better. I’m not sorry ’cause I think you need my help. I’m sorry I can’t give it. Better if they don’t know we’re…” He slipped his hand up onto her ribs, rubbing at that old burn on her side with his thumb, trying to dig up the right word for what they were. “Together.”

“In here, we’re together.” She jerked her head towards the warped door in the warped frame. “Out there…” Out there, everyone stood on their own.

Whole swathes of Vick’s mindset just leaches so much warmth out of me. It’s such a cold, and dispassionate “everyone out for themselves” mindset that the camps instilled into her, but this? I’m glad Vick has some measure of happiness in her life, having someone by her side, at least.

He frowned at the little gap of coarse sheet between them as if it was a great divide that could never be crossed. “Sorry I can’t tell you where the Gurkish Fire comes from.”

“Best if no one knows more than they have to.”

“It’ll work.”

“I believe you,” she said. “I trust you.” Vick trusted no one. She’d learned that in the camps, along with how to lie. Learned to lie so well, she could take one tiny sliver of truth and beat it out, like the goldsmiths beating a nugget of gold into leaf, till it could cover a whole field of lies. Sibalt didn’t doubt her for a moment.

(arches an eyebrow) I’m reminded of Ferro’s belief of the word trust here:

“Stay with us. Give it a few days. If you don’t change your mind, well, I’ll help you pack. You can trust me.” Trust was a word for fools. It was a word people used when they meant to betray you. If he moved forward a finger’s width she would sweep the sword out and take his head off. She was ready.

—Before They Are Hanged, The Thing About Trust  

But why would Vick betray Sibalt? Isn’t she just as committed to the Breakers cause as he is? Who would she betray him to? Is Sibalt a Breaker rogue element that someone asked Vick to watch after? If so, who? She can’t go to the Inquisition, considering her history with the camps, so maybe a Breaker higher-up Sibalt doesn’t answer to?

In any case, so much for happiness, Vick. And poor Sibalt, if Vick's going to betray him. He’s so sweet to her and respects her so...

“I wish I’d met you sooner,” he said. “Things might be different.”

“You didn’t and they’re not. So let’s take what we can get, eh?”

“By the Fates, you’re a hard case, Vick.”

“We’re none of us hard as we seem.” She slipped her hand around the back of his head, through the dark hair scattered with grey, held it firm, looked him in the eye and asked one more time. “You’re sure, Collem? You’re sure this is what you want?”

(jaw drops) Oh my god. Yeah, this puts the nail on the idea that Vick = Improved Cathil wasn’t intentional. Another Collem and another victim of the Angland camps. Except this Collem doesn’t treat her like a vessel for his own issues, unlike West did. Oh, Collem, you already met Vick once sooner, in the pages of Before They Are Hanged instead. Except, now, it’s flipped, with Vick as the POV, and Collem as the love interest as a reflection of her character.

I LOVE HOW MUCH ABERCROMBIE REMIXES HIS OLD SHIT BETTER, YES!

“Don’t really matter what we want, does it? Bigger things than our future to consider. We can strike a spark that’ll set a fire burning. One day, there’ll be a Great Change, Vick. And folk like you and me will get our say.”

“A Great Change,” she said, trying to sound like she believed it.

Sibalt’s a true believer to the core, but Vick? She’s been beaten too badly by the camps to necessarily buy into the shiny ideals of that wholesale. She’s endured Inquisition care too long to think this will be as glorious as what Sibalt thinks. She believes in the cause, but she’s got a more cynical head about it, wearier and sadder for it.

“You should come with me.”

She should’ve kept silent on that, too. Instead, she found she’d asked, “Where would we go?”

A grin spread across his face. Seeing it made her smile. Her first in a while. Hardly felt like her mouth should bend that way.

There’s so much of Vick that feels so... hollow or restrained that glimpses and cracks in her voice like this really stuck out. And I think she actually loves Sibalt beyond the confines of taking him along, only to betray him. Just that made her smile bit. Like she didn’t intend to, but couldn’t help herself. She has so few opportunities for happiness, I sense.

Few of the characters in this series do.

The frame groaned as he reached down beside the bed and came back up with a battered old book. The Life of Dab Sweet by Marin Glanhorm.

“This again?” asked Vick.

“Aye, this.” It fell open at an etching across both pages. As though it was often opened there. A rider alone, staring out across a sweep of endless grass and endless sky. Sibalt held that drawing at arm’s length as if it was a view spread out in front of them, whispered the words like a magic spell. “The Far Country, Vick.”

“I know,” she grunted. “It says under the picture.”

“Grass for ever.” He was half-joking. But that made him half-serious. “A place where you can go as far as your dreams can take you. A place where you can make yourself anew. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Hah! The biography Sworbreck derided!

On a more somber note, there’s something to be said about how even a fantasy, a falsehood, can inspire us. Dab Sweet himself pointed out that his exploits were blown up beyond his capacity and he ended up having to live with the weight of all that he never did, but just because we know things to be false doesn’t mean we can’t want for better and more, right? It’s part of why we dream and yearn beyond our reaches. Abercrombie once talked about how you have to hit upon truth to impact your readers, well, the truth is, a fantasy can propel us to action, to want for better for ourselves and others.

“Aye, I guess.” She realised she’d reached towards that drawing with one hand, as if she might touch anything there but paper, and snatched it back. “But it’s a made-up drawing in a book full o’ lies, Collem.”

“I know,” he said, with a sad smile, like thinking about it was a fun game to play, but just a game. He flipped the book shut and tossed it back down on the boards. “Guess there comes a time you have to give up on what you want and make the best of what you’re given.”

Wanting that life too, Vick, no matter how much you consciously shut it down? But they have to make the best out of reality, no matter how tempting the fantasy is.

You two are going to make me cry, damn it.

“When we strike that spark,” he murmured, voice loud in her ear, “it’ll change everything.”

