#nor does he really allow himself to have them by pushing this agenda of 'oh im so busy' and locking himself up on his studies

[pressurebrew]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅 ?

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 .  ‎ ‎ ‎ whether it’s your sharp tongue, your tendency to blow hot or cold, or the familiarity of you, you’re the coffee. don’t immediately assume that your undercurrent means you’re bitter, a common misconception, because people who like coffee always make it work for them. coffee doesn’t always have to be dark, it can be a warmth that’s comforting and the first start to a day. you aren’t nearly as tough as you make out to be, but we’ll keep your secret. you’re a constant, won’t ever go out of style.   not everyone’s taste,   but what is these days? an unknown quote reads “I like drinking coffee alone and reading alone... I realize that even though I like being alone, I don’t fancy being lonely” remember you don’t always need to face things yourself,     there’s a reason people suggest “coffee?” when they want to spend time together.

tagged: @nulltune​​!!! THANK U FOR TAGGING ME IN LYNNYPOO! 💖💖 Tagging: y  o  u .

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Let’s talk: Grievances and Cuteness - BTS on You Quiz on the Block

by Admin 1

Today BTS were guests on You Quiz on the Block, a very popular Korean variety show on tvN, and it was a wonderful mix of fun and hilarious, but also serious, vulnerable and honest. Seeing as we don’t have subtitles yet, merely the things our marvelous translator ARMYs managed to translate for us—the episode was 100 minutes long so there was a lot going on and being said—I don’t want to get into detail in this post and instead will wait with that until we have subs and I’ll be able to sit down and watch it properly again, focus on things that stick out to me and I would want to talk about. So that I can do their words justice.

Instead I want to use this post to air some of my grievances, directed at fellow ARMY, “ARMY” and shippers, as well as just gush a little about a few cute moments. The more serious things will be in a different post sometime soon. I hope that’s okay.

Grievances

What is the point of Bangtan going on a show like this, especially one that is broadcast on national TV and very popular with the general public? It’s to share not only their funny side but also their honest and genuine one, share stories that, though some we’ve heard before as ARMY, they’re things the general public doesn’t necessarily know. The point of them sharing vulnerable moments and memories with us is to simply be honest and transparent, something they’ve always highlighted as important to them.

What is the part we play in this, what is it that we should do? We are simply supposed to listen, understand the things they are telling us, put things into perspective so we know what they felt in certain moments and periods of their lives, understand that they’re human too with struggles, fears and sadness, and we should cherish the fact that they tell us any of it at all. They could just as well only show up whenever there’s a new album and comeback and then disappear again, share nothing personal at all and put on entirely fake personas. But they don’t. And we should be grateful for that and happy because of it.

Now, the reason why I even wanted to write this in the first place is this:

Many, and I mean many have decided that instead of doing what I’ve highlighted a moment ago, a far better course of action would be to twist their words, manipulate them, use them to victimize the members (and especially Seokjin), and try to overanalyze them in favor of their desired narratives and especially their ships, even if whatever was being said had absolutely nothing to do with any ship at all.

Before the episode even finished airing, solos/mantis were already up in arms “crying” about mistreatment and victimizing Seokjin because *insert demands they have no right to make at all* and when Seokjin, bless him, was on weverse, he actually replied to a post where he basically said that parts of what he said were too sad/depressing, so he simply asked the You Quiz staff to cut them out, which would explain why he seemed to have “less to say” during his interview section with Yoongi. Did that help? Of course not. Even though it showed not only that he did say more, that he likely said more vulnerable things, but also that he made the decision for himself that he did not want to share that yet, because he’s not ready for it or because he came to the conclusion that he simply doesn’t want to period, and that his wish for them to cut it out was met. Even though it wasn’t BH controlled content, but You Quiz.

More below the cut:

What does this tell us? The members have control over what is aired and what is not. If they feel something is too personal or would come across wrong, they can voice objection and chances are their words will be met and followed. They aren’t victims in need of saving, aren’t helpless boys with no idea what they’re doing. They are serious musicians, respected and treated well. This is a good thing and I’m glad he told us that, even if many don’t want to hear it and immediately claimed that “oh yeah BH told him to shut us up”. The mental gymnastics some are willing to do to make things fit their agenda truly baffles me sometimes.

On the other hand, I’ve seen shippers try to twist words or put others into the members mouths to push their agenda, and we’ve even had one or two asks being sent to us basically sadly wondering if maybe Tae isn’t who we thought he is for Jimin, and neither is Hobi, because of something Jimin said. Even though the thing Jimin said had quite literally nothing to do with either Tae or Hobi. In a way, I get where such vminnies are coming from, as vminnies we would love to just hear vmin talk about each other all day because it’s cute and we love their bond and stories, but it’s not like we didn’t get that. Because we did. Unprompted. Jimin mentioned Tae during their trio interview and told a story, even if we’ve heard it before to a certain degree. And yet it still wasn’t enough? Like come on, please don’t do this. Don’t reduce everything the members do and say to just ship related and non-ship related (thus uninteresting) statements and actions, as though the latter is worth less.

Here is the moment in question:

The way I see it, the only thing we should take away from this is that despite these very human fears and struggles, wonderings if people only care about Jimin because he is BTS Jimin and not Park Jimin, he still had and has good people in his life that’ll remind him that he is appreciated and loved for who he is, and not just for his celebrity status. Friends even outside of Bangtan. Why do we have to take something so incredibly personal, this moment of vulnerability from Jimin, and try to overanalyze it? To twist it to fit a ship? Regardless which one. Or to twist it to fit some kind of narrative, whatever one it may be? Please don’t do that.

Sure, Admin 2 noticed his use of ‘chingu’ when talking about this friend that told him that, and sure it reminded me of what Jimin said to Tae in the FESTA 2020 Rolling Paper, but neither Admin 2 nor I will go and claim that oh he must’ve been talking about Tae but didn’t want to use his name to avoid XYZ because we are not in his head and, at the end of the day, it’s irrelevant who exactly said that to him. That wasn’t the point of that story. Like at all. So why are some people disregarding the point in favor of speculations? Why are some completely ignoring his words, downplaying them as just potential ship material instead of appreciating the fact that he told us that at all?

It’s unfair toward Jimin, and the other members as well when they tell similar stories. Their lives aren’t fictional stories that revolve around romance. They are real people with real lives and more friends than just their fellow members and that’s a good thing since it surely gives them the opportunity to feel less isolated, cut off from the world by nature of their occupation and status. Besides, in the past Tae said something similar as well, how he used to be a social butterfly and make friends easily wherever they went but eventually he understood that people didn’t really care about Kim Taehyung and instead just wanted to know BTS V and be able to use that to brag, so he stopped being so outgoing. And we’ve also seen Jimin talk about cutting out friends in the past if they said something negative about Bangtan, then, a few years later, saying that he’s grown more as a person and learned to not allow these things to affect him as much, to surround himself with genuine people.

So, in light of what he said in that segment, we should be happy for him. And that’s it.

We also saw people use what Tae said about his dad to push the he must be 100% heterosexual because he said he wants to be a dad narrative which, where do I even start. Perhaps with the fact that this statement relies on a mistranslation? Because he didn’t say he wants to be a dad but that he wants to be a person like his dad, that’s his dream. Perhaps with the blatant homophobia this statement is laced in? The disregard for how queer people can also want to have kids, be parents, just like anyone else? Perhaps with how these things oddly seem to just be done to Tae and Namjoon, and especially Tae to use it for ship purposes?

Instead of jumping to conclusions, overanalyzing stories we are not supposed to analyze but instead to simply appreciate, please wait until we’ll have the full episode with subtitles (even though from the past we know that some of it may be simplified so reading what our translators wrote is also a good thing to get the whole picture) and even then, just enjoy their silliness and listen to their words of honesty. Listen to the fact that their fame was and continues to be a heavy weight on their shoulders, how instead of becoming cocky assholes they remained humble and genuine because that’s the kind of people they are and want to be, listen to what they want you to hear and now what you want to hear.

Also, to shippers—this isn’t the place to look for ship content of any kind, for some romantic confessions or whatever, because this was about Bangtan as seven members and their stories of the last ten and a half years since Namjoon joined BH and the idea for BTS was started.

Cute and silly things

Now that that's done, let’s talk about some fun and cute things to lighten the mood, shall we?

One of my favorite moments was when the MIC DROP ARMY came in as a surprise for the members, her confidence was off the charts and the guys looked so genuinely happy. After all it’s been so many months since they’ve last seen ARMY! And I’m so glad she was such a wonderful representative for us all, how she didn’t react with fear or shyness, didn’t scream or cry, but instead did her thing like a Queen. And the way the members reacted when she sent them a finger heart during one of the dances? Absolutely adorable! 

Also, she truly must’ve saved some kind of nation, or maybe two, in her past life since she also was gifted a chicken leg pillow by Tae. He’s just so kind and lovely.

Then we had the members play a game of trying to guess a song merely by the first second (I think) and then having to sing it, though who sang which part didn’t follow the actual order in the song but was chosen by someone off screen which meant that, for example, Tae was doing one of the rap line verses as well as singing Jimin’s part in another, Hobi showed off his vocal skills, and of course, the highlight, Namjoon singing a part from Spring Day. Even though we know Namjoon’s skills when it comes to singing are not the greatest, which I mean in a very loving way, no tea no shade, and yet he still went for it. It was hilarious and cute and showed that he is willing to be silly even if others might laugh at his expense.

Sometime after the episode aired Namjoon actually came onto Weverse to talk about the episode and, among other things, apologized for not singing Seokjin’s guide all that well. One thing I’d like to point out is how, originally, he wrote Jinhyung but then changed it to Seokjinie hyung, which is just a small and precious little detail:

Another cute moment was during ‘dance mafia’ when Tae turned to Jimin to ask him if they did well and Jimin replied that yes, he did well (both using this adorably soft tone with each other), they also hugged for a moment while smiling brightly. See, I said not to look for ship moments, but this is just cute regardless if you ship vmin or not. Admin 2 though would like to comment on how they could’ve given us that hug from a camera that’s a little further away so we could have a more proper look, or a longer shot of it, please?

Honestly that game was hilarious and the members who were mafia did a wonderful job tricking the others, particularly JK was fantastic at it since the second time around no one suspected him at all. Also, the fluffy ear muffs with cat (?) ears on them were adorable. At the end of the segment they were all supposed to strike a pose but Tae didn’t manage to put his ear muffs back on, so they fell to the ground and so Jimin lightly hit/caressed his chest and turned toward the MCs to ask if they could try again so that Tae could look good in it as well.

Actually, speaking of adorable in regard to Jimin, when they were introduced at the beginning of the show as RM-jagi-nim, jagi-nim being the name used for all the guests on the show and also the name on the necklace (given to guests who are fans of the show by the producers) Jimin showed off on weverse in his selcas, Jimin corrected the MC that it’s not Jimin-jagi-nim but Mini-jagi-nim which just…my heart. Too cute.

Lastly, I want to mention how all of them were asked what the first sentence would be if their lives were a book and their answers were just so very…them.

Namjoon: Predictions in life often turn out to be wrong

Tae: I’m a chameleon

Hobi: Dear, people who’ve helped to lead me here

Yoongi: You lived life to the fullest/hard/well

Seokjin: Dope, worldwide class!

Jimin: What kind of life do you want to live?

Jungkook: Hello?

Overall it was an amazing episode that was so fun to watch even without really being able to understand any of what was being said. Still the members genuine personalities shone through brightly and I’m glad they had fun and felt comfortable, especially since it’s been a while since they were last on Korean variety shows and some of their past experiences were…not great. I can’t wait to watch it again once we have subs and to write a more proper post about it then. I hope you didn’t mind this more…serious and “angry” post and understand where I’m coming from with my complaints, but also that you enjoyed the cute moments I highlighted.

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Bees and Sunbeams

Santiago ‘Pope” Garcia x Estranged Wife!reader

So this might be a two parter. Not sure just yet. But this is a bit angsty. Alludes to something traumatic but I don’t specify what it is. Title is from a Henry David Thoreau quote. Santi being an idiot. Frankie being adorable with his baby.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was a complicated man. He spent 3 years in Colombia chasing down a drug cartel. Some would say that that was honorable. If they knew the truth however…

He went to Colombia for another reason. He was running from his marriage. He loved his wife, he truly did, but she was never quite the same after…

Even now, he couldn’t even think of the word. Didn’t want to admit that he essentially abandoned her when she needed him most.

After everything that happened with his team, he couldn’t even gather the courage to go home to her. He’s been crashing on Frankie’s couch. Santi was sure, absolutely sure, that all that was waiting for him at home was divorce papers.

He thought over thing that he said to her, when he last saw her, wincing at how harsh he was.

*Flashback*

It was the day before he left for Colombia. He was packing his bag up, and she stood leaning in the doorway watching him.

“I just… I don’t understand why you are going alone? I could meet up with you in a couple of weeks? We could… find a little home there? It’s not a problem for me to work remotely,” She bargained with him, biting her lip.

“I’ve told you no. You are staying here. I don’t need your help, I just need to be away for a while,” He responded, frustration lacing his tone.

“’You need to be away.’ Feels like you’ve been away for some time already honey. I mean… I’m not the one who has been sleeping on the couch or cringing at my touch. I’m not the one who barely talks anymore nor am I the one whose been spending most of my free time at the bar,” She threw out at him, her voice breaking.

“What do you want from me? Huh? What? What do you want me to say?” Santi asked throwing the shirt in his hand down onto his bag, his hands resting on his hips.

“Are you cheating on me? Is that… is that why you want to go to Colombia on your own? To go back to your old routine of finding beautiful informants?” She questioned looking away from him.

“Yes. I’m going to Colombia to be with beautiful women, who don’t nag at me or drive me crazy,” He responded sarcastically.

She didn’t quite pick up on the sarcasm, flinching away from him. She simply nodded her head and walked away.

He wanted to call her back and tell her he didn’t mean it. But he was too blinded by rage and pain to fully think at that point. He just gathered his bags, and left, wanting to stay the night at a hotel, rather than risk another argument.

*End*

He had been at Frankie’s for about a week at this point, and he knew Frankie wanted him to man up and go home. He was just so afraid of what he was going to find if he went back.

Frankie sighed as he woke up to go tend to his daughter who was loudly informing him, that she was awake, and needed to be changed.

“Hello my princesa. Good morning mi vida. I know. I’m working on it,” Frankie cooed to her as he picked her up, to set her on the changing table.