“No doubt,” said Vick.

Another silence. “It’ll change everything between us.”

“No doubt,” said Vick, and she slipped her fingers through his and pressed his hand tight to her chest. “So let’s take what we can get. If I learned one thing in the camps, it’s that you shouldn’t look too far ahead.”

Chances are you’ll see nothing good there.

Ouch. Full-blown pessimism from a childhood in the camps. No hope enters, no conscious dreams, because all they do is invite misery and broken optimism.

Just. Damn.

As a chapter, The Breakers is a set-up one. Going into the details of future events and dropping intriguing seeds like what the deal with the Weaver and the Vick/Sibalt. But, at the same time, it’s a first lens into the common people, and how much they’re varied in character and thoughts and are thinking through (or not) the consequences of revolution. In short, it’s putting faces and a name to the Breakers, extending to even the victims of those hangings in Orso’s chapter, which is why it makes sense to put this right after that one. It’s definitely a chapter that isn’t self-contained, but it’s interesting and a refreshing glimpse into the working class folk.

As a character, Vick is... depressing. In an intended way, of course, but there’s a hardness to her that the younger POVs thus far just don’t possess, a weariness that the younger generation will gain once they’ve been through enough hardship like she had. In a way, I come back to this idea of Vick being negative space. Whereas the other POVs so far have had the coddled and pampered upbringings to whine and laugh, and take joys in comforts, both small and large, and have parents who care about them... Vick got stripped of all that in the camps long ago, and this is the kind of person that comes out of those circumstances. Hollowed out. She makes for an intriguing contrast to the other characters, and while I can’t say she’s more interesting than Savine and, maybe, Orso, she’s a necessary lens into the revolutionary end of the Breakers, while possessing a practicality that calls back to the first trilogy’s adults and a vulnerability in the cracks of her POV, that makes her rather refreshing to read about.

And, as a re-do of a first trilogy female vessel character? Yeah, it’s very appreciated. Thanks, Abercrombie!

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

[fourangers]

Rite of passage - ch 3

Rating: M

Summary:  Every day, he faced the same rhythm, the same pace that lulled his body to join all that dull reality in this life. In a sudden drastic decision, Sasuke decided to travel, meeting someone that would change his life.

Warning: p0rn in this chappie.

AO3 link | FFnet link

Tumblr masterpost

–.–

Chapter 02

--.--

Itinerary 3

Early as in 7 in the friggin' morning early that was too early on Sasuke's book. He glared despite Naruto's cheerful tone while the latter knew him well enough to let him take a small catnap as Naruto drove all the way through.

His body registered that once the car motion had stopped, the soft sound of engine rumbling silencing. He blinked himself awake, letting a small yawn as he unbuckled the safety belt. His eyes registered an oddity. "We're parked in the middle of the road."

"No we're not. We're parked on the roadblock, see." Naruto snorted, shutting the car door.

"You know what I meant." Sasuke returned the comeback with a sharp glare. "We're in the middle of nowhere, in an empty road with nothing but trees surrounding us."

"Yeah, but that old man Fernando said and our landlady confirmed that the waterfall they are talking about is in km 46, see. Plus, there are other cars parked around, so it's probably correct."

"Hn." Sasuke glanced at the appointed cars. "In a horror movie, this is probably the part where the villain who has been faking being a good guy so far, would attract some dumb jock to a deserted place and murder him on the back."

Naruto laughed. "You can check me if I'm carrying a knife or a gun if you want then."

"Luckily for me, I can defend myself."

Sasuke followed Naruto behind, noticing that there was a hiking trail behind a sign board.

"If you say so. Plus, you and I have to agree that I'm more like a protagonist in this case. The hero, courageous and kind, moving undaunted by all the risks and deaths surrounding him, who would inflict the fist of justice upon the greatest villain he ever faced." Naruto narrated with a serious tone, using large hand gestures to stress the epicness, punctuated while they were climbing through the large stairs made of red earth.

"And who would probably end up with some random love interest that he probably interacted for two minutes in the movie."Sasuke muttered, trying not to trip on the long tree roots.

"Yeah, we can't be perfect after all can we." Naruto continued climbing down when he turned to face Sasuke with a wide grin. "Hey, I think I heard some splash! Maybe we're getting close!"

"Joy." Sasuke muttered coolly.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know deep down you're all giddy ready for it."

"Sure." Sasuke did smirk this time, knowing that Naruto was probably rolling his eyes in response.

He also took his time to admire the forest, noting the differences with the one in his country; the thick foliages, lush green despite the cold season. Even though he was wearing a jacket when they began walking through the trail, a thin layer of sweat was already sticking his t-shirt to his back. He made a frustrated grunt when he tried to balance himself on the uneven ground, holding on a nearby tree while he scaled down.

Sasuke didn't really pay much attention how much minutes had passed though all the extenuating effort made it felt like time had stretched long enough. Even Naruto, that was making jokes and chatting non-stop at the beginning, had now his mouth zipped shut focusing not tripping on a nearby rock. This better be worth all the trouble.

All the human voices were increasing by the steps, encouraging them to keep on walking. The sound of water could be heard loud and clear once they reached the spot, as Naruto happily sighed.

"Wow."

Briefly squinting his eyes from the sudden flash of sunlight, Sasuke let out a quiet gasp, agreeing with Naruto's statement. Strong currents of water were blasting through tall mountain rocks leaving a sheen mist permeating on the air, a dark green colored lake pooled in midst of huge dark rocks, all being embraced by tall trees with several vines, all this breathtaking vision just waiting to be captured within a camera lens.

Sasuke fumbled to pick his camera in his backpack as Naruto already took few pictures with his cellphone and stripped off his t-shirt. Sasuke followed suit once he felt he snapped enough photos, placing his bag on a dry place.