He quickly got her a fresh diaper, and as he stared at her, he said, “Tio Santi is a bit of an idiot. Should we pry?” She giggled in response “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He picked up his phone and hit the facetime button next to Y/N. The phone rang a few times, before it picked up and her face appeared.

“Hi my sweet girl. Good morning. What’s up Frankie?” She asked after greeting his daughter.

“Can you come over real quick, me and Sophia want to go to store sans baby? Not that I don’t love her, but it’s easier than having to drag the stroller out,” Frankie requested, thinking quickly.

“Sure. I’ll be over in 20 mins,” She answered with a smile.

“Great. See ya in a bit,” Frankie hung up.

“Frankie. What are you doing?” Came Sophia’s making him jump slightly.

“Nothing. Let’s get dressed yeah?” Frankie said changing the subject making his way to their bedroom to dress.

A few minutes later, they were all dressed, and he was bouncing Isobel up and down, smiling at the happy giggles that came from her.

A knock on the door alerted him that his company had arrived and that a warpath had been created.

Sophia opened the door, and led her in. As soon as she stepped into the living room she stopped in her tracks as she looked at Santi.

Her face… was blank. She simply looked at Frankie with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, look at the time, Sophia. We should go to the store or something. Ya know. You two should stay here and talk things out, and I will deal with the pain in the ass that’s the stroller, shall we my girls?” Frankie suggested loudly, grabbing Sophia and walking out with the both of them.

Santi stared at his wife with wide eyes. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see her. His eyes gave her a once over and admired her curves. He didn’t think it was possible for her to look more beautiful.

“Hey Bee,” He said quietly, referring to her nickname.

Her nose twitched in response and she crossed her arms, looking down.

“That’s… that’s a nice dress. Is it new?” He awkwardly began, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah. It is. Bought it couple of months ago, along with some other stuff that were meant for my husband’s eyes only, but. It appears that he must have died out in the middle of a jungle, since I haven’t heard from in 3 years. Shame. He was so pretty,” She scoffed, glaring at him.

He winced, “Okay. I deserved that.”

They both shifted awkwardly.

She made her way into the kitchen, grabbing a beer, and popping the lid off.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” Santi asked concerned as he followed her.

“Shouldn’t you be out with one of your informants?” She threw back taking a large gulp.

“Baby. Can you please… just hear me out? Just… let me talk for 5 minutes. Then you can leave, or hit me or whatever,” Santi pleaded placing his hands on the island, staring at her softly.

“Go,” She said, gesturing for him to hurry up.

“I didn’t… I didn’t cheat on you. Either before I left or after. Yes, I had female informants, but I never… I never did anything with them, despite popular belief,” He started with a sigh.

“After… after everything happened… you were so. Different. So, hurt and in pain. Anytime I tried to help you, you pushed me away. So, I stayed away. When I got the offer to go to Colombia… I figured it would only be a couple of months. Enough time for the both of us to heal. Then we had that stupid argument where, I ruined everything,” He continued struggling to get the words out.

“I just… I figured you were better off without me… so I stayed. I ran from you. And I regret it so much honey,” Santi finished softly, not making eye contact. “Plus… I didn’t want you to see the monster I had become while I was over there.”

The silence was deafening after that. It was several minutes before she finally responded.

“I could never see you as a monster. I love you. Yeah, it took me some time to heal, but when I finally was getting better, all I wanted was my husband and all you seemed to want was a get out of jail free card,” She replied with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry. That was never my intention,” He apologized his hand hesitantly reaching out to touch the one that she was leaning on.

She allowed it and wanted to cry as he held it softly.

“How long have you been home?” She quietly asked.

“About a week. I was… I was afraid that if I came home, that I would be served with divorce papers. Afraid that I would return home to an empty house,” He admitted with a sigh.

“I’ll admit… I thought about it. Even had them drawn up after a year. Hell, I even tried to move on. Thought about going on a couple of dates, but…. Wound up not going through with them,” She confessed, fiddling with the beer bottle now.

“That’s… that’s fair. What… what made you not go through with them?” He asked curious.

She looked up at him, her eyes catching his, “They weren’t you, baby.”

He looked up at the ceiling, biting his lip, trying to control himself.

“Did you... uh... did you just quote Indiana Jones at me?” He questioned trying to not laugh.

“A little. Was it that bad?” She inquired with an awkward smile.

He shook his head, as he slowly came around to her side of the island. She followed him with her eyes, turning around as he came up to her. His hand reached up to brush an errant hair out of the way.

“Do you still want that divorce?” He questioned, clearing his throat.

“No. I just want my husband home, safe and in my arms,” She answered with a small smile.

“I think I can do that. I know I have… I know I have a great deal to make up to you. A full 3 years’ worth. If you need space at any time or want to set up rules or whatever, then let me know. I’ll do whatever I need to, to earn your trust again,” Santi promised her as he rested his forehead against hers.

She whispered an okay as she reached out to place her hands on his chest. He braced himself, preparing for her to push him away. He was pleasantly surprised when she instead wrapped them around his back, pulling him into her embrace.

He took a heavy sigh of relief as he returned her hug, pressing kisses to her head.

“First on the agenda, can we go take a nap? I had an all-nighter and I’m really tired,” She mumbled into his chest, as a yawn slipped out.

He nodded his head and led her over to the couch. He laid down on the couch first, and she gestured for him to shift on his side. He does so, and she lays in front of him. His arms curl around her, spooning her to him. Her hands held the one resting on top of her close to her chest.

They soon fell asleep at they got comfortable.

An hour later, the Morales trio walked up to their home hesitantly.

“Don’t hear screaming, nor do I see cops, so unless she murdered him quietly, I don’t know what we are about to walk into,” Frankie warned as he opened the door.

As they stepped in, Frankie sighed happily as the sight of his best friend and his wife, asleep on the couch. Sophia swooned softly, and Isobel just saw her two other favorite people and yelled happily.

At her shout, they both jerked awake, blinking rapidly.

Bee quickly got up, stumbling slightly, and made her way over to them. “Hi! I know, I didn’t get a chance to hold you earlier. Lemme make it up to you.”

She gently took Isobel from Sophia, and Isobel instantly began babbling away to her. Bee nodded her head and would respond back to her.

“Let’s go get your Tio, yeah? Would you like that? I bet you would, you love your Tio,” She said in a silly voice.

Santiago shook his head but took her from Bee as Isobel made grabby hands to him. He began to speak to her in Spanish, telling her how she’s the best goddaughter in the world.

Sophia then asked if Bee would help her unload the groceries, as Frankie made his way over to Santi.

Once they were out of earshot, Frankie guessed, “So. You two made up finally?”

“Yeah. We’re uhh. Going to go slowly, or at whatever pace she sets. But good news is, I’ll be off your couch by end of day. I’ve….. I missed her. More than I care to admit, because its… embarrassing to be honest,” He explained as Isobel tried standing on his legs, holding onto nothing but his hands.

“Good. I’m glad. Does she… does she know about what happened with Tom and everything?” Frankie quietly asked.

“Not yet. I’ll explain that when we get home. That’s going to be fun explaining,” He replied as he made Isobel sit down, after she almost fell off his lap.

Isobel made a displeased noise at him and turned to pout at her daddy.

“Oh? Tio Santi didn’t let you fall like a dummy, so now you want my attention?” He playfully asked as he took her from allowing Santi to stand up.

Santiago then quickly packed up his things. He didn’t have much in the house, most of his stuff was in the truck. He felt like he was invading their space enough as it is without all of his stuff piled up in a corner.

As he finished grabbing everything, Sophia and Bee walked in with the last of the groceries and were setting them down in the kitchen.

As soon as they had put away the groceries, Santi brought his things out to the truck, setting them in the back seat.

“Got room for one more, handsome?” Came Bee’s voice as she joined him by his truck.

He looked around and noticed her car wasn’t there, so she had walked over.

“Yeah. Think I do. I wish you wouldn’t walk everywhere though baby,” Santi voiced as he walked over to open the passenger door for her.

“I like the feel of the sun, and buzzing of the bees,” She replied as she made to step in.

She stopped, her foot on the frame, poised for her to hop in. She turned to him really quick and pressed a kiss to his lips. She ended it just as quickly as she began it, jumping into the truck. He looked at her stunned, a smile growing on his face. He shut the door and made his way to the driver’s side.

She glanced at the middle seat as he started up the truck, biting her lip. She then slid over to it, not looking at him as he glanced at her. She simply buckled herself in, and then as he put the truck in motion, she reached over and laced her hand with the one resting on his lap.

He lifted their joined hands and press a small kiss to the back of hers. He stopped to get them food at one of their favorite places, and as he pulled up to the house, he turned the truck off. He looked over at her, gazing at her lovingly.

She smiled at him, and he leaned down to capture her lips into a kiss. He gently cupped her cheek as they kissed. They pulled away after a moment, trying to catch their breaths.

“C’mon. Let’s get inside. You have some making up to do as I recall? And I’m hungry,” She flirted as she pulled away, snatching the food and rushing out.

He grabbed the drinks before catching up to her. They stepped inside and as she moved to set the food on the table he took in the site before him. The one place he thought he would never see again:

Home.

[ragingbookdragon]

Weep Not For Roads Untraveled PT. 1

A Connor Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,440 Warnings: Explicit Language Author’s Note: I have such an urge to replay AC3 but I know if I do, I’m going to bawl like a child. Enjoy! -Thorne

“I do not understand why we are sitting here. There are more important things for us to be doing.” For what seemed like the millionth time, Haytham sighed, setting the pot down on the table.

           “I am well aware of what we could be doing, Connor, but given the fact that you are interacting with upper-class society, you should be able to brew a decent cup of tea in case the occasion calls for it.” The assassin rolled his eyes as he watched his father pour two cups for them, handing the other cup to his son. Connor took the cup, bringing it to his nose to inhale the scent. “Upon pouring tea, one should have topics prepared to make small talk with.” Haytham watched his son’s face pinch as he retorted,

           “Like hunting Templars?” Irritation flickered across his father’s face, but it dispersed as a knock came from the window. Neither moved, simply looking at the other suspiciously until a muffled voice called,

           “Please let me come inside now! I look like a crazed woman hanging out here!” Connor’s brows furrowed and he stood, shifting to the window. Propping it open, he watched with surprise as a robed woman rolled inside, climbing to her feet. She turned, a smile crossing her lips as she greeted, “Ratonhnhaké:ton!” Connor’s face lit up at the sight of her, and he reached over, pulling her into a hug.

           “(Y/N)! You are here!” She pulled away and reached into her robe, pulling out a booklet.

           “Well, yeah? I told you I was coming to New York back at the Homestead.” She handed him the booklet, watching as he flipped through it. “Shook down a few Templar agents as I was coming in. I don’t know if that’ll be any help, but it looks like a few stockpiles they’ve got hidden in the areas.” Connor looked back at her, nodding as he thanked,

           “Thank you (Y/N). This will be a great help.” She offered him a smile, then looked around, her happiness quickly dissolving into annoyance as she remarked,

           “Oh great, you’re here.” Haytham flashed her a sardonic smile as he reclined in the chair.

           “Hello (Y/N). It’s been awhile.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering as she spat,

           “Not long enough.” Connor watched the interaction with confusion, asking,

           “You two know one another?” (Y/N) nor Haytham made a move to answer his question, then she quipped,

           “He tried to kill me a while ago.” The assassin’s head swiveled to his father, anger on the tip of his tongue when (Y/N) pressed her hand to his arm, adding, “In his defense, I tried to kill him first, so we’re even.”

           “How long ago was this?” She paused, tipping her head side to side as she muttered,

           “I dunno…maybe six or seven years? Time gets funny when you get busy cracking down on templars.” At that, Connor did speak, fury headed straight for his father.

           “You tried to kill a child? What is wrong with you?” (Y/N)’s heart felt heavy at her lover’s rage and she reached down, curling her fingers into his palm. He looked over at her and she spoke calmly.

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton, be at peace. What happened between he and I is far in the past.”

           “But-” She shook her head.

           “We have an understanding between us. Our fight won’t happen again.” Though he accepted her words, he shot Haytham a dirty look, the older man simply observed the two of them, then looked down at their conjoined hands, speculating,

           “I’ve seen (Y/N) a few times when we’ve been traveling. It always made me curious why your eyes seemed to follow her when she came into view. But now it’s fairly clear why.” Conner bristled, his voice harsh as he defended,

           “No. You do not get to make those assumptions about us. You do not have the right to do so.” Though he kept it hidden well, (Y/N) could see the hurt cross Haytham’s face, and he countered,

           “Even when she’s the daughter of a Templar?” Silence enveloped the three of them as Connor’s jaw went slack, glancing between them. He stared at (Y/N) who was glaring at Haytham with a darkened look. The Templar rose from his seat, passing by the two of them. “I will wait at the Green Dragon Tavern when you are finished here.” (Y/N)’s hand shot out and she grabbed his upper arm. He stopped and looked down at her with a self-satisfied smile as she hissed,

           “Enjoy your petty victory, you rat bastard.” Letting go of him, she watched him leave, and she shouted after him, “And no self-respecting Brit drinks earl-grey tea!” His offended scoff sounded behind the closed door, and though it gave her humor, the silence that followed made her frown and she glanced over at Connor who was still shocked, though he seemed to be gathering himself. (Y/N) gestured to the table. “C’mon. If we’re gonna talk about this, we need to be sitting.” He followed her, sitting across from her. She kept silent, almost afraid to speak her past when he reached over, resting a hand over hers. She looked over to see him wearing a serious expression, and he said,

           “I will not act like this is something that does not surprise me, but I trust that you had your reasons for hiding this.” (Y/N) sighed and dropped her gaze down to her free hand, running her eyes up the hidden blade she wore. After a moment, she admitted,

           “My father is a templar…but I’ve never met him.”

           “Why not?” She huffed a pitiful laugh.

           “Because either the bastard doesn’t know I’m here, or he does, and he just doesn’t care about me.” (Y/N) gazed up at him. “My father used to be an assassin, and in some twisted way, he ended up a templar.” She cleared her throat. “My parents met when he was still an assassin, so my mother only knew him as that. It’s obvious that she never told him about me though.” Connor’s face dropped and he murmured,

           “This causes you grief.” (Y/N) felt tears gather in her eyes and she huffed, reaching up with her free hand to wipe at them.

           “More than I’d like to admit it does.” Her lover kept silent for a second, then asked,

           “If he is a templar, why are you not one? Would you not feel closer to him if you followed the same pathway?” The words seemed to shock her as she stared at him, then she looked away, thinking on it. “I am not asking to hurt your feelings. Simply…” (Y/N) shook her head, squeezing his hand.

           “I know what you’re saying Ratonhnhaké:ton.” She looked at him. “Part of why I’m an assassin is so that if he does know I exist, it should irk him that I’m not a templar. The other part is because the templars are so easy to fall into domination and tyranny, and from what I’ve witnessed in the colonies, I will not allow myself to follow that path.” Pausing, she sighed, “I have heard from Haytham that my father is a good man despite his past…I think my father and yours are the type of men that are the truest type of templars. Despite their agenda, they still care for people.” Connor didn’t speak, but he seemed to agree with her, and a comfortable silence enveloped them. After some time, he murmured,

           “I am proud that you have forged your own path (Y/N). It takes great courage to stand apart from your parents.” She snorted and glanced over at him, quipping,

           “Careful there Ratonhnhaké:ton. More sweet words like that and I might fall deeper in love with you.” His face lit up and he stood, holding out his hand for her to take. She did so, letting him pull her to her feet, and he said,

           “I would not mind more of your affections Ehnita.” (Y/N) smiled as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, whispering, “Konoronkhwa.” She flashed him a heartfelt smile, breathing,

           “I love you too.” The two stared into the other’s eyes, and after a moment, she whispered, “As much as I love this, I really feel like pushing your father off the docks. Can we go find him so I can do that?” Connor chuckled as he pulled away, and he took her hand, leading her from the room to the stairs.

           “As you wish.” He paused as they reached the stairs, looking over at her to ask, “What is your father’s name (Y/N)?” She hesitated, then stepped down, calling over her shoulder,

           “Shay. Shay Cormac.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Spin Again if Not in the Lead

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: M (non-explicit sexual content) Word count: 3163 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 1: Road Trip

Summary: According to the game's original slogan, “You will learn about life when you play The Game of Life.”

According to MJ, you'll learn about capitalism, aardvark care, and how to go on the road trip of a lifetime without leaving your boyfriend's apartment.

“One, two, three, four,” MJ counts out defiantly, her plastic car clicking more with every space she taps it against before coming to rest beside the chapel. She glares at Peter and Ned expectantly. They must hate playing board games with her, she assumes―Life in particular―but they keep inviting her, and she keeps saying yes.

“Since you landed there anyway…” Ned begins to point out.

“I stopped because that’s how many moves the spinner gave me, not because I’m obeying that stop sign.”

“All you have to do is add another little plastic thingy to your car!”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“You had to stop,” Ned argues while Peter remains anxiously silent.

“The fact that the game makes you stop your life for marriage only demonstrates the inherent evil of the institution. Look how little time I got to be in college,” MJ says, gesturing to the short opening stretch of the board. “How about I just go back to the start and get another degree instead?”

“You’re supposed to get married here. It’s one of the milestones in the game. Job, marriage, house,” Ned lists. “That’s Life.”

His last remark was a little on the nose, MJ thinks, but it still makes her mad.

“I am not picking a spouse out of that plastic baggie. What does the spouse even contribute in this game? They don’t chip in on the house or make auto insurance payments. They don’t even have a job!”

“Children―”

“Don’t need a spouse for that,” she counters.

“―and companionship.”

“If the game was about companionship, you’d be paired up with another player, not a tiny peg-shaped piece of plastic.”

“It’s pretend,” Ned insists. “If I pull Athlete for the career card, I’m not going to make a big deal about being too short to be a professional basketball player.”

MJ has a retort ready for that too, except Peter finally decides to intervene. It’s not with words, not at first, but with the vibrating whirl of the spinner as he takes his turn. He stops his car next to hers, though his spin allows him to move five more spaces. God. She rolls her eyes, assuming he’s braking for marriage. Though they’re good friends, pretty much best friends anymore, she sometimes feels like Peter doesn’t hear a single word she says.

(Fine, they’re dating, but it’s early days. She doesn’t want one game of Life to send it all tumbling down.)

“Get in,” he says and she glances sideways at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Take your person out of your car and put her in mine.”

“You’re solving this by making me get married to you?” She’s only blushing because she’s angry. These infuriating nerds. “That takes away the only control I have in this game―getting to drive my own car.”

“You can drive,” Peter offers, moving his blue peg-man to the passenger’s seat. “I don’t care.”

When he looks from his car to her face, she has her narrowed eyes ready for him.

“What are you doing, Parker?”

“Getting you out of here. Let’s say your peg is a runaway bride who’s changed her mind about the wedding and mine is a friend who stops to pick her up because the chapel’s on his way.”

Ok, she might be smiling a little.

“Hurry up,” he urges, “I still have five spaces to go before Ned can spin.”

“What if your peg-man is a kidnapper?”

“You think he has the kind of car a kidnapper would want? It’s bright yellow. Pretty conspicuous. Anyway, he’s not a kidnapper, he’s your friend from college. You’ve kept in touch and frequently debate the merits of going back to get a second degree.”

This gets a full-on snort of laughter out of her.

“Also,” Ned offers, “he probably understands enough about your character to realize you would never be happy getting married so young, but also knows how independent you are and that you had to make that decision for yourself without his input.”

“That’s a lot of backstory for Life,” she comments, looking from Ned to Peter.

“Yeah, well, right now our rich imaginations are depriving you of what I’m sure would’ve been a lovely wedding… I mean…” Ned corrects when MJ notices his best friend giving him a look. “…are giving you an excuse to break the established rules of the game.”

“Companionship?” Peter offers with a smile. “And maybe the board isn’t even our plastic people’s whole life―” Ned is ready to ram the instruction sheet into their faces at this, she can tell. “―maybe it’s just a road trip.”

“I could do a road trip,” MJ says, fitting her peg-person into the driver’s seat of Peter’s yellow car.

“Awesome. I warmed up the seat for you.”

“Gross. Don’t make me drive away while you’re in the bathroom at the next truck stop.”

“There are no truck stops in this game!” Ned protests. “There aren’t even trucks!”

“I think I hear your plastic wife reminding you to take your blood pressure medication,” she informs him flatly.

Peter advances their car the remaining spaces and their road trip is officially underway. They keep the order of their turns the same, which should mean that Peter and MJ’s car finishes the game while Ned’s only halfway through, except arguments crop up and their friend takes his turn in the meantime. They argue over picking a house (Peter favours the white picket fence while she insists, with their pooled salaries, that they should go for the biggest, most extravagant house, because why not?), which route to take at forks, and if they should buy a stock card. The baby spaces are the trickiest. Her face feels hot again and neither she nor her road trip buddy are making much effort to meet each other’s eye.

“Is this still a road trip?” Ned checks in, comfortably ahead of them with his plastic wife, two kids, and a dog. “You guys own a house together now.”

MJ finally darts a look at Peter.

“We’ll just say it’s a pet instead of a baby.”

Of course, then they argue about what kind of pet they adopted. She feels foolish and uncreative for suggesting a budgie when, with the height of the ceilings in their mansion, Peter says they could very reasonably keep a giraffe. Their compromise is, somehow, an aardvark. The aardvark gets make-believe packed into a make-believe aardvark carrier and they continue the road trip. The tranquility of their household only lasts until the next baby space. They pick up another pet. They hit another baby space. It’s a fucking minefield, MJ thinks, and she wants to call up the inventor of Life and have a serious talk with him (clearly a man) about his agenda. There should be more natural disasters (she and Peter have home and automobile insurance, so they’re not worried) and fewer trips to the maternity ward.

By the fourth baby space, she’s annoyed and having less fun debating the pet they should adopt in place of human offspring.

“This might be crazy,” Ned says sarcastically, “but you guys could just have a baby together this time.”

Peter makes a weird noise and MJ’s too flustered to look at him. Her companion recovers himself.

“We can’t take a newborn baby on a road trip,” he asserts. “Somebody would have to stay home with them.”

“I’m not staying home,” she says quickly.

All power to stay-at-home moms, but she doesn’t think she’d want to be one. Not that reality matters, obviously, because this is just a dumb board game pushing conformity.

“You idiots brought an aardvark!” Ned blurts. “I’m pretty sure you can handle a baby!”

“Fine,” MJ snaps. She can’t help it. Something about her friend’s words made it seem like a challenge. “Parker, you’re on baby duty.”

“What? I don’t know how to take care of a baby.”

She shrugs.

“Figure it out. I’m driving.”

“Then I’ll drive for a while and you can be on baby duty,” he counters.

“No way! Letting me drive was part of the deal!”

“The deal has evolved! We’re parents now! We need to redistribute our responsibilities!”

“Peter Parker,” MJ hisses, “I will turn this car around and go back to the chapel where I left my car.”

“Then who’s going to look after the baby while I’m driving? Our aardvark? Besides, you can’t start from way back there this far into the game. You’ll never catch up.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll lap you! Just watch!”

“And you just go flying by while I’m busy being a single parent? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll pay for private school,” she negotiates. “And flu shots and stuff, if you land on those spaces.”

He sighs.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it. This baby is really complicating our lives and they’re not even in the car yet.”

The two of them contemplate the board.

“JUST HAVE SEX!” Ned yells.

Startled, MJ looks up at her friend.

“Uh,” he backtracks, “I mean, to have the baby. You can totally have a baby on a road trip.”

She doesn’t know about Peter, but she’s kinda doubting that Ned is that frustrated about them arguing over sticking a plastic baby in their car. He needs to say something to take that back and make the atmosphere normal again, not like it is now, with MJ practically jumping when Peter’s foot brushes hers. Unfortunately, Ned stands instead of fixing this awkward mess of emotions he’s created.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

“I’m done.”

This seems like more drama―like Ned’s done with them and their baby debate―until he points at where the looping Life highway ends. His car’s parked at the less luxurious retirement home; with Peter and MJ combining their salaries, Ned has no hope of winning the game, since it all comes down to how much money you have. Capitalism, MJ thinks scornfully. Capitalism and a dozen baby spaces.

“Oh.”

“You guys finish,” Ned encourages before MJ thinks to tell Peter to just end it there and pack the game up. “You’re like three-quarters of the way through.”

“If you want to,” she hears herself saying to Peter as she casts an uncertain glance his way.

“Ok. If you do.”

Ned chuckles.

“Alright, you two. Enjoy your road trip.”

It’s a little awkward when he’s gone, awkward and quiet. Peter jumps up from where they’re stretched out on the floor and puts on a road trip playlist. MJ doesn’t stir up an argument over the music; there’s enough tension just with them being alone. Ned was supposed to stay later. There were supposed to be more games and then a marathon of the Jaws movies, ordered by how many people get eaten. That’s what the three of them agreed on and what MJ knows May is expecting. May, who Peter said (with extreme discomfort) told him not to wait up for her because she’s out with Happy. That little announcement of his, made so offhandedly an hour ago, now drapes the room that only the two of them occupy, heavy with new meaning in Ned’s absence. They’re alone and Peter’s just put on Bruce Springsteen.

With unspoken agreement, MJ flicks the spinner and Peter moves their car―they pretend like they never landed on that baby space. They don’t need that right now, trying to get out from under the feeling of having the apartment to themselves and the knowledge that the only thing that’s put the brakes on the making out they’ve done so far in their relationship has been the arrival of other people. They lie to themselves that it’s still just a road trip for their two plastic people (never mind the combined salaries and the shared mansion and the joint custody of an array of exotic animals) and still just a board game for them (never mind the way Peter’s looking over at her and the way MJ keeps looking back to check if he’s looking).

They survive “Born to Run” and are startled into concentration by “Highway to Hell” and landing on the square that forces them to change careers. A couple of forgettable road trip songs follow those, and then “Drive My Car” comes on. MJ’s never thought of the Beatles as the creators of a soundtrack for seduction, so why does this song suddenly have such a sexy lilt to it? Why is every line a double entendre? Why do she and Peter both reach to move their car at the same moment and end up overturning it (R.I.P.) as their fingers intertwine?

She’s about to say how dumb that is, how cliché, when his hand tightens around hers and he jerks her forward. Forget their car―she just took out an entire plastic mountain range with her knee and she’ll probably have a bruise later. She can’t check at the moment because her eyes are fixed on Peter’s, but only sort of, since his face is too close to look at properly. So MJ doesn’t look. Her breathing is quick and somehow the seconds are slow, the press of his nose into her cheek should be clumsy and embarrassing; instead, it’s gradual and sweet. Peter exhales through his mouth and she feels his air on her lips. As she tries to watch and not watch, her eyelashes flutter like crazy, and it’s finally his trembling grasp on the back of her neck that sinks her deep into the moment, which is when he tilts his face just enough to touch his lips to hers.

MJ sucks in―at least half of it has to be his used oxygen and maybe that’s what makes her a little dizzy―and chases her hormones forward. They lead her hands to Peter’s shoulders and send her scrambling into the lap he quickly constructs for her, rearranging his limbs and scattering colourful Life currency with a careless swipe of his foot. She ends up on her knees with both hands cupping his face. She hasn’t quite managed to straddle him properly, like women do so effortlessly in the movie scenes they both blush over and pretend to not really watch when they’re together. Rather than being centered over him, she’s straddling just one of his legs, but she’s too self-aware to want to move, terrified that Peter will realize she’s screwed up this attempt to bring them closer. It was supposed to be sexy. She was supposed to instinctively know how.

Maybe he thinks he can fix it, or maybe he has his own reasons for repositioning them. Either way, he shifts the leg she’s straddling and it rubs between hers. She doesn’t know what song’s playing now, just that it isn’t playing loud enough to cover the way she breathes in―rough, short, unpolished. Move your thigh, Peter, she thinks. She can’t say it out loud because if she said it out loud it would be a snapped command, a chastisement, a rejection. What MJ wants is for it to be an invitation. Even though their mouths break apart, there isn’t anything she wants to say. The nice thing, the right thing, is the sound of their lips parting. It’s good, though not cartoonish, not scripted like a board game. It’s a sound that makes her want more, but she waits for Peter to initiate this time.

She expects his mouth; she gets his hands. They slide up her back, softly, bunching her t-shirt without seeming to try to deliberately undress her. Only once her back is securely in his hands does Peter’s face come impossibly close to hers again. But he doesn’t kiss her. His cheek just rests against hers while his palms warm and rub her back. Abruptly, he raises his thigh again and MJ―willpower departed to parts unknown―rocks shallowly in response.