He got close to a calmer surface of the lake, after hopping through several rocks and avoiding some sharp edges. At the very moment his feet touched the water, Sasuke cursed loudly. Fuck, this was cold. Not cold, gelid. He heard Naruto hissing too, his legs skipping around like some weird dance, trying to get used to the low temperature of the water.

Sasuke started walking around on the shallow part of the lake, trying to adjust his body to the water, thankful for the strong sun brightening in that clear blue sky.

"Oh fuck it." Naruto grumbled and then dove right in the lake with a loud splash.

Sasuke widened his eyes from that bold move, despite Naruto rising afterwards, shivering from head to toe. He submerged once again till Sasuke could only recognize blond strands of hair peeking out of the water, swimming few meters away.

A competitive side niggled on the back of his mind, so Sasuke immediately swam with broad strokes, not wanting to lose to Naruto. At first his muscles protested from the sudden clash of temperatures, but adapted well once he had exercised enough, reveling the refreshing sweet water.

His head bumped onto a soft warm body, so Sasuke stood up staring Naruto's grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"Enjoying so far?"

"I guess." Sasuke narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

"So don't you think it's time for us to go to the main event? C'mon, I think that all those guys" Naruto pointed to the people who were already in the waterfall before them. "jumped like thrice already since we're here and I wanted to do it too."

"You can go, I'll watch. Good luck." Sasuke turned around, ready for another dipping.

Naruto scowled. Then beamed mischievously. "Scaredy cat."

"Last one loses have to pay today's lunch." Sasuke began sprinting with Naruto on his tail.

The path to the top of the waterfall was quite steep. Through each exerted effort, climbing each stone and jumping upwards, the strong breeze blew through Sasuke's face reminded him how far he was getting from the lake. He briefly turned his head and his legs almost turned to jelly. Gulping dryly, Sasuke inhaled and pressed on.

Some stones were covered with slippery moss as each step was carefully calculated to avoid any accident, the slow movement only increased his heartbeats. Sasuke approached at the edge of the cliff, dark eyes widening as the roaring cascades almost deafened his ears. It almost felt like icicles had lodged in his stomach.

He almost jumped when Naruto poked from behind his shoulder. "What?" Sasuke growled.

"Uuuuh…it's ok if you don't want to jump yet. I just teased but I don't want to pressure you too much." Naruto offered a tentative smile.

Sasuke huffed, shaking his head. "I'm ok, just need…few minutes." He balled his hand into a fist, vision still focused on the waterfall.

A pair of warm hands touched each side of his shoulder and shook his body gently, trying to disperse his anxiety.

"Ok ok…so, you already jumped on a trampoline at least right?" Naruto asked.

Sasuke nodded wordlessly.

"So it's almost the same thing. You saw other people jumping so it's perfectly safe. I mean, not 100% safe but you caught my drift right. Everything will be fine. You just have to relax the body to avoid any accident. You already done this before, so it's nothing out of ordinary." Naruto explained patiently.

Sasuke just made a snort of disbelief in return.

Naruto rolled his eyes. "Anyways you bastard…You can do it. Go."

Huffing, Sasuke stepped closer to the tip of the waterfall and then stared down, the lake so far away from where he was standing and everything looked so tiny and blurred. This vision almost made his head dizzy, unbalancing his feet.

Sasuke heard a shout. "Don't look down!"

"Too fucking late." He grumbled to himself.

Closing his eyes with another deep inhale, he jumped. For long, torturous, wondrous seconds, there were only gusts of wind around him, adrenaline pumping his heart as his body only waited the end. In one blink, cold and refreshing water suddenly engulfed him till he was completely submerged within it. For brief panicked seconds, Sasuke almost feared he wouldn't emerge back, but thankfully his instincts kicked in. Soon he was floating back to the surface, his quickened breaths filling his lungs with air. He placed his head on the lake and swam backwards, perfectly content.

"WOOO HOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" Dark eyes rolled in mock exasperation, recognizing the voice from that echoed scream. Almost two seconds later (that felt like hours for him but it was always too quick in reality), he heard the loud splash and jubilant laughter right afterwards.

"That was fucking great!" Naruto shouted, grinning widely. He swan around the border of the lake few times, approaching towards Sasuke. "Let's do it again."

"You're crazy." Sasuke snorted. Then, on the same breath. "Let's go."

The second time wasn't hard as the first time, as Sasuke was getting more used to the sensation and thrill of it. By the fourth or fifth time he was even trying some other maneuvers, with Naruto snapping some photographs the moment of the splash.

All in all it was a worthwhile experience that made every bit of his cell reinvigorated, if he knew this would give such positive outcome he would have done this ages ago.

Honestly…he was getting tired of wasting his life away.

Onyx eyes zeroed on that tall path as he climbed upwards once again. However this time he settled to simply sit on the edge of the waterfall, admiring the scenery.

Taking long, deep breaths, Sasuke let his senses guide its time, appreciating the sounds of the waterfall, birds tweeting, the gentle sway of tree branches moving with the wind. Goosebumps prickled when a fresh breeze passed through, letting the sun warming his skin. His eyes committed to his memory never forgetting the cerulean sky blessing the forest below, untouched nature guarded by human hands.

Sasuke noticed on the corner of his eye someone approaching. He turned slightly to see a bashful smile coming from Naruto. "You mind some company?"

He shook his head, turning back to stare ahead in quiet meditation. Minutes flowed with the comfortable silence that fell so naturally, understanding that words were unheeded now.

It felt nice for once, he didn't need to pay attention to the clock. With anxiety piling up, tasks clogging his schedule as hours simply flew by, another day being cast away. Another month was over. An year being scratched through.

Previously he was filled with responsibilities and many activities but now…he was doing nothing. Nothing but sightseeing. But why doing something apparently so meaningless made him feel so…appeased?

Naruto continued sitting on his side, also enjoying gazing upon the scenery. Sasuke appreciated this companionship, relaxing his limbs even further.