“We kinda messed up the game board,” he says quietly.

“Your Life is ruined,” she agrees and it’s funny, but neither of them laughs. The skim of his cheek across hers is making her heart race.

“Would you…” His voice runs dry. With a little grunted clearing that’s enough to liquify this desire between her legs, he gives it another shot: “Would you want to, uh, see some stuff in my room? My bedroom. With me.”

“Sweet,” MJ agrees. Her tone is high and flighty, a hot air balloon with its lines loosed. “Road trip.”

They glance at each other constantly over the course of their very short trip. From the second MJ stands, Peter holds her hand securely in his, snatched from where it hung at her side. This is so moronic; she’s been in his room before. When Ned was there too. And May was home. And they weren’t dating yet. Quickly, she gives up on trying to think of this as the same as those other times, because it’s not. There’s not much interesting in this room that MJ hasn’t seen―just what Peter looks like without his clothes on.

With bravado, MJ marches all the way into his bedroom, straight to the opposite wall, where she looks out the window. Can’t go any farther. It’s like the stop signs on the board game.

“We don’t have to do anyth―” Peter seems to swallow his tongue when she faces him and whips her shirt off over her head. “Anything,” he chokes out.

“I wanna go forward,” she asserts defiantly, though she’s not sure who she’s defying, since her boyfriend’s eyes on her bra hint that he’s probably ok with this. His gaze rises to her face.

“So do I.”

“Good,” MJ says with a little twitch of her head.

Peter yanks his shirt off and, clenching and unclenching his hands like he’s psyching himself up, approaches her. Rather than sweeping her feet out from under her, he holds her hand again and brings her over to his bed.

Sitting cross-legged on his drawn-back sheets as they start kissing, MJ finds they do go forward. She keeps her hands to herself until she can’t help it and puts her palms on his knees. His fingers trace her waist before he’s bold enough to grip her more securely.  It can’t take more than five minutes for her to shuffle closer and him to draw her in with eager hands. Like playing Life, they have small moves (the first time MJ runs a hand down his bare chest) and big ones (when Peter rolls on top of her), double turns if you’re not in the lead (somehow she’s naked first and retaliates by removing his jeans and boxers together) and spaces that pull you up short (the long pause while he hovers over her, right after he asks if he should get a condom). Like riding in a car down a highway on a hot summer day, it’s exhilarating and exhausting, sweaty and satisfying. They lie side by side on their backs, breathing hard, and MJ thinks they’re definitely someplace different from where they started.

She wonders what she’ll say if Ned texts to ask who won.

[hongism]

finding beauty in your darkest places chapter 7

Pairing: TBA (i have no clue at the moment, ot7 for now)

Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Heavy Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: this chapter deals with thoughts and feelings of self-loathing, self-hatred, and discussions of suicide and suicidal thoughts. strong language; deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable

Rating: PG-13/Mature

Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there.

aka

Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn't work out according to his plan.

a/n: 

6 | 7 | 8

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places

Chapter 7: Of Winning and Losing

“You know what they say about hope. It breeds eternal misery.”

At the first clinic Jungkook resided in, one of his fellow patients had blessed him with that bit of wisdom. A girl, younger than him yet much wiser and far more mature than anyone else her age, who always smiled and tried to help everyone except herself. Jungkook remembers reading a book about clinics prior to arriving to his first one, and that girl reminded him so much of a character within the book that he almost thought he was living in the pages for a moment. Yet, as time went by, the girl with endless hope turned dark, and a few days prior to her departure from the world, she shed those words of wisdom on Jungkook. For the longest time, he refused to believe what she said, but now he fully understands what she meant.

The black leather of the boxing bag is rough under his knuckles, and even though he has his hands wrapped, the sting is still present on his skin. The method of distraction is doing nothing for his mind, because with each punch thrown, he recalls the conversation he shared with Taehyung a mere three days ago as though it just happened. Funny how the mind chooses to remember some things so well that it feels as though he’s reliving the moment over and over again. 

“Is it all true?”

“Wh-what are y-you asking me?”

“Is what you wrote true? Hoseok? Is that what really happened last night? And Y/N? Is anything you wrote about her true? Does she...she can’t possibly believe those things about herself, right? Tell me it’s not true. Please tell me that it’s not true.”

“I-I...it’s not my place to say, Taehyung. I c-can’t—she would be furious if she found out that you know. She told me not to tell anyone and I—”

The journal had hit Jungkook squarely in the chest, Taehyung’s aim impeccable, and it struck with enough force to push Jungkook back a few inches.

“Stop lying! Ever since you got here, things have gone to shit! And now you’re making everything worse with this journal, and that’s not fair! Please, just tell me the truth.”

“You already know…it’s all in the journal. If you read it all, then you already know.”

“No, no, no. I need to hear it to believe it. Just because you wrote it doesn’t make it true.”

“It’s all true.”

Jungkook couldn’t look at Taehyung’s face as he said the words, too afraid to see an expression of heartbreak and betrayal there.

“All the things I wrote there are things I’ve heard from other patients or things I know about other patients. But Taehyung, I’m begging you please, please, you can’t say anything to anyone about this. Please keep it a secret. No one else can know about it. Please—”

“How the hell am I supposed to carry on as though nothing’s changed? Everything you wrote is life-changing. I can’t look at Hoseok the same way after reading all that. And I definitely can’t look at Y/N the same way now. She has never told me anything personal or shared any bit of information about herself with me. So how can you ask me to keep my mouth shut about this?”

“Taehyu—”

“You’re the one who wrote it all down! It’s your fault for keeping it all in a journal!”

“No one was supposed to see it!”

“Did you really think no one would find it? That’s bullshit. Secrets never stay that way in the clinic.”

Jungkook’s fist connects with the punching bag once more, angle awkward as he strikes, and a sharp pain shoots up his forearm. Pulling back, Jungkook sighs and turns to the nurse who accompanied him on his little escapade outside the clinic. 

“Ready to head back?” The nurse asks, unfolding his arms and resting them by his side. Jungkook merely nods in response and begins to tug the wraps around his hands off. 

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook says as he tries to catch his breath.

“Fire away, kid.”

“Is there any news on Hoseok?” 

“None that I’m at liberty to share.”

“Ah. I see.”

“I can tell you that he is going to be released from the hospital in a few days though. They need to keep him there for stability checks.”

Jungkook nods along with the words, dropping his wraps in the trash on his way out the door. The nurse doesn’t say anything else, and Jungkook doesn’t press for more answers; instead, he lets himself fall back into the confines of his mind and drown in the thoughts there. 

The possibility of you finding out that Taehyung knows is a serious threat to Jungkook’s well-being right now, and the only release from that stress is the fact that you are under the constant watch of a nurse so Taehyung may not be able to get a hold of you while the nurse is around. Jungkook doesn’t know how long the security of that situation will last though. Dr. Choi stated “an undisclosed amount of time”, and so Jungkook has no clue when that nurse will leave your side. Or, a much worse possibility, Taehyung may decide that it doesn’t matter if the nurse is around to hear and could confront you at any time. 

Three days. 

He hasn’t spoken to Taehyung in three days.

Much like the first few days of his stay at Omelas, Taehyung has begun to avoid Jungkook again. Gone or asleep when Jungkook goes to bed and wakes up, never in the room throughout the day, blocking Jungkook from sitting with him at breakfast. Jimin hasn’t said anything about the odd situation yet, but Jungkook is certain that he knows because Taehyung must have told him something.

And ever since the day of Hoseok’s incident, there has been a strange fog throughout the clinic. Not a physical or visible fog, no, but an invisible one that adds a layer of tension to every minute of the day. An unprecedented sense of quiet and peace throughout meals, and a strange avoidance of each other. 

Even stranger, you and Yoongi seem to not be on speaking terms. In fact, the two of you won’t even sit at the same table during meals. Instead, you pull away to the back table — the one where Hoseok used to be, in the same seat he sat in as well — and Yoongi glares at you from his seat beside Jungkook throughout meals, barely touching his food at all. The constant presence of a nurse at Yoongi’s side is a bit disconcerting, but the strange fallout between you and him causes Jungkook more concern. Neither Seokjin nor Namjoon have made a comment on it yet, either because they don’t care to know or they know something that Jungkook doesn’t. Perhaps if the situation of Taehyung finding his journal wasn’t an issue, Jungkook would be more interested in figuring out what happened, but now his mind is primarily occupied by those feelings of anxiety and panic.

It happens again.

Jungkook finds himself standing in the bathroom of his room, staring at the reflection in the mirror and wondering how the hell he got here. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets still falling from the strands of hair that have grown to cover his eyes.

No recollection of how he got here. He doesn’t know how he came back from the gym, or how he got to his room and took a shower. He comes back to himself now, looking in the mirror at a reflection that doesn’t seem to belong to him. The return allows him to pull himself together, however, and he hurries to change into a fresh set of clothes and push his hair out of his face. He’s either going to have to get a haircut sometime soon or start having to tie it back as it’s blocking his line of sight now. The first thing on his agenda though lies in finding Namjoon, because if anyone is going to know what Jungkook needs to do about this issue with Taehyung and the journal, it would be Namjoon. 

Leaving his room, Jungkook heads to the room beside his in the hopes to find the older man there; however, after standing outside and knocking a few times, no one comes to the door. Even with the limited amount of places Namjoon could be, Jungkook doesn’t know where to start.

He wanders, not quite letting his subconsciousness take over and steer him somewhere, and steps into the entertainment room first. The room is empty except for a single person, but it is not the person Jungkook is looking for. Instead, it’s Hyewon who turns around and spots Jungkook in the doorway. He nearly turns on his heel and leaves immediately since Namjoon is not in sight, but Hyewon’s beady eyes lock on his. All the sudden, Jungkook cannot move. He’s frozen under her stare, the desire to leave being pushed aside in favor of the panic that swells in his gut. Panic because what if she thinks I don’t like her or that I’m avoiding her.

“Oh, hi Jungkook! How are you?” She greets him with a smile, nose scrunching up as she grins. Jungkook offers a weak smile of his own. 

“Just fine,” he mutters back, eyes scanning the room. Despite her previous offers to help him, Jungkook isn’t particularly interested in sharing all the details about what went down with Taehyung or that he kept a journal full of secrets with a person who spends her time around Mingyu and Yesung. Some sort of disgusting shame resides in his subconsciousness as well, a kind of feeling that only serves to make Jungkook feel ten times worse about the situation he caused, and yet Jungkook cannot find it in him to care anymore than that. He doesn’t think about the tears Taehyung shed, or the betrayal etched across his features, because why would he? What good would that do? Would it make him feel any better or worse about the situation? Deep down, Jungkook wishes that it would hurt more, because maybe, just maybe, feeling worse is what he deserves. 

After all, Taehyung said everything had gone to shit after Jungkook came to Omelas, so why wouldn’t he deserve to feel the effects of his actions? 

Hyewon breaks him out of his thoughts, her light smile drifting into a frown as she looks at Jungkook with wary eyes. 

“How are you doing after the issue Dr. Choi addressed?” She inquires further, eyes piercing through Jungkook as she speaks. He clenches his teeth together.

“Fine, I’m not bothered by it at all.”

“I understand if you’re a bit overwhelmed by it. It’s really okay to admit that it’s not all good. It must not have been easy for you to be dragged into that situation, after all. And you had to deal with terrible people like Yoongi and Y/N, who don't care about anyone but themselves…tragic really, I can't ima—” 

“I wasn't dragged into it,” Jungkook argues. He finds his voice then, the swell of confidence overtaking the self-loathing swirling in his chest, and he looks at Hyewon with a pointed glare. “I chose to be there. Yoongi was lying when he said that he was the one there with Y/N. It was me. Yoongi was looking out for me, not himself. And Hoseok wasn’t dragged from his room either. He came to the kitchen while Y/N and I were there, then had an episode after that. It isn’t fair for Yoongi to take the blame, or for people to think badly of him or Y/N because of it.” Hyewon shoots down his confidence with a simple click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She shakes her head, platinum hair swaying along with the action.

“They must have told you something to convince you of that. Everyone knows what really happened because we know what kind of people Yoongi and Y/N are. They are people who prey on the weak and convince others to say things that will keep them out of trouble.”

“That makes no sense!” Jungkook counters. “Both Yoongi and Y/N took the blame! They got in trouble. What are you talking about?”

“You will learn in time,” she says, “who the good people are and who the bad ones are. If you want to leave sooner rather than later, then you should focus only on the good people. You’re in a good position, Jungkook. Being roommates with Taehyung means that you have an opportunity to be with the good people because Taehyung is in a neutral zone. But hanging out with people like Y/N, Yoongi, and Namjoon? That’s a big no.”

“Why? Why is that the case for me? What about Seokjin? He hangs out with them too? Do you go and harass him as well?”

“Of course not. Kim Seokjin is a special case, but you wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain it to you. It’s nothing personal. Don’t get it twisted, Jungkook. It’s more related to the length of their stay.. People like those three have lost hope of getting better and leaving. Namjoon has accepted it at this point. The longer the stay, the less hope you have. He has realized that, and eventually you will too if you stay on this path. I may not know Namjoon that well, we rarely speak to each other, but I know what I see in his eyes. All I see is hopelessness.”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.” I don’t believe that a person like Namjoon would be hopeless. 

“He isn’t the only one, you know. I see it in someone else too. I’m sure you do as well. I mean, at this point, isn’t it obvious? I’ve told you already, the ones who stay the longest have the least hope.”

“No!” Jungkook protests, not wanting to hear whatever more she has to say. 

“That’s fine.” Hyewon lifts her arms in defense. “You don’t have to, but I’m trying to give you advice. I want to help you out, but if you don’t want to take it, then you don’t have to.”

You’re wrong. That’s what Jungkook wants to say, what he wishes he could say, but the words fail to leave his lips. Instead, all he can do is blink back at her like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen under her stare. A moment passes, then she releases a laugh. 

“Your lack of response shows how uncertain you are, though I won’t bother you anymore.” Hyewon steps around Jungkook and leaves the room without another word. He does nothing to stop her. There’s no need to. He would rather spend his time alone anyways, left to stew in his thoughts and struggle with his emotions like this. Left to let the self-loathing return in the absence of confidence. And Jungkook would do exactly that, if not for the time calling him to go to yet another useless and meaningless appointment with Dr. Martin. 

This time, Jungkook welcomes the thing that demands control over his mind and body, letting himself melt into the background. It’s strange this time, though, because as he sits in the chair across from the middle-aged doctor, Jungkook feels a drift. His mind coming in and out of control, fighting against that other thing which brought him here, but fighting against his will as well because Jungkook doesn’t really want to be wholly present for this appointment. It happens nonetheless. 

“How are the medications treating you, Mr. Jeon?” Dr. Martin asks once Jungkook sits down.

“It doesn’t feel like they’re doing anything.”

“Stay on them a while longer. It takes time for medicine to take effect.”

“I know they won’t work. I’ve tried them before and they never worked.”

“It is the best choice for you, Mr. Jeon. We chose it for you because it is what you need. You will keep taking it for at least three months.”

Jungkook slumps in his chair, and the will to argue further about the topic leaves him. Thankfully, Dr. Martin changes the subject, although Jungkook isn’t happy to hear the question that next leaves his mouth. When are you ever happy though? It’s a chiding tone that resounds in his head, something close to what his father sounds like, and Jungkook bites down hard on his tongue as the voice makes itself known. 

“Are you still feeling the same about the incident a few days ago?”

“Yes, I’m still frustrated with it.”

“For the same reasons?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Martin sighs, the only other sound in the room besides the noisy scribble of his pen as he writes on his notepad. All Jungkook’s secrets are contained in those pages. He wonders if Dr. Martin ever shows it to anyone else, just to get a kick out of it, maybe a good laugh for a bit. Perhaps Taehyung should have laughed at the pages of Jungkook’s journal instead of crying. It would make reality a bit easier to handle, wouldn’t it? Making someone laugh instead of disappointing them and betraying them with secrets written in the pale yellow light.

“Have you ever struggled with delusions or hallucinations in the past?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen or heard things that others cannot?”

Yes you have.

“No.”

You dirty fucking liar.

“Struggled to trust that what you’re thinking is real?”

“No.”

If it’s not real, then you’re just crazy. Are you crazy? Am I?

“Do you ever get the sense that someone or something is controlling your thoughts and emotions?”

“No.”

Where’s the line? Where do I start being honest?

“Do you ever feel as though you have powers that others cannot understand or appreciate?”

“No.”

“Is it difficult to organize or keep track of your thinking?”

“Yes.”

Honesty. A sliver of honesty amidst the cloud of lies.

“Do others ever tell you that it’s difficult for you to stay on subject or for them to understand you?”

“No.”

“Do you feel as though you have little in common with family or friends?”

“No.”

I just feel like a disappointment.

“And do you ever feel that you’re being tracked, followed, or watched?”

“Only when nurses are breathing down my neck.”

Dr. Martin stops his scribbling to send Jungkook a pointed glare, before dropping his chin and continuing with his barrage of questions. 

“Do others have a difficult time guessing your emotions by facial expressions?”

“No? What kind of question is that?”

Perhaps Jungkook is getting a bit too bold, but he’s ready for the questions to end. It’s too much.

“Do you find it difficult to express yourself in words?”

“Yes, everyone does.”

“Do you believe in anything that no one else seems to believe in?”

“No.”

I know what’s real and what’s not. I know the truth. I know what happened with Hoseok. Hyewon is a liar.

“Do others not believe you when you tell them things you see or hear?”

“Yes.”

Just Hyewon. But she is a liar.

“Can you trust what you’re thinking at all times?”

Too much.

“Yes.”

It’s all too much, isn’t it?

“Do you talk to another person or persons inside your head that nobody else can hear?”

“No.”

Dirty fucking liar. 

“One last question, Mr. Jeon. Do you ever feel things crawling across your skin or see things moving that others don’t see.”

“I’m not crazy,” Jungkook protests all the sudden. He tightens his fists around the material of his pants. 

“That is not what I asked or thought, Mr. Jeon. This is merely an assessment for further issues not detailed in your initial examination. These delusions you seem to be having around the situation involving Jung Hoseok do not seem to be random. I believe they are coming from a source in the mind. It could be an issue in the brain sourced at the relationship between your frontal lobe and sensory cortex. Or you could have an overactive auditory or visual cortex.” Dr. Martin pulls away from his desk, leaning down and digging through a drawer. When he comes back up, he has a laminated chart in his hand and sets it down in front of Jungkook. Jungkook glances between the doctor and the chart of the brain, bracing himself for the onset of medical jargon that is undoubtedly about to come his way.

“I’ll explain this in full medical terms first. Hallucination patients typically have a significantly reduced grey matter density in the left superior temporal gyrus, the medial prefrontal cortex in periventricular areas, and in the thalamus. There also tends to be a pathology in the speech processing areas of the left temporal lobe, in addition to low concentrations of glutamate. If that’s the case for you, then we can prescribe antipsychotic drugs such as risperidone since it targets dopamine receptors. There is a possibility that it could be an issue within the right middle temporal gyrus, which responds to external speech. Normal people respond to external speech with greater left side activity; however, the right side of the brain tends to be hyperactive in people with certain mental disorders, suggesting compensatory increase due to the left-hemisphere language processing dysfunctions.

“The issue is that auditory hallucinations compete with external speech processing site within the temporal cortex. Using music or speech can help alleviate auditory hallucinations. Have you ever used music as a way to ‘quiet your mind’ or ‘keep the voices at bay’?”

“I have…” Jungkook trails off, staring at the chart before him rather than looking up at Dr. Martin.

It’s all just too much.

“Just a moment.” Dr. Martin pushes away from his desk again and moves for a filing cabinet now. He returns a moment later, a manila folder in hand, and Jungkook knows exactly what lies within it without needing to ask. It’s a thing Jungkook grew accustomed to seeing after his visits to previous clinics. The doctors would all pull out a similar manila folder, unfolding it to bare all Jungkook’s secrets to the light of day. His ‘medical history’ and ‘childhood trauma’ that Jungkook doesn’t care to think about any longer than he has to, because it’s nonexistent. “There are no reports of serious injury on your file. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever had a concussion or other sort of brain injury?”

“No, never.”

“Hm, I see. Can I explain this further in medical terms for you? It may help you better understand the relationship between your conditions.”

“That’s fine.”

The doctor motions towards the chart before him again as words begin to tumble from his lips in something that sounds like a foreign language to Jungkook.

“Chronic stress and anxiety can cause damage to the brain. The pathological nature of both leads to structural degeneration and impaired functioning of the hippocampus and the prefrontal cortex, which can account for increased risks of developing neuropsychiatric disorders. Anxiety disorders such as Jungkook’s are associated with alteration in fear neurocircuitry such that ‘bottom-up’ processes in the amygdala which respond to threats are exaggerated. The regulation of those processes by the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus is thus impaired.

“During a panic attack, a multitude of things happen within the brain. Certain regions of the brain become hyperactive, including the amygdala, which is the fear center of the brain, as well as parts of the midbrain that control a range of functions, including our experience of pain. Activity in the periaqueductal grey, a region that provokes the body’s defensive response, and other malfunctions can lead to an over exaggeration of a threat. Anxiety disorders in and of themselves are caused in part by disruption in the balance of activity in the emotional center of the brain rather than in higher cognitive centers. Chronic stress exposure similarly alters fear neurocircuitry by enhancing amygdalar functioning while causing structural degeneration in the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus thereby inhibiting the control those two parts have over the stress response.”

Dr. Martin pauses once more, turning to his drawers and digging out another chart, and places it in front of Jungkook. “This is a walkthrough of the brain’s response to fear. Fear activates the amygdala and it branches into two sectors: the sympathetic nervous system and the HPA axis. Once the amygdala is activated, it triggers the locus coeruleus and the hypothalamus. The release of CRF, corticotropin-releasing faction, triggers the pituitary gland, which releases ACTH, adrenocorticotropic hormone, and activates the adrenal cortex, thus releasing cortisol. At the same time, the sympathetic nervous system triggers a neural impulse which activates smooth muscles and glands, in addition to the adrenal medulla, which releases adrenaline and noradrenaline into the bloodstream. That all leads into a fight or flight response in the body. The brain’s response to fear can become somewhat distorted because of anxiety disorders. Chronic maladaptive stress response can cause psychiatric disorders to develop and could be the result of trauma in early childhood experiences.”

“I didn’t have any early childhood trauma that would’ve triggered this sort of thing,” Jungkook protests, shaking his head at the doctor’s words. 

“There could be memories that are being blocked out because of stress or trauma. I recommend that we begin to talk about childhood and your memories at the next meeting. For now, however, you can go ahead and leave as we are out of time.”

Jungkook presses his lips into a thin line, standing and leaving Dr. Martin’s small office with a word of farewell, because what good would it do? The hefty weight of all the meaningless medical jargon that filled his ears won’t help him understand this any better. It won’t fix anything. It’s all too much.

You dirty fucking liar.

That voice won’t leave him alone. It’s playing on repeat, the same tone that he heard when he thought about his own happiness. Jungkook is just about to hand himself over to his subconsciousness when he spots a tall form bearing dirty blonde hair walking in his direction. 

“N-Namjoon!” Jungkook calls out, a bit too loud seeing as the man is only a couple feet away from him, but Namjoon doesn’t comment on the loudness of his remark. He merely smiles at Jungkook, and the warmth from the action catches Jungkook off guard. “Can…uh, can we talk?”

“Of course, that’s fine. I was just on my way to pick up a book, if you don’t mind walking in that direction.”

“Not at all.” Jungkook shakes his head. Namjoon’s smile pushes that nagging voice to the back of his mind. He falls into step beside the man, palms sweaty all the sudden. The prospect of admitting what he did hits, and the realization that he must also admit that he hurt Taehyung, betrayed his trust — not only Taehyung’s actually, everyone he has spoken to thus far in the clinic — Jungkook is a lot less sure about his desire to talk with Namjoon now. 

The pair walks in silence for a few precious moments, then Namjoon decides to break it in favor of questioning Jungkook.

“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Jungkook’s heart is in his throat now, the rhythmic beat drumming in his eyes so loud he can barely hear Namjoon’s words over the din.

“I-I, uh, well—”

“Woah, Jungkook, breathe. Are you alright?”

“No,” he says before he can stop himself. “No, sorry, I’m fine. I’m fine. Uh, well, something...something happened between Taehyung and I, and I-I just don’t, I don’t know what to do. I’m worried that maybe — no, I’m worried that it’s going to get out of hand.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I, uh,” Jungkook fumbles with his words some more. The confession lingers on the tip of his tongue, and yet he can’t spit it out. There is an invisible hand around his throat, choking the air out of him, and the pressure in his head increases tenfold. 

Dirty fucking liar. Tell the truth. Worthless piece of shit. That’s all you are. You think you’re wanted? Needed? If you’re going to kill yourself, at least do it properly.

“Jungkook.” A hand finds his shoulder. Grounds him. Brings him out of his mind. Shelves surround him now, books litter the walls, and yet all he sees is the brown of Namjoon’s eyes. Warm. Concerned. Bringing him back. “Are you alright?” Jungkook breathes again at the question. He swallows the lump in his throat. Then, he carries on as though nothing happened, and Namjoon doesn’t press for answers.

“Taehyung found something personal of mine and made a big deal out of it.”

“That sounds very suspicious, Jungkook. Can you at least tell me what it was?”

“I had, um, a journal. I wrote everything in there.”

“Everything?”

“Yea…all the things I heard around the clinic and everything I was told as well. Taehyung, he found and read it. Um, it didn’t go over very well.”

“That makes sense,” Namjoon says with a nod. He’s not mad? Why isn’t he upset with me as well? Shouldn’t he be? “Why did you have the journal in the first place?”

“I forget things easily, so I just wanted to be able to remember everything. I didn’t think anyone would find it.”

“You should have expected someone to find it eventually, Jungkook. You ought to know better.”

It isn’t anger that laces Namjoon’s tone, moreso a hint of disappointment, but that stings a lot worse than anger would have. He wanted Namjoon to be angry, to tell him off and raise his voice at him, because at least Jungkook would see something other than disappointment. 

“Something like that was bound to come out at some point. I don’t blame you for having the journal, but you should have known this was a possibility when you first started writing in it. It’s one thing to have something that the doctors ask you to use, but another to keep a journal full of other people’s secrets. It’s all a matter of privacy. You wouldn’t want me or Y/N to put down private information like your disorder, right? So, while it’s fine if you want to remember that information somehow, you have to be more careful about it.”

“I was trying to be careful!” Jungkook argues. He balls his fists at his side as he looks up at Namjoon, feeling a bit like a child trying to defend himself. 

“That may be the case, Jungkook, but obviously you weren’t careful enough. What exactly did Taehyung read?”

“Everything,” Jungkook sighs. The air leaves his lips and takes his will to argue with it, a white flag of defeat waving in the wind.

“I need specifics. It could be problematic depending on what Taehyung read.” Namjoon’s eyes bear concern still, yes, but something else hangs alongside the emotion. A hint of fear, worry, dread over what Taehyung learned. And the sinking sensation in Jungkook’s stomach only serves to give him certainty that what Taehyung read is truly detrimental.

“It was mostly the information about Y/N that he was upset about. He told me that he won’t be able to look at you the same way because of it. I don’t—it was never my intention to d—”

“What did she tell you?” Namjoon cuts him off, tone more frantic than it was a moment ago. Jungkook sinks further. The self-loathing returns, but this time Namjoon does nothing to break him out of it. 

Stupid, useless, worthless.

“She told me all sorts of things the night of Hoseok’s accident and the day prior. Most of it was about how she feels helpless and unable to do any good for others. Feeling incapable of doing good and that her attempts always end up hurting people in the end.”

Worthless piece of shit.

Jungkook wonders for a moment if you have the same voice haunting your mind and thoughts. Namjoon exhales a deep sigh. More disappointment. Jungkook feels himself slipping, although he isn’t sure where he’s going to land at the end of this.

That’s all you are. 

“And now Taehyung knows that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Namjoon. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I’m not the person you need to apologize to. Y/N never told Taehyung these things for a reason. Taehyung sees her as a strong person, someone who has a good grip on reality and the things around her. In his eyes, she is invincible and untouchable. He doesn’t know why she’s here, and frankly he doesn’t care because she’s always strong in his mind. He looks up to her for that, because he struggles to maintain a grasp on reality. Y/N only ever lets herself crumble when Taehyung isn’t around. She knows how Taehyung views her; he idolizes her. He cares about and trusts her wholeheartedly because of how confident and strong she seems. If he knows that she isn’t actually like that — that the pedestal he put her on crumbles — then his entire mental image of her is a lie. Taehyung struggles with reality enough as it is, but now he’s not going to be able to believe his mind either. Any progress he had is now going to be gone. He’ll have to start over.”