"This…is quite pleasant." He murmured.

"Yeah, it's nice right? I could stare this all day." Naruto said, stretching his limbs.

"Hm."

"No matter where, I really like taking my time appreciating any place I go." Naruto breathed out contentedly.

"It is a nice idea. For all we know, we only have this one life to live, so better seize it fully before it's too late." Sasuke murmured.

"Then…we look kind of silly, just sitting here, watching the waterfall."

"It's not only about watching it's…" His onyx eyes narrowed, sighing. "you're consciously letting the time pass with your own consent, instead of feeling like everything is going past by you before you could even really experience it."

"Yeah, I get what you mean. Sometimes it's really annoying even when I'm doing something ordinary, before I'd know it, hours flew by. And it almost feel like you couldn't really savor how time will pass, no matter how inevitable this is."

"Yes…" Sasuke stared down his hand, curling it. "And then, before you realize, your life will be spent just like that, with you feeling like you haven't lived enough."

And even though he was enjoying the present moment, he couldn't elude the uneasiness and insecurity haunting his every waking move. Sometimes he could forget for brief seconds if his mind was too busy with his work, but the second when night would fall, and another day had passed, his eyes would transfix at the ceiling, shaken to the core.

"Then…you'll look at this beautiful place and it feels like this fear might only a nightmare…but it's always with you, looming at the back of your mind." Sasuke heard the contemplative phrase, echoing his previous fears.

Sasuke turned around. He watched, entranced, as the blue hue of Naruto's eyes acquired the same warmth from the bright sky.

"I'm really glad I agreed going with you in this journey." Naruto beamed.

"Really? Why?" Sasuke was taken aback.

"I met with some other people here and there before…some even traveled with me. They were all very, how can I explain." Naruto rubbed the back of his head. "Eager, almost desperate to live…doing all sorts of things, dangerous sports, doing everything from dawn to dusk. But I guess no one really stopped to appreciate and really think about what exactly is about…living life."

"Is that so?" Sasuke couldn't let even one day pass without mulling about all this.

"I guess thinking about such things about life…or death. Can't be pleasant, so a lot of people prefer not thinking about it, no matter how obvious it'd be, and how sometimes this uncertainty can bring this hollowness in yourself." Naruto rubbed the back of his head. "Life is too short, why not enjoy it instead of getting depressed thinking about this; is what they'd answer me whenever I talked about it."

"Why would I even stop thinking about it, what's the disadvantage ignoring it? Self-awareness and questioning your one self is probably the only thing that make us different from other animals, I don't get why would I even stop doing this for one second." Reflecting about life might terrorize him from time to time, but there was no way Sasuke would trade this for anything else.

Naruto smiled. "Yep. That's why I said I'm glad I agreed going with you in this journey."

His dark eyes blinked, before fixing towards Naruto's expression. The noises of waterfall, birds chirping and all suddenly felt muffled, as if Sasuke was really looking at him for the first time.

Naruto stared back, his heartbeats increasing under Sasuke's intense gaze. He could feel his cheeks heat up, his body almost wanting to move closer and erase the distance between them.

Out of nowhere, Sasuke stood up making Naruto jump from his seat as the brunet was dusting off his swimming trunks. He turned to face Naruto, speaking unflappably. "It's almost time for lunch."

Naruto raised his eyebrows, before shrugging and also stood up. "Yeah, I guess we spent enough time in here." He brightened up. "Oh yeah! I asked the landlady and she said that Fernando and his family are good friends with her, it's totally safe visiting them."

Sasuke frowned, but otherwise maintained his neutral expression.

"Also, they are going to have um…" Naruto paused, huffing. "I forgot the english word, aaargh. It's…like a party? But only between friends it's mostly playing music with their own band and everything…sarau. Do English have a word to sarau?"

Sasuke shook his head, chuckling. "I don't think so but I got the gist of it."

"Yeah! So you wanna go?" Naruto asked as they were climbing down the stairs.

This time Sasuke did grimace, letting out a soft sigh. He wasn't much for parties, social gatherings and such. To add salt to injury, whereas he preferred few number of friends, tonight he was going to a place where he knew no one, with a language barrier hindering him above all.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." Naruto said, noticing the lingering silence.

Then again, he went all the way to a foreign country so he could get away from his usual comfort zone.  He could get along with locals and listen to their music, this was an opportunity that he wouldn't want to let it go waste, however uncomfortable it may appear at first glance.

"Sure, we can go." Sasuke thought for a second and added. "But if possible, let's not stay there for too long because I do want to rest after you made me wake up so early today."

Naruto laughed. "Ok, sounds like a plan."

–.–

At this point of the story, Sasuke already had the general feeling that he should get used to Brazil's less-than-desirable roads. Aside the highways, most of them aren't well-maintained, with several holes. Not all of them are made of asphalt, as they were going through a road full of dangerous curves that would make anyone with weak stomach queasy.

From afar, warm lights were illuminating a large house as they were getting closer to their destination. Naruto parked nearby, Sasuke was already recognizing the old man that helped them out yesterday. He was going to raise his hand as a greeting, however instead, Fernando quickly enveloped him with a bear hug, also giving another tight embrace towards Naruto once he freed Sasuke. An old lady, which Sasuke assumed to be his wife, also beamed giving a kiss on each side of his cheeks, patting on his shoulder. Sasuke patted back awkwardly. He still struggled getting used to brazilian hospitality.

Naruto made sure to explain that Sasuke couldn't speak one word in Portuguese, so while they were hurrying them to the dining room, the younger generation spoke with him with a broken English. Mouth-watering food arrived right away much to their delight and despite Sasuke's previous reservations, the dinner went without much of a hitch.

Stomachs filled, minds content, they all went outside with several instruments and some beer. Sasuke's eyes lit up once he noticed Fernando bringing some cachaça, Naruto shook his head as he approached them.