“Am-am I responsible for that?”

Namjoon purses his lips.

Jungkook can’t stand the silence.

“Is that on my shoulders?”

“You shouldn’t have to ask that question, Jungkook.”

His eyes sting at the words, and the weight of the reality that falls on him is too much for him to carry. I just want out. I just want to leave. How can this happen? How can I be responsible for this?

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened with Taehyung either. When Taehyung first came to Omelas, he used to be close friends with Mingyu. After about a year, Mingyu started showing his true colors and what kind of person he really was. Taehyung…he had a mental crisis when he saw that. He had been doing very well up until that point, and there were lots of rumors that he would be able to leave the clinic before that. But everything crumbled once Mingyu showed his true colors. Taehyung backtracked and lost every ounce of progress. He’s been here for four years now, Jungkook. It has taken three of those years just to get him back to this point.”

“I-I can’t, I can’t be responsible for something like that. I can’t. There’s no way.”

“It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, Taehyung is going to blame you for bringing the info to him, albeit indirectly. But he’s going to be more upset with Y/N because it involves her and the mental image he had constructed of her. You aren’t going to want to hear this, Jungkook, but it needs to be said. This is the worst thing that could happen to Y/N right now. First Hoseok’s incident and now this? The two people she cares about and wants to help more than anything else? This is why she doesn’t let people get close. She feels that she made that mistake one too many times in the past, and we both paid dearly for it in more ways than I can count.”

The constriction around Jungkook’s throat tightens to a point where he can barely breathe. He’s fighting it, fighting it with all his might, but the onset of the panic attack is about to settle in. Namjoon must notice the expression of terror on his face, because he continues speaking with a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“This is just life and part of being in a place like this. Everything and everyone is volatile here. There is no stability and nothing is certain, because things can change in an instant. That’s why you should’ve known better than to keep everything in a journal. Even relationships aren’t guaranteed. Something can flip in the blink of an eye and destroy the relationship without even trying hard.”

“Is that what’s going to happen with Taehyung and Y/N?”

The soft smiles you passed Taehyung’s way, the laughs and grins he had because of you, the fiery will and determination you held just so that you could make Taehyung happy, the mere action of giving him a stuffed bear in efforts to help, all you wanted to do was help — Jungkook can’t bear to think of it all crumbling because of him. 

“I don’t know. There are a lot of things that are impossible to expect or understand, and this is one of them. A person like Taehyung could hold a grudge one day and change his mind the next. And a person like Y/N will hold onto any mistakes she makes forever and try to put a wall between herself and others as a method of protection. She won’t blame you for it though. She’ll believe that it was her mistake. She trusted you enough to tell you those things. She won’t think you betrayed her, she’ll think she betrayed herself.”

“Th-that’s not r-right,” Jungkook stammers through quaky breaths. “I would r-rather have her blame m-me. I would rather her blame me than herself.” Namjoon offers a shrug.

“I have tried time and time again to tell her the same thing. She blames herself no matter what. It’s just part of who she is as a person.”

“Why do you just accept that? Why don’t you try to help her or change her?”

“Why would I want to change her?”

“Isn’t it annoying or frustrating for you to have to deal with that kind of mindset all the time?” Jungkook’s question is innocent, one a child would ask his parent or teacher, an attempt to learn, to know, to understand. He doesn’t think he can understand Namjoon’s line of thinking though, not when he seems so ready to give up on you.

“It’s not.” Namjoon smiles back at him. Jungkook doesn’t have a response. His lips part, and air rushes into his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say, after all. Jungkook asked. Namjoon answered. That’s that. Namjoon laughs, the airy sound filling the room. “It’s strange yet funny in a way, because Yoongi asked me a similar question once. He can’t stand that about her either. He always wishes that she would look after herself and not take the blame for everything. For her to not care so much about others. Yet the moment she slips into that guilt and self-hatred, he’s at her side as though it doesn’t bother him. I don’t wish that she would change though. That isn’t what it means to truly love and care about someone. If you truly love and care about a person, you don’t want to change who they are.”

“B-But the disorders. The mental illness. Don’t you want to change that? To fix it?”

“Fix what? I know it’s not the disorders that make her that way. Even if it were, I wouldn’t want to change that about her. What matters more to me is that she is happy and healthy. I want to meet her in her darkest place and love her there. Not to pull her out of it and then love her. She tolerates every single bit of stupid shit I do and say because she knows it makes me content and happy. She listens to every bit of Seokjin’s research and medical talk because she knows it makes him content and happy. She makes an effort for Yoongi because she knows it’s what he wants, and that matters more to her than her own wants and needs. It’s only fair if I do the same for her.”

I don’t understand. Why? Why wouldn’t you want to fix them? If you truly love them, wouldn’t you want to see them better? To be free of any disorder or illness?

“Jungkook, I’m going to warn you. What you were doing with your journal was drifting into dangerous territory. When you start to objectify people by the things you see, you run a bigger risk. Once you know people’s disorders, that’s the first thing you think of when you see them. People aren’t their disorders. When Yoongi looks at Y/N, he sees her disorders first because that’s what he sees when he looks in the mirror. He can’t separate his image of himself from how he views other. Even if he thinks he has good intentions by trying to “fix” others, he knows he can’t because he can’t fix the person looking back at him in the mirror. Y/N struggles with it too. She wants to fix people. She feels as though that is her duty. She can’t fix herself though, so she’ll only ever view herself as a terrible person because of that. For the longest time, I only saw that reflection when I looked in the mirror. It took a long time to separate Kim Namjoon from the disorders the doctors labelled me with. What do you see in the mirror, Jungkook? Do you know who you are or do you just take the labels doctors give you? Are you “Jeon Jungkook, Panic Disorder” or someone else?

“It’s far better to know people for their heart and not their mind. A person’s mind can be fucked up and distorted. But the kind of person they are, what they do for others, how they treat others — that all tells you much more. We are all souls with a house of flesh and bones, wrestling with a mind that is not our own. For some people it gets to be too much. They just want out of the cage they feel trapped in, and society is the one keeping them there. They don’t see their body as anything good, it’s only a trapped feeling, and sometimes they try to get out. They try to get rid of a certain part of themselves, kill the mind that isn’t completely theirs.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Jungkook whispers.

“View it as such: you are trapped in the clinic, listening to voices that are not your own telling you what you have to do to “get out” when they really want you to stay.” Namjoon pauses, inhales a deep breath, then exhales it slowly. “Do you know what caused Hoseok’s episode that night?”

“No, I have no idea.”

“He had been sneaking pills into his pocket at meal times instead of taking them. He’d been saving up for weeks. He took fifty-three pills before leaving his room that night. Not because any of the voices told him to kill himself, but because he was tired of hearing them, tired of having a mind occupied by so many voices and people that were not him, tired of feeling trapped. And after it was all said and done, he realized that he didn’t want to die, he only wanted to kill that part of himself.”

“It’s all a circle though. You want to get out, try to get out, feel free for a fleeting amount of time, then return to the cycle. It never ends. There’s always a part of yourself that you want to kill. Eventually you’ll be left with nothing.”

The smile Namjoon passes his way is a sad one, a melancholic turn of his lips, and a tragic realization of the implications behind Jungkook’s words.

“You would only understand that if you tried.”

Jungkook glances up at the man but doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. Namjoon understands. Jungkook understands. He doesn’t need to explain, and the sad smile on Namjoon’s face serves to tell him that Namjoon was in the same place too once. 

“What’s the way out then? If you can’t kill yourself, then what?”

“If I knew that, do you think they would still be here? Taehyung, Jimin, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Y/N. Would any of them be here if I knew that? And what of the others? Don’t they deserve that release too? The people who deserve that release most? We’re all reaching for it, trying to connect who we are and who we want to be, stretching to reach this ideal version of ourselves that only we know. Perhaps connecting those dots and looking up to see the constellation of your life is the answer to your question. It’s far easier said than done though, and I have my own thoughts about it, but obviously they haven’t done me any good in all my time here.”

“What are they?” Jungkook inquires, head falling to the side as he asks the question. 

“If I can’t love the reflection in the mirror or feel as though my body is a home and not a cage, accept my mind as an ally and not an enemy, then I don’t deserve to leave. I need to love myself for who I am today, who I was yesterday, and who I hope to become in the future. Those versions of myself create the constellation of my life. I need to accept that. We all have to. The ugly bits, the parts we want to hide from reality, things we don’t want anyone to know about — if we bare it all, what’s left? What weapons do the minds that are not our own have? If they can’t use anything against us anymore, then won’t we win?”

Win? What does it mean to win though? Is it release from the prison that is the clinic? Freedom from the things that plague your mind and emotions? A cure? But Namjoon isn’t talking about the clinic anymore, he isn’t talking about being freed from the shackles of illnesses or disorders. No. No, Namjoon is talking about something else. Jungkook understands it. He sees it. To win is to live. To be alive. To continue. To keep fighting no matter what. 

Hopelessness. That is what Hyewon said she saw in Namjoon. She saw it in someone else too, and Jungkook knows exactly who she meant.

To lose. If you lose hope, then you’ve lost something else. But you haven’t lost, no, because if what Namjoon means by winning is “living”, then losing can only mean one thing.

“How many people…?” Jungkook asks, but he doesn’t want to hear the answer. He can’t even finish the question with confidence. The guilt on Namjoon’s shoulders, the weight that traps him and confines him to the vicious cycle of relapse after relapse, Namjoon’s words hold too much behind them. Jungkook can see it clearly now. He sees it, yet he doesn’t want to. It hurts, burns, chokes him. He pushes forward, looking Namjoon in the eye as he speaks again. “How many people have you seen lose?”

“In all my time here? All six years? Only one.”

And yet, as Namjoon whispers the words, Jungkook knows. He knows that the day that one person lost, two other people did too. And Jungkook is looking at one of them.

...

a/n: woW! what a chapter! i cranked this out in two days (even tho it is a bit later than i had hoped ;-;) NONETHELESS let me know what you think! come rant in my inbox! rant in a comment. take my survey! i love love love hearing from you guys! thank you for making this story possible!

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[janeofcakes]

FJW: Chapter 7

** Here you go, everyone. Once again, I finished editing and couldn’t help myself. Also and quite to my surprise, a lot of people have asked to be tagged. I just want to say thank and I love you all, and if I do happen to not tag you, it is only my own folly and not meant to exclude. Just remind me to add you. Thank you all again. You make writing such a joy. **

“Her surname is Holmes-Watson!” Sherlock blurts. It is early afternoon, he returned to John’s room as soon as he dropped Rosie at school. He had observed her carefully for any lingering signs of stress from the evening’s news, but saw none. She seemed genuinely excited to resume her usual activities as she acclimated to the sudden change in her life.

His entire visit thus far has been describing Rosie to John, telling him stories of her life, showing him snaps, all at John’s request. He had reasoned, before Sherlock’s arrival, that these were all things he had never experienced and could never remember. Therefore, they could not impede his recovery. John wanted to be more familiar with Rosie before meeting her on the weekend and had asked Sherlock to tell him as much as he could. The detective happily obliged, but grew more uneasy as the day went on until he could bear it no longer. Thus, the idiotic surname declaration that just burst from his lips.

Sherlock nearly face palms, but keeps his hands at his sides. John looks at him blankly and then shifts his gaze from Sherlock to a wall to the bed’s blankets and back to Sherlock, all with his lips pursed in a true expression of confusion. He curls his lips in on one another and licks them as he opens his mouth to speak. God, how Sherlock has missed this man.

John inhales through lips shaped in a perfect “O” and purses them closed again, his brow furrowed. His eyes shift to the ceiling for a second or two and back to Sherlock.

“Okay,” he answers slowly. Sherlock doesn’t understand his reaction at first and then nearly face palms again at his renewed stupidity. John has no idea that Watson is his surname. Sherlock is just about to explain when Hoover’s words come back to him. It is infinitely better if John remembers things for himself. As Sherlock scolds himself, he hears John mumble two words of utter dismay.

“Oh, god.”

Sherlock straightens and focuses all of his attention on his grief-stricken friend.

“What? What is it?” suddenly his hand is on John’s and he is leaning close. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“She was an infant,” John says quietly, the full impact striking him head-on. He blinks as his mind lets him put more of the pieces together. “She was only a few months old when this happened.”

Sherlock watches as John slowly inches his left hand toward his own long fingers. He wants to close the gap, but doesn’t suppose John would appreciate it. So he simply observes as the smaller hand gets closer. When John’s fingertips finally touch Sherlock’s he gasps at their warmth and clutches his friend’s hand in earnest. He looks up at John with tears in his eyes only to see that John already has wet trails streaking down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” John blurts in a shuddering voice. Another tear falls, slowly dripping down his face as he bites his lip and tries to hold himself together. “I’m sorry you had to do it alone. I’m sorry I…”

Sherlock can stand it no longer. He leaps out of his seat and wraps John in a tight embrace. Squeezing his eyes shut, a tear slipping from each one, Sherlock takes a long breath. He will never let go of this man again. He abandoned him when he fell, pushed him away on stag night, encouraged him to stay married to a killer, and ran when John hated him. He should have held tightly then and is sure as hell going to now, even if John hates him all over again once he remembers everything.

“It’s all right, John,” he whispers. “It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

They remain this way for some time. Sherlock knows by the way John leans against him that his arms would be around him if he had full control over them. Just before Sherlock finally pulls away, he kisses John’s cheek lightly. Keeping his hands on John’s shoulders, he looks into the doctor’s wet eyes.

“Rosie and I have managed just fine,” he tells him, pulling himself together. “You have never been far from us. Before school began, we were both here every day. I have told her everything I know about you, which is quite extensive. My mind palace is much larger than the room you described. You occupy an entire wing.”

“A whole wing?” John’s eyes sparkle. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “What I wouldn’t give to see that.”

“You’ll know it all again soon enough. I’m sure of it.” Sherlock’s eyes drop to John’s wet cheeks. He lifts his hands from the man’s shoulders and reaches for a tissue. He gestures toward John’s face silently and John nods. Leaning forward, Sherlock very gently dries his tears, searching John’s eyes as he does. “Your physical therapy appears to be going well.”

“It is,” John nods, venturing a small smile. “I work the muscles on my own too. I want to move things along fast.”

“Is that wise?” Sherlock wipes his own cheeks after finishing with John. He bins the tissue. “They shouldn’t be overworked.”

“They’re fine.”

Sherlock cocks a speculative brow and John rolls his eyes.

“I am a doctor, you know. I won’t over-do it.”

“But you will, John. You are a very determined man. Strong and stubborn. It’s one of the many things I love about you,” Sherlock snaps his mouth shut and stares at John, completely mortified. What the hell was that? He has never said anything so stupid in his life.

“Oh really?” John laughs without even blinking an eye. “Stubbornness is a desirable quality, is it? You are an unusual man, Sherlock Holmes. I can’t wait to remember more about you.”

“I look forward to it, John,” he smiles. John smiles back almost like a shy school boy and they share a quiet laugh.

“So,” John begins casually, “I take it my name Watson?”

“Yes,” the detective smiles. “Doctor John Watson.”

John smiles back and looks about to speak when there is a knock on his door. It opens halfway and Eileen’s face appears.

“Hello,” she greets, friendly and a little uncertain. Something is wrong. Sherlock turns to face her straight-on. He fixes her with a stern expression.

“Eileen,” he says tersely.

“Sherlock,” is her cursory reply as she shifts her eyes back to John. “You have a visitor, John. Dr. Hoover has spoken with him about the parameters of your treatment.”

“Of course. Show him in,” John answers, absolutely brimming with curiosity.

The nurse steps aside and allows entrance to the tall, dark figure behind her. She reminds John of his physical therapy in an hour, for all their benefit, and closes the door again. Sherlock’s jaw tightens, the muscles working furiously beneath his pale skin.

“Hello,” John greets the man quizzically. He wears a spotless three-piece suit and carries an umbrella. His pale eyes gaze at John sharply, taking in every detail in much the same way as Sherlock when John first met him. Well, met yesterday. John looks at the man in much the same way and thinks for a moment that his ginger hair should be thicker. It also does not escape John’s notice that Sherlock is tense and very irritated.

“Bloody Mycroft,” the detective grumbles.

“Hello, Sherlock,” the man replies wryly.

“What do you want?”

“To wish John well, of course,” he leans on his umbrella and smiles at Sherlock with false politeness. “When were you planning to tell me of his, shall we say, startling recovery?”

“Mind your own bloody business.”

“You know why I’m here, Sherlock. It is not a matter I am likely to forget.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore!” the younger Holmes shouts.

“STOP.”

It isn’t a shout or scream. John doesn’t raise his voice at all and he still stops both men in their tracks with his deep, low voice, commanding and strong. Captain John Watson.

The Holmes brothers look at John, just a hint of surprise in their expressions. He watches them like a hawk. It isn’t a glare. No. There is no malice in it, but neither Sherlock nor Mycroft dares to move a muscle while those eyes are focused in their direction.

“There’s no sense in arguing, Sherlock,” John’s voice is strained a fraction and he gives his friend a tight smile. “The man clearly has an agenda and isn’t going to leave until he has what he wants, so let’s just indulge him, shall we?”

Sherlock blinks at John. He turns his head slowly to share a perplexed look with his brother. Both are speechless. John does not want to talk to Mycroft, that much is obvious, but ever the peacemaker with these two men, John pushes his feelings aside and does his best to move things toward resolution. After five years gone, John has slipped back into this role seamlessly without even knowing that he used to do it.

“So,” John casts his gaze on Mycroft pleasantly enough, “why don’t you tell me who the fuck you are and what you want.”

Sherlock nearly smiles. He nearly laughs. John is being so polite and so sassy and it’s just like old times, all those years ago when he had his John. His John? Yes. John had been his. Even after the fall and after his marriage. John never had to return to Sherlock’s side, but he always did. Was it ever more than friendship to him? Has Mrs. Hudson been right all along? Is she right now? Does John really care for him?

Sherlock is startled from his thoughts by Mycroft’s reply as he steps closer to John’s bed.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes. I am Sherlock’s brother.”

John’s eyes shoot to Sherlock’s and give him a true ‘What the fuck’ before shifting back to Mycroft. He wants to explain. He wants to shove Mycroft out the door and apologize. Tell John what a wanker Mycroft is and explain everything. But it is already too late and all Sherlock can do is hope his meddling brother doesn’t ruin this for him.

“I need to know what you remember about the day you were shot.”

“Nothing,” John smiles. “Goodbye.”

This time Sherlock does laugh and probably louder than he should have. Mycroft glares immediately. John looks Sherlock’s way too, but he is wearing a brilliant smile instead of a frown. Sherlock is too.

“You think there is nothing on the surface of it,” Mycroft presses, turning his attention back to John. “Look deeper and you might find the memories.”

“It’s not going to work,” Sherlock chastises, his anger growing. “You spoke with Hoover. You know…”

“When have you ever taken a doctor’s advice as more than a grain of salt?” Mycroft interrupts.

“When it became about John!” Sherlock snaps. “You will not jeopardize his recovery. I will not allow it!”

“A little prodding over a single incident will not affect his…”

“You are asking about when he was shot. The very ‘incident’ that put him in this situation. Forcing him to remember might result in PTSD and reliving the trauma.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Sherlock. He’s been through much worse.”

“But he doesn’t remember it! Any of it! His mind is a clean slate. Forcing him to remember anything, but especially being shot, could cause more harm than good.”

“All right, all right,” John says, drawing their focus again. Even with all the questions whirling in his mind now, he thinks it best to placate these men and keep them from having a fist fight in his room. They would certainly be banned from whatever medical facility this is and, while he doesn’t give a toss about Mycroft, who seems rather a prick, being unable to see Sherlock is unacceptable.

“I can think on it tonight once I’m alone. Surely you can come back tomorrow if it’s so important to you.”

“John, no,” Sherlock warns, but John cuts him off.

“Why is it so important?” John knows he is taking a risk even asking and hopes the answer does not reveal too much too quickly.

Mycroft inhales deeply through his nose and straightens to his full height. If he’s meant to look imposing, the effect does nothing to intimidate John. Mycroft gives him a small nod as he replies.

“I hold a modest position in the British government.”

“He is the British government,” Sherlock snipes, glaring at Mycroft.

“It is my duty to gain access to as much information on this,” Mycroft pauses, “person of interest as possible.”

“Are you saying she had a prior record? It wasn’t random?”

“It was not random, John. You were targeted.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shouts, unable to hold back any longer. He steps right into the man’s personal space. “None of this matters. The details make no difference. She shot John and would have finished the job had we not intervened. It’s as simple as that.”

“I need to know her plans, Sherlock!” Mycroft growls, pinning him with a deadly glower.

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Oh my god.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart to John and see the panicked expression coming over his face. Goddammit, Mycroft! Sherlock resolves then and there to kill Mycroft himself as soon as he has the chance.

“John?” he ignores his brother entirely and steps close to the bed. John meets his eyes with terror in his own. Sherlock takes his twitching hands in his own, knowing John is desperate for the contact. “John, it’s all right.”

“She’s still out there, isn’t she?” John is speaking quickly, his voice laced with fear. “She was never caught and now that I’m awake, she’ll come looking for me. Or you. Or Rosie! God! Where is Rosie? You have to get her out of school and bring her here, or somewhere else. Wherever it’s safe. Oh god, Sherlock, I can’t lose her. We can’t lose her!”

“John,” Sherlock moves his hands to John’s shoulders in an effort to calm him. He is about to assure his friend that Rosie is safe and sound, but John’s mind flashes forward before he can. A piece of glass breaks and falls, shattering on the floor, and a familiar face fills John’s brain so he can see nothing else.

“Her face!” he gasps. Mycroft’s eyes widen and he steps closer with interest. “Molly Hooper!”

“What?” Sherlock frowns in confusion.

“I remember her face,” John searches his eyes fervently. His hands are twitching every which way and his left arm bumps against Sherlock’s body every few seconds. “Did she do it? Did Molly Hooper shoot me?”

“No. No,” the detective steadies John, rubbing little circles into his shoulders with his thumbs in an effort to calm him. He lowers his voice and tries to make it as comforting as he can. “Molly Hooper is your friend. She is a doctor at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. She helps us with...me. Helps me with cases.”

John’s eyes are still filled with sharp, cold fear. He can feel ice blooming in his chest, threatening to freeze his heart whole. He has already missed all of his own daughter’s life. He hasn’t even met her yet and now how can he protect her? Damn his body! If he could move, he would push past Mycroft, drag Sherlock out of this hospital, and find Rosie himself.

“Rosie!” is all he manages to gasp. Too many thoughts. Too many fears whirling around in his mind. He can’t get hold of them, can’t get them to make sense. If he could grab his head with both hands, he would. It feels like it’s about to explode.

And then Sherlock’s voice cuts through it all.

John.

That silky smoothe, deep dark chocolate voice slices through the chaos with ease.

John, open your eyes and look at me. Please...

And he does. He hadn’t even realized he pinched his eyes shut, clenching them as hard as he could. And it is not until he opens them that he feels the relief of escape...from his thoughts and fears. They all dissipate when he looks into Sherlock’s silver-grey eyes.

“John, Rosie is fine. She is perfectly safe,” Sherlock pauses. He can see that John is calming, but saying just that isn’t going to be enough for it to last. He has to tell him what happened to Eurus. “The woman who shot you was called Eurus and she was killed by police while trying to evade capture.”

“Oh, thank god,” John’s entire body goes slack and his breaths come easier again. Sherlock glances toward Mycroft and they share an uneasy look before the elder directs his gaze to John once again.

Every muscle in Sherlock’s body hardens and for a moment, he is certain Mycroft is going to tell John. Tell him who Eurus was and if he does, John will never trust either of them again. Ready to tackle his brother to the floor to make him shut up, Sherlock steps away from John and nearly jumps at Mycroft.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you, John,” he is suddenly in front of the door, hand on the knob. Sherlock stumbles with an aborted leap. “Take care and get some rest.”

He is gone. Sherlock and John are alone again. The detective is still staring at the door when he feels a light, trembling touch on his wrist. His gaze slides to John and his features alter from trepidation to shock. John reaches for him with his left arm, his fingertips just close enough to tap feather-soft touches. John’s whole arm shakes and his face is scrunched up with the effort.

Sherlock turns to face him, taking John’s hand in both of his and pulling it to his chest to give the already exhausted muscles relief. Sherlock lifts a leg and sits half on the edge of the bed, looking into John’s stormy eyes. He can see the fear still there, warring with the mind that tells him Rosie is safe and the danger is gone.

“John.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” John tries to keep his voice steady, “for keeping her safe. For raising her. I should have been here for you both.”

“You were here, John,” he tells him sincerely, but urgently. John must believe him. He must understand that he was never absent, even if he wasn’t awake to see it. “We saw you every day. We talked and read books with you. Had Christmas and New Year’s and birthdays. Rosie loves blowing out the candles for you.”

He smiles at John lovingly. John’s eyes fill with every word until one tear finally tumbles down his cheek.

“You have always been with us, John. Always. The biggest and best part of our lives.”

“Sher, lock,” the word is broken by a catch of breath and Sherlock takes John in his arms, hugging him tightly while his doctor sobs into his shoulder. Sherlock starts, eyes wide when he feels the light, trembling touch of John’s left hand at his waist trying to hug him, to draw him nearer. Sherlock pulls him closer and resolves never to let go.

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @swissmissing @gloriascott93 @kingdomofbrokenhearts @srebrnafh @thetranslucentwallaby @britishaccentfan @plasticstrawsmuggler @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff

[eweniversal]

Secrets of A Councilwoman p2

-PART 2-

Her mind didn’t stop from going over the searing words Rinlear had thrown at her. Like reopening scarred over wounds that had long since healed, his insults seemed to tear through her flesh.

“You still can’t do anything yourself. You need big, strong men to do everything for you.”

We can do what we need by ourselves. A soothing feeling like thick, sickeningly sweet molasses oozing through her veins came with this inner voice. It always did.

Yes.. I’m dependent on no one but me.

“You would sacrifice the spawn of your womb if it granted you more power!”

We did what had to be done. The sacrifice is for the betterment of all!

And I would do it again.

“No sister of mine. You’re no sister. Not mine. You’re no SISTER of mine!”

And he is no brother!

Brothers do not abandon their sister!

“Nor a sister who’d ‘spare’ their brother out of convenience or abandon their lover! You left us! You abandoned Echertai!”

Echertai’s face flashed behind her eyelids as she continued her power walk through the castle, his face staring at her almost as clearly as if he were standing right in front of her. “Ah!” Her eyes opened wide, staring hard in front of her. All too suddenly, Rinlear’s previous actions caught up to her and sent her kneeling to the ground. Limbs shaking, she took several minutes to readjust herself to her environment.

What do we taste?

Bile.

What do we feel?

Smooth, stone floor. Cool to the touch.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a ring starting to drown her thoughts.

What do we hear?

Birds.. Somewhere. Talking.. Nearby, but not getting closer. Safe from view.

The ringing slowly died away.

What do we smell?

Baking. From the kitchens. Bread, muffins, cookies?

What do we see?

Her eyes opened slowly, lifting her head to see where exactly she was. The entire layout of Maerise she knew like the back of her hand as she was intimately involved in the original building process, but where she was specifically was a passageway from the original design she’d implemented herself. It was hidden, but not completely secret, and ran near the kitchens on the ground floor. It led to a staircase that connected to a covered archway that overlooked much of the city.

Stone. Torchlight. A window. Blue sky, through the window.

Exhaling a held breath, Kotaphira stood slowly, placing a hand on the wall for support. For the first time, instead of feeling comforted by her sanctuary of stone, an essence of claustrophobia had washed over her. She needed fresh air.

Her gait picked up again as she mentally reviewed Rinlear’s words once more.

“I want you to decide upon one soul to sacrifice to me, one for every head we have in audience here. You’ll announce them by name at the city square.”

What a sick minded fool. The fact that he would suggest such a thing so vile made her stomach twist. Was he trying to use that as a ploy to upset her into giving in to some other agenda he had? He had no upper hand, nothing to bargain with! His madness must have settled well in a long time ago.

“These twisted lengths you're willing to go through will not be kept hidden."

This was what worried her most. He seemed to see through her, and not need to ask why he was detained, but rather willing to express intentions she may have with him to others. It was as if he understood he was a part of a much bigger puzzle that she was constructing.