"You and your cachaça, I swear."

Sasuke offered a glass. "You can drink too if you want."

"Nah. Designated driver here, 'member? I won't drink much." As soon Naruto said those words, bunch of kids dragged him out of the way. Sasuke had to snort at the sight; one kid climbed all the way up to cling on Naruto's neck, little girls were holding him down on each arm, another kid hugged him tightly from behind resembling a koala clutching a branch.

The family started singing, with some playing an acoustic guitar, other settled the rhythm by drumming on any nearby surface. Naruto was dancing in clumsy steps with a girl who was literally half his size, with Fernando refilling more cachaça in Sasuke's cup. The group were chatting and taking photographs, their merry voices echoed through the night. Soon Fernando's elder mother (who Naruto jokingly said that she fancied Sasuke) brought freshly baked homemade cakes, even though Sasuke was still full from the dinner and wasn't a fan of sweets, he took a tentative bite on the carrot cake, admitting that it was delicious.

Quietly sipping his glass, Sasuke let the sounds of music and chattering drown him in, lights becoming a blur, making his body light. The people playing music were far from being professional, but they sang full of emotion and vigor, with an easy melody that would make him hum along. He could swear he was getting drunk, not only from all the alcohol he ingested, but from all this happiness injecting in his system.

He noticed that Naruto with the kids, as well as some adults, were picking up some flashlights. He growled out. "Where are you going?"

Blue eyes blinked at the sudden question. "We're out for a walk around the farm."

Hn. "I'll go." Sasuke muttered as he stood up, joining the group. It was more difficult to coordinate his limbs in his inebriated state, nevertheless he managed to follow them with considerable grace. However, as they were taking too long walking through tall grass fields, all Sasuke wanted was to lie down and rest.

Naruto saw that the brunet was falling behind, so he took a few steps back and asked. "You alright there?"

 A black eyebrow was raised, as the group were going inside a dimly lit forest. "Why are they going in there?"

"Oh. They said that this forest have some owls so they went there to check it out." Naruto shrugged one shoulder. "So let's go?"

Sighing, Sasuke sat in one of the grass hills, grumbling. "I think I'm fine here."

"Oh um…sure?" Naruto sat next to him.

"You can go if you want."

"Nah, I think I'm fine baby-sitting you drunkard." Naruto chuckled despite Sasuke's glare.

The grass felt so fresh and nice that he didn't resist to lay down on it, feeling Naruto's body also dropping next to him as they admired the night sky.

"Isn't this amazing?" Sasuke whispered.

Naruto turned his head to stare at him. "What?"

"I traveled miles, oceans away from my country…and here I am, finally being able to admire something that I can see anywhere. And yet, this is probably the first time I had properly gaze upon it…and see how vast it is, and how our lives feel so…significantly small. We're just a speck in this whole universe."

Naruto felt his heart clenching, but ignored as he said. "Our lives might be insignificant in this universe, but here we are, living and having all those questions about meaning of life for over thousands of years. Our own lives will never be insignificant to us."

"True. I do want to live life to the fullest. Or else I wouldn't be here, going along with every crazy idea you'd cook up out of nowhere." Sasuke smirked.

"You loved it, just admit it."

Sasuke snorted, focusing his eyes towards the sky, many stars bright in the darkness of that night. "Then when you see this sky, how we're insignificant…sometimes it feels like all the torment we're suffering while we're living are all so meaningless right."

Naruto sat up, staring down towards Sasuke. "You…sound you were pretty unhappy before coming here."

Sasuke huffed, acquiescing to confess some facets of himself. "Unhappy is too much of a strong word. Dissatisfied is more like it."

Naruto hummed, interlacing his fingers and letting his hands resting on his lap.

"All these kinds of questions we talked about throughout the day, about life and spending my time…it was haunting me almost every day. At first when I was going along with everyone, finishing college, finding a successful job, buying a house…it felt like it's the natural course for me. But years passed by, and it was like I really didn't experience it at all…and in one blink, another month was over."

"Well...Am I doing this right, is this really the way to go…those are all questions that passed through everyone's head, so you don't have to torture yourself so much over this." Naruto replied.

"Actually, I'm not unhappy with my life, like I've said." Sasuke rebutted. "I admit, I'm one of the small portion of population who have a privileged status, I can think about those sorts of things while many are scrapping for survival. But then I remember that I only have one chance of this life. One life and no turning back. If I'm only having this one life, I want to remember every second of it, instead of feeling that it's slipping away."

"And that's how you wound up coming here?"

"Hn." Sasuke crossed his arms. "I couldn't bare this any longer, doing the same thing over and over again, until I was dead. And that's how this fact pushed me to buy the first ticket available to Brazil."

This affirmation took Naruto by surprise as he inquired. "If you felt that your life headed this way, what pushed you to change it so suddenly?"

Sasuke shrugged. "I'm turning 30 in five days."

"WHa─WHAT─wait, really??" Naruto jumped, Sasuke also flinched the sudden movement. "Congrats man! No wait, in five days…wait, why are you─what─how─you don't regret this?"

Sasuke mulled for a while. "Even though you forced me to jump in some deadly waterfall─" He smirked.

"You loved it ok! You loved it─and stop exaggerating, it wasn't deadly─" Naruto protested.

Sasuke snorted. "I'm glad that I'm here. Doing things that I normally wouldn't do, experience things that I never had the luxury to do before…this is incredible."

Naruto stared in wonder, eyes fixed on Sasuke's soft features in that dark night. He placed his flashlight closer between them, body moving without thinking until his lips reached to touch Sasuke's.

He had few seconds relishing that soft contact, before realizing that the other young man wasn't returning the kiss. Naruto backed away. "Shit sorry, I shouldn't have done that, you can punch me if you want─"

Sasuke silenced him by dragging him close by the back of his neck, nibbling his lower lip.

Naruto made a strangled moan, hands reaching to stroke Sasuke's pale cheek as he moved closer, face angling to deepen the kiss. He vaguely felt long fingers combing his blond hair as his mouth was caressed so softly, exploring every part of their silken lips. Lost in those pleasurable sensations, Naruto let his hands to hold securely Sasuke's waist as Sasuke pulled him even closer, passion increasing within each kiss.

They heard some voices coming closer, signalizing that the group were returning from their expedition. They detached their mouths with a little bit of regret, Naruto greeted the kids back with his face flushed and lips still tingling. He risked a glance backwards, with Sasuke's hair mussed out looking quite…adorable. Naruto almost wanted to kiss him right here right there, consequences be damned.

They stayed few more minutes talking with the family, preparing their departure as the children were getting sleepy. Sasuke and Naruto bid them all farewell with more tight hugs and kisses on the cheek, the family even gave them some leftovers for the next day.

Once Naruto was driving all the way back to hostel with a wordless Sasuke by his side, reality finally sank in. He shouldn't have done that, not when Sasuke was drunk so he probably wasn't thinking straight. And now that the alcohol was slowly leaving his system, maybe the brunet was having second thoughts?

However, after this brief panic attack, the air between them didn't feel awkward or misplaced. Sasuke was even humming quietly, of all people, helping in guiding with GPS. He did appear to have sobered up, though didn't question their last…activity, Naruto didn't want to pressure him too.

They were back to hostel in no time, Sasuke breathing a sigh of relief as he muttered that he wanted to take a bath first. Fidgeting, Naruto listened to the sound of shower running as he grabbed his clothes. Once the bathroom door was opened with Naruto sitting on the bed, the blond man stood up rigid when Sasuke called his name. It was his turn to bathe, he attempted not to overthink too much, not wanting to pressure for answers.

He exited the bathroom, Sasuke was already on the bed with his back facing him. An unpleasant squirmed on his belly, Naruto concluded that this was probably how they were going to end the night, as he settled to lay down on his side.

Sasuke turned around, onyx eyes boring to his own.

Uncertainty and blurred desire lingered between them until Naruto chewed his lower lip, breaking their eye contact. "Have a good night?" He muttered.

With a startle, blue eyes widened when Sasuke's fingertips reached his face, reconnecting their gazes. The inscrutable array of emotion reached his dark eyes giving him a certain vulnerability, silently beckoning Naruto to kiss him again.

He covered his mouth with Sasuke's, both leaning closer till their noses bumped lightly. With his hands cradling Sasuke's head, he continued to seek this nameless amorphous feelings, letting these surge and involve him completely with each pleasured hum, caress and soft bite. Sasuke released him with a wet smack, his fingers brushing the tanned temple. Naruto whispered. "I thought you weren't interested."

"I thought you weren't gay." Sasuke answered, shifting to fit their bodies together.

Naruto raised an amused smile. "I'm not. I'm bi." He chuckled from Sasuke's dawning expression. "Should we stop?"

Black eyes narrowed in annoyance, hands resting on Naruto's collarbone.

Naruto approached till their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling with their increasing heartbeats. "Or do you want to continue?"

Sasuke captured his lips once again, and this was all he needed to melt under this kiss. A rush of excitement ran through his veins when Naruto called his name with a choked gasp, opening his mouth and letting their tongues move slickly. Sturdy hands clasped on each side of his body, Sasuke moaned as they continued exploring their mouths, molten desire escalating within each kiss.  

With Naruto pushing forward till every inch of his body covered his own, Sasuke groaned when Naruto grinded their lower halves, his arousal awakening. The friction of their thin cotton pants were maddening, his cock was hardening and filling up as Naruto continued to thrust, lips hungrily devouring his mouth. His legs widened as their hips were undulating together, their yearning bringing an urgency that couldn't allow them one second to breathe or think. Sasuke slithered his hand in Naruto's white t-shirt, letting his palm feel each expanse of that warm skin and lithe torso. His thumb found a hardened nipple so he lightly twisted under the labored breaths of his lover. Liquid lust ran ablaze when Naruto detached their mouths with a sensual moan, one deep thrust drawing their hot cocks together also made him groan loudly.  

All those warm caresses, touches and kisses were driving him crazy, throwing any remaining hesitation to the wind. Sasuke's hands glided till he felt Naruto's buttocks, sinking his fingers in those soft mounds of flesh as Naruto straddled him. Their pleasured gasps and hisses were increasing in cadence to their thrusts, carnal frenzy rousing their bodies as they hurried to their peak.

Sasuke barely registered as his hands were dragging Naruto's pants down and freeing the glistening cock, pre-cum flowing on the slit. Licking his lips, he also released his own erection, moaning huskily when Naruto's hands brought their hardened flesh together, pumping.

"Sasuke…" Naruto keened, fingers moving in a blurred speed. Sasuke swallowed, licking Naruto's lower lip, their mouths kissing wetly and sloppy. Naruto came with a ragged shout, cum spurting all over their bodies and leaking on Sasuke's stomach. With one last grunt, Sasuke also orgasmed, bursts of semen reaching Naruto's cheek, blending with their sweat and scorching bodies.

They were still recovering from their high when Sasuke nibbled Naruto's lower lip, his mouth moving tenderly, coaxing him to respond. For the moment, all the noises heard in that quiet night were lips smacking and sliding, meeting over and over again. This time they kissed with their eyelids half-mast, as Naruto gazed upon Sasuke's soulful expression, his heart throbbing. Sasuke released him at last, looking so debauched and delicious that Naruto could feel his erection stirring again. However, dark eyes closed with a pleased sigh, Sasuke relaxed his body completely, uncaring to all the evidence of their tryst still covering his belly.

Naruto blinked few times before lifting a fond smile, also joining his slumber.