“You left us! You abandoned Echertai!”

Her head shook and she gasped softly, pausing at this. No time for your poisonous remarks, demon. She had more important things to deal with. First of which, finding her sons. They would need to be approached, told of Rinlear, and perhaps give some tweaking to the information about him, then guide them along with the one called Boar’s Head and this other Kotaphira to where she needed them. Summoning a spirit of the dead would be no easy task, and defeating one would likely cause at least one of their deaths. If she had to choose, by process of elimination, it would have to be her doppelganger. She had no ties to the girl, and maybe, just- maybe, she could fake her own death with the death of the girl’s. Then she could, if all went well, enjoy her spoils of that Other Place. So long as the dragons were paid off for their precious gifts. That debt was one yet to be paid, and while the Ulpustur dragons had not come to collect just yet, she didn’t want to be caught blindsided. They didn’t need to know how much wealth she’d stumbled upon when she got to the Other Place- she hoped their noses were not so keen on realizing how MUCH wealth was in one spot.

The arches of the walkway she was on let in the afternoon light, and she paused mid-stride to stare at the stone floor in front of her.

-Abandoned…-

Don’t look at me.

Birds chirped, fluttering by as they flew to the walkway above.

Stop it.

From below in the city, the shouts of vendors echoed up, along with the laughter of children and the clattering of carts and hooves. A crier gave updates on the still missing princess Mylla, asking anyone for information on the young girl’s whereabouts.

With a harsh turn, Kotaphira gripped on to the stone ledge and yelled through the archway, looking not at the city below, but what loomed over, white stone perfectly poised in place nearby. “GET OUT OF MY HEAAAD!!”

Silence filled the air after the echo of her voice faded. Luckily for everyone down below, she didn’t use her magical voice in her yell. People in the streets stopped their ongoings to turn and stare up at the crazed old half-Elfirrin woman, birds flying away from the area as fast as they could.

“Shouting at him won’t bring him to life, you know.” Verusk, the king’s advisor, casually rested his shoulder on a post several feet away with his arms crossed over leather and velvet robes. Warm, for the end of spring.

You think I don’t know that! “Oh!” She turned to face him. She had been so overwhelmed with the moment she’d not realized he was standing there. “Ah… I’ll be on my way.”

He pushed himself off the pillar he was against, keeping to the shadowed area of the path as he took a few steps closer. “I think you could use someone to talk to, other than our proud marble representative on the mountain there. Captain Echertai, as good a listener as you claim he was, can only do so much now.. Come, speak with me. Would you, councilwoman?” He gave a smile that was intended to be warm.

“Ah... certainly.” She nodded curtly, needing to bite her lip at his comments about her old friend and lover. More than anything, she wanted to get back to her ‘pet project’. “Is there something you needed? Is my son giving you trouble again over allowances?” Her brain scrambled to find recent topics.

“No, Samund has been quite cooperative- he’s still learning the ropes of being on the council.” He shook his head, “Actually, there’s been talk of some secret happenings going on under our castle’s roof.” He stood straight, stiffening his pose. He was serious.

Does he know of Rinlear? Her head tilted, inquisitive at his questioning. “Secrets? Is that really a new thing, Verusk?” She teased.

His long black hair waved as a strong breeze pushed through the archways, flowers in the planters stinking the air as they danced with the wind. “Perhaps not. But this is something you may be interested in.”

“In what way?” She sounded clueless as ever, perfectly fitting her role, but still irritated that he was stopping her from getting to her goal.

“It seems..” His voice lowered as he stepped closer, not wanting his voice to carry. “Someone.. Or some people, have been poisoning our dragon eggs.”

She blinked. “What?” That was serious cause for concern. The military had recently adapted the dragon rider force over the course of the last 20 years, and it had been quite a success- not to mention these were the very gifts from the Ulpustur dragons. Precious and valuable to the Maerisian forces. Who would sabotage that?

He glanced around, checking their surroundings as his large pointed ears turned with his head. The Arc’hildean night-Elfirrin looked back to her and whispered “Perhaps here is not the best place to discuss this. Shall we go to my office?”

The last thing she wanted was a distraction, and time to do what she needed was limited. But this was… troubling. What group or person would do such a thing? “Very well.” She walked next to him, keeping her head held high.

“How has Taskell been? We hardly hear from that troublemaker these days.” Smalltalk from Verusk meant he was in a troubled mood. Which could mean the king was in some sort of danger. If the dragon eggs and hatchlings were in danger in the safest place in the castle, so too could Selreth be. Verusk never attempted to get involved with anyone unless there was something wrong with King Selreth’s safety.

“Hm.” She nodded, but didn’t say anything to respond. She didn’t have time for this, and getting involved with his safety measures was not entirely her job.

The silence between them grew, and Verusk seemed desperate to close it. “So many flowers have been blooming this spring. The apothecaries are working overtime for anti-allergen potions. It seems we are running low on- get this- frusian leaf. The thing grows like weeds on the hillsides, and no one wants to bother risking their fingers on digging them out of the ground.” He was amused at that. “So the apothecaries who have more of the potion are overpricing their products! Imagine, paying fifty LP for a simple anti-allergen potion.”

“Highway robbery due to laziness. It’s not a new concept.” She finally obliged a little to his chatter. But the silence continued once more, and she noticed his irritation, though if one did not know him well would presume he was nervous. Still, she kept silent and followed along the hallways to his office.

By the time they arrived at his office, she was in a more sour mood. Time was dropping like sand from Midra’s hourglass. He shut the door tight behind them and moved to make tea.

“I’m needed elsewhere, Verusk, and having pleasantries with the king’s advisor in closed quarters hardly seems appropriate.” Her jaws clenched, irritated. She didn’t move from her spot by the door, already feeling claustrophobic for the second time, now from the shelves of books that lined his walls and the large map of the city that hung over his tea making station. 

It seemed she hadn’t completely gotten over her episode from earlier.

He didn’t turn around as he prepared the pot, using an apothecary’s torch to light a small metal ring underneath. Carefully he put the torch away as the ring grew bright and orange, heating the water inside the pot. “Refusing tea from your host is quite an insult, even in Maerise. Isn’t that right?” He moved to set cups and cookies from a covered plate to a tray with a small container of sweetjuice from a miro’ak plant and another of milk. After the water was hot, he poured it into the cups over leaves and set it on his desk. When she made no effort to move from her spot, he picked up her cup and held it out to her. “Milk?”

“Will you get to the point!” Kotaphira huffed as she walked over, took the tea from him and set it firmly on his desk.

“Really. You can’t make a moment, even for me?” Irritation bubbled up in his tone. “We have been through enough together as it is, and you act like this now! Have I upset you that much over that incident that you still give me this cold shoulder?”

At that, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sat down. One time, and he still holds it over my head! How many years ago was that? And nothing even happened! “Was this all a ruse, just to get me alone!”

He scoffed before exhaling, turning to the large window behind his desk and opening the drapes on half the window, light from outside illuminating where she sat. “No. There is a group out there doing terrible things. But I did wish to see you. It has been awhile since we sat and… talked.” he was almost glaring at her with his golden eyes as he sat down.

She responded with a hard glare of her own, squinting from the light. “Ah, it seems we’ve talked, thank you for the tea.” She moved to get up and he laughed, sourly.

“Ahaha! Oh, you’re always in such a hurry, fair Kotaphira! Five. Minutes. Please.” His motioned to the empty chair. “We have to discuss the dragons, at least.” His frustration at her was still quite obvious.

His compliment made her skin crawl, but she sat back down anyway.

After a deep breath, he started once more, careful with his words. “The Festival of Lights is soon, and Queen Sylvarra has invited leaders from around Erai’hym, including King Selreth, his family, and a few others to join her in her palace on the Fertile Peninsula in Lutria.”

“Yes, I heard about this carousel.” She had intended to use that time to put her plan into action, but with Mylla ‘missing’, Selreth wasn’t ready to set foot anywhere if it wasn’t intended to find his precious brat.

Verusk let out an amused snort of air from his nose. “I know, you don’t care for such festivities, but considering it would be on neutral ground for once, I think it would be an excellent chance for us here to get in on her good graces. Also, seeing as you are our founder and are best at working… peaceful negotiations, you would be a valuable asset to this social get-together.”

“The king won’t have it.”

He looked confused. “How-,”

“So long as young Mylla is missing, he won’t even start to think about attending a gathering like that. You know this. Why can’t your protective mind extend further than the King and his ‘assets’?” Her head shook. “So long as you keep close minded on situations like that, you won’t get far.” She would make sure Mylla was found well before the festival, but the ruse needed to stay up- for now.

His tone turned teasing for a moment. “You insult me, councilwoman Arculum. I know where my priorities lie, and I am very familiar with what the king is motivated by.”

That wasn’t quite the response she expected from him. She thought he was going to say, The king and his family are always first to me! My loyalty is to them! That seemed to be his initial outgoing response to most things. What changed, she wondered. “What is it you are motivated by, then?”

A smirk, and he leaned back in his chair, thin fingers interlacing. “Quite simple, really. Power. But! You know me, I cannot work well without someone’s guidance and push. The dynamic between Selreth and I is a bond that is intricately entwined. If something were to happen to him, it affects me directly.”

“Then why are you not down in the streets looking for Mylla as he is?”

Had she caught him off guard? The look on his face seemed to insinuate so. But he gathered himself in a dignified and convincing way. “Someone has to cover the day-to-day nonsense.” He motioned to the stacks of paper littering his desk. “I do this, as he trusts me to, so that he may have some ease in searching for his beloved child. She is of my flesh and blood too, remember.”

“Yes, your niece’s mother is a very prominent member of our society.” Kotaphira couldn’t help the almost snotty tone she took when she said that. She disliked his sister; but, there were few people she liked. “Can we get back to the matter at hand? You mentioned dying dragons.”

“First, answer. Will you attend the festival with me?”

“No. What are the rest of these people’s motives?”

He let another dry laugh before idly tracing the rim of his cup. “You are, without a doubt, one of the most apathetic and aloof women I have ever met. If Mylla is found before then, will you attend?”

“IF she is found…” By the time she is found, I will not even be here. And if I am, this will be the least of my worries! “Ask me at a more appropriate time.” Like, never.

He seemed quite amused still. “Alright. You win. I will ask again later.” He sat back, watching her.

“So? The dragons?”

“Yes, yes. This group-,“ He sat straighter in his chair. “This group seems to have an agenda that the dragons are not welcome here. That because they are not magical like the large dragons from the Ulpustur Region, they must be creatures from Herac’ine. Not only that, if you notice, none of the dragon riders are, or have been, human.”

“What does that have to do with anything? The bond between a dragon and dragon rider is not one that happens by chance- the dragonling chooses their rider. Everyone knows this.” This did sound like a serious issue.

“People want equality, fellow councilwoman. There’s something more. There’s quite the unrest in the city, and not just from Mylla’s disappearance. Many Elfirrin and those with Elfirrin blood have reported feeling agitated and highly so. I myself have felt this uneasiness recently, but only when I’m down walking in the streets. Trocbloods, Derhanish, and others have not.” His eyebrows came together as he thought over this. “It’s possible our Elfirrin blood may have a virus of some sort that is infecting others. So be wary of that.”

“I’m fine.” Nothing out of the usual, anyway. Or.. so she figured. “About the dragons- Why did you not take this to Steirtorim?”

“He’s been out of commission for the past several weeks, under your orders, I found out. I could hound you for the reasons as to why it was so pertinent you reassign our captain to an unknown location.”

“And Stiphen? He is the commander, after all.”

“Now, I couldn’t rightly bring out an accusation like that against him.”

It took her a second to process what he meant. “You think- Stiphen is a part of this group!?” A serious accusation against the old man. There were rumors of some higher ups being racist, but racism had never been an issue in Maerise. If Verusk was one of these racists, however… “What of me? Why tell me?”

“Your motives would not follow that agenda. We all worked too hard for the chance at those dragons, none of us would threaten or hurt them now. It makes logical sense.”

“But logical sense is not proof. Bring me proof of all this- any of this, and I’ll listen to more of what you have to say. But for now, I have a meeting to arrange.” She wanted nothing more than to leave the conversation. There were more important matters to attend to than his dislike and potential slander against her city guard, and the commander, an old friend.

“The proof of the poisoning is there! All you have to do is go and see, I’ll take you to the handlers myself!”

She was already moving to leave.

“Kotaphira- why did you have Captain Steirtorim reassigned?”

“It’s a private matter.”

“So you hire a private thug. Not the city’s captain!”

“I think you’ll find he’ll be back in his own bed tonight. Check there and discuss this issue with him then, and maybe you two can speculate more on this ‘cult’ of yours.” With that, she stood and went to the door, firmly grasping the handle.

He exhaled. “Kotaphira.” His tone had softened considerably. “What should I tell Selreth you’ve done with Steir?”

Informal now. She hated the switch he was able to flip when he wanted more information. The fact that he used Steirtorim’s nickname meant he was thinking back to their ‘adventures’ thirty years prior when they made the pact with the Ulpustur dragons- Selreth, Steirtorim, Verusk, his sister Aneela, and herself were forced together at the time in that unknown place, but they learned how to work together and in the end brought back an agreement of peace and several small dragon eggs. Along with an empty promise to pay handsomely for these eggs should the Ulpustur dragons ever come to collect. Kotaphira knew as soon as her sacrifice was made and access to the Other Place was opened, those dragons would smell the wealth and gather. She’d have to share her greed, and she wasn’t quite sure how much she was ready to surrender to a bunch of money hungry fire breathing lizards.

“Ask Steirtorim that. And don’t bother me again.” She left, closing the door loudly behind her, leaving her untouched tea on the desk.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Red Seas Under Red Skies

by Wardog

Friday, 01 February 2008

Wardog praises with faint damnation~

I was nosing about Scott Lynch's LJ (which is endearingly titled The Dork Lord, on His Dork Throne) not so long ago and I came across this:

I was not a fan of the Wheel of Time books, probably because I came to them in my twenties with my tastes already fairly developed. I was never able to get past the opening of the second book, and those of you who've known me for ages I'm sure absorbed my criticism and invective years ago. I once wrote at excruciating length upon the weaknesses of the books as I perceived them, and while I thought it was extremely clever and somehow necessary at the time, the years since have drastically mellowed my taste for mocking the work of other authors who aren't huge assholes in person or pushing a distasteful agenda with their work. About the best I can say for my mosquito bites