--.--

AN: That's it for now guys. Three chapters in a row. Reviews pleaaaseeeee.

--.--

Chapter 04

[kyuu-rereads-umineko]

Ep6, Chapter 2 (Part 1)

I’ve got (some) momentum here, let’s not waste it!

Lambda, Bern, Erika, and Dlanor are hanging around in Beato’s smoking room, waiting for Battler to present his gameboard to them. Bern talks about crushing it, because of course she does.

“I kept making strange faces all the time last game thanks to you... Thought I might start getting wrinkles.” lmao

“Th-there’s no need to worry. The beauty of my master’s face is without peer, no matter how wrinkly it may get.” and bern looks pissed, lmfao

Dlanor expresses remorse over Beato’s death, Lambda basically says “that’s the way it goes,” and Bern looks smug as she comments that no one remembers who invented chess. that sums up their personalities pretty well tbh

“If Battler’s kept us waiting this long, he must be pretty confident in his plan.” See, this, coupled with Battler’s knowledge of the truth, is part of why I feel like he knows what he’s doing in this episode. Battler may be rash and impulsive, and he may be emotional and prone to losing his cool, but he’s not stupid. Hell, if the end of Ep5 is anything to go by, once his anger’s dissipated and he starts looking at Beato’s game with a critical lens (i.e. Knox’s decalogue), he’s able to figure things out pretty quickly. He might not have expected Erika to be crazy enough to fucking kill people to corner him (though I will say that yes, he should’ve expected it, because that girl’s got problems), but I don’t think he’s incapable of solving the logic error on his own. It’s really quite trivial when it comes down to it, especially compared to the narrative viewpoint fuckery going on in Ep5 itself.

Anyways. Gold butterflies, human shape, and... SURPRISE! Beato’s here!

(only not quite)

Bern muses that this Beato must be Battler’s piece, while Dlanor says that piece or not, she’s still Beato. dlanor why did you have to get teamed up with someone as awful as erika :(

“Father will be here very soon. I ask that you wait for just a short while longer...” urk

Lambda laughs, thinking it must be a scheme like the one she pulled back in Ep3, and Erika immediately goes for her by calling Battler “incompetent”. i mean it was declared in red like four episodes ago, so

“I’m sure Father understands it quite deeply. He really is good at that sort of thing.” Erika is... less than happy with her response, and states that Beato is “just one of Battler’s delusions, so I’ll erase every part of you and knock you down into the abyss of oblivion.” good sportsmanship

“I too cannot allow you such an easy victory. ...I, uh, look forward to having a good, clean fight.” lmfaoooo

At that, everyone clues in that this Beato isn’t just Battler’s piece or something like that. Lambda asks, “Just who... are you?”

funny how beato’s support in the first half of the series is asking the same question beato wanted battler to answer huh

Poor chick Beato, though. “Am I somehow different... from the Beatrice everyone was expecting? [...] I... I was only born recently, so I have no memories at all... H-however, I will study hard... in order to become the Beatrice you all expect...”

And in comes Father Battler, telling her off for leaving her room like a strict parent would. this is certainly awkward in hindsight

Chick Beato says that she only wanted to help, calling him “Father” again. Kinda like in Eps1-4, while I can deeply empathize with Battler here (the word “Father” would have some really disturbing connotations to Yasu herself), I still feel sorry for Beato. She can’t understand what it is she’s doing wrong, but he pushes her away anyways...

...And, understandably, tells her off for calling him Father. She lets out a sad “yes” and leaves.

“...This is a pretty weird plan.” lmao thanks bern

“Let’s start the 6th game. ...Erika, and you too, Bernkastel. This will be my tale, proof that I’ve reached the truth about Beatrice. Lambdadelta, please oversee this game, as a former Game Master.”

Battler announces the title of the episode - Dawn of the Golden Witch. Given that Episode 3 was originally called Land, it can’t have been intentional on Ryukishi’s part the whole time, but I do wonder if the B A T T L E R ‘ D thing was completely unintentional or not...

Even the narrative points out that Battler’s a lot more subdued than usual, and we jump back to Ange and Featherine.

“Ange. Beato seems very different from the way she was before.” YOU DON’T SAY

Ange comments that she’s surprised Beato’s even alive, given that she died at the end of Ep5 before Battler reached the truth. Yeah...

“There are two kinds of death in this world. One of them is when a piece is taken from the gameboard. This is only a death within the bounds of the game, and these lives can revive over and over again each time you start a new game.”

After a bit of talk about pieces and vessels (using Sakutarou as an example), Ange asks what the second kind of death is. “That’s the death of beings outside the gameboard. To continue with the Sakutarou example, this would be like Maria’s death. [...] It doesn’t have to be her death. Loss of interest or concern would have the same effect... When Maria grows up from playing with stuffed animals, then ‘Maria the game player’ will die.”

“I see... In that case, ‘Beato the player’ completely gave up on winning during the last game... so she died and vanished. If so, and if Beato thinks she has a chance of defeating Onii-chan again, she’ll come back to life, right...?”

Featherine basically says that the concept of time is the problem, and Ange catches on quickly, using skipping school as a metaphor. “Skipping school for one day might not be a problem, but if you skip for three days in a row, it’d be really hard to convince yourself to go back.” Featherine asks how it’d be if that period of time stretched on for a thousand years, as it does in the world of witches.

“You would never again... be able to regain the self that you once were. It would never revive.”

“Beato lost any chance or hope of winning... Even though she knew this, she pretended not to, and kept on fighting for many, many games. So, Beato will not return. Her hopes were crushed. She’s spent all of the willpower that she might have used to regain the will to fight. Therefore... that Beatrice will never revive again.” Ange realizes that the Beato who was hanging around with empty eyes throughout Ep5 was her “corpse”, but eventually even that was erased.

The Yasu parallel here is pretty obvious, but at the same time, the differences are kinda interesting - namely, Yasu’s “thousand years.” Not the fact that they were stretched over six years, but the fact that there are numerous moments that could be argued to have “killed” her - Battler not coming back after the first year, Battler forgetting to write her a letter, her developing feelings for George and moving on, starting to realize there was something wrong with her body, solving the epitaph and having her entire sense of self ripped away from her, and of course hearing about Battler’s return in 1986.

I suppose you could argue that Beato getting her hopes crushed so many times over - particularly when Battler got stuck at the end of Ep3 and when he responded cluelessly to her big question in Ep4 - are the Meta-World’s “equivalent” moments, and that’s probably what Ryukishi was aiming at, but... Hmm. 

At any rate, Ange realizes that that’s why Lambda shackled Beato to the game towards the end of Ep4 - if Beato had died at that point, the gameboard itself would’ve disappeared. Once Beato’s will to fight was gone completely (Ep5), Lambda usurped her position as Game Master, and “Beato’s existence” stopped being a necessary condition for the gameboard’s existence.

“So... when Onii-chan managed to reach the truth... it was one game too late for him to tell Beato about it.” And in many ways, that sentence right there is the tragedy of not just the Meta-World, but Rokkenjima itself. Not one person even got close to figuring out the truth of Yasu’s heart before it was too late, and as a result, almost everyone died.

“The 5th game was a form of charity on Lambdadelta’s part... She merely showed Battler some mercy as the Witch of Certainty, acknowledging his strong desire to reach the truth no matter what...”

Ange disagrees pretty strongly, but gets back to the point. “...This weird Beato isn’t the player Beato. She’s just a piece Beato.” Featherine points out that if that’s the case, she should be the same trollish, cackling Beatrice we all know and love. Ange gets her point immediately - Battler doesn’t want an imitation of Beato that just does whatever he expects her to, so this Beato isn’t just a piece.

“Battler... might be trying to revive Beato in the truest sense. It is the never-dying dream held by children of man.”

Ange immediately takes issue with that, since Featherine herself denied the possibility in red, and she basically replies that there’s a difference between “Beato’s revival” and “Beato’s rebirth”. “Have you forgotten? I believe that Bernkastel herself revealed Beato’s true form at the end of the 1st game...”

“Now I remember... She said something about how Beato exists as the incarnation of the rules.” “Information began to be accumulated based around that rule, and in the end, it took the form of the witch known as Beatrice. If that pattern is followed once more, the same Beatrice will be born again, and perhaps one could call that a resurrection...”

“And that means... this pure and lovable kid will eventually grow up into that screwed up, crazy witch...”

Featherine muses that having Ange read to her is “far from boring,” and Ange quips that she seems to know all the answers already, and they trade a few more barbs. trolls trolling trolls trolling trolls etc. etc.

“Anyway. From what we learned in the 4th game... there’s no doubt that there’s some kind of antagonism between Beato and Onii-chan in the past. Learning about this Beato might give us a key towards finding the truth.” Featherine expresses interest in reading about chick!Beato’s story, and we jump to Battler in... uh, the meta version of Kinzo’s study, I guess? i dont even know okay. At any rate, more Battler/Kinzo parallels.

He finishes up creating the 6th game, and says to Genji (who’s there for whatever reason, probably because parallels), “I always thought being a Game Master meant you could make the tale however you want... but this is seriously harder than I thought it’d be.”

“You must write up multiple tales and make the inner and outer sides of the story match.” I really like this line. It’s a pretty good way to describe how the two sides of the story mesh together to create the “third” side - the fantasy tale and the mystery tale together make up the heart of the story. You can’t have one without the other, and you can’t reach the truth without both.

We get a bit of exposition on logic errors (i.e. don’t make them battler you fucking moron), and then Genji says that chick Beato - who Battler confirms is a personification of the rules - has awoken.

The way Battler lights up and starts smiling immediately once he hears that Beato’s awake... it’s heartwarming, but really sad at the same time, knowing how mistaken he is about what “Beato is awake” means...

“There was no trace in his expression of the hatred he had once felt towards Beato for murdering his family...” lmao

Ange and Featherine interrupt, with Ange saying, “In a way, that was the final riddle of the 5th game,” which, indeed, it is. “When Battler reached the truth, there was a great change in his impression of Beato.”

Ange wonders if that means that there really was something between the two of them six years ago, then recalls that that was denied in red back in Ep4. “We can read this as saying that Beato did not exist six years ago, or it could simply mean that she had no connection to Battler at that time. However, either way, Battler did not visit Rokkenjima at all for the next six years...”

Ooh. I’d forgotten that Featherine proposes that “Battler’s sin” was what led to Beato’s “creation.” “Almost as though... Beatrice was Battler’s piece.”

“Battler sinned six years ago. Because of that sin, people died. The killer was Beatrice... If you consider the possibility that everything is connected to Battler’s sin six years ago, then the one who created Beatrice was Battler himself.”

Ange expresses confusion, seeing as the culprit’s response to Battler’s “sin” (whatever it was) was a serial murder. Featherine replies, “The weight of a sin depends on the person measuring it,” but also goes on to say that even she thinks that’s “a bit excessive” as far as responses go. you don’t say

In hindsight, I don’t think it’s inaccurate to say that Battler’s sin was “the first straw,” if you will. Battler and his dumb pony promise and return six years later influenced the form of the tragedy, but not whether or not it would happen. I’m tired, I hope this is making sense.

Anyways, Ange wonders if Battler’s sin is hidden in the story up to this point. Featherine says she has a theory about it, then laughs and refuses to tell her. these two get along well don’t they

(Though yes, Ange, Battler’s sin is explicitly mentioned, so go looking for it!)

“Just what kind of connection do Onii-chan and Beatrice have with each other? Understanding that... will probably give me a massive clue towards finding the truth of this world.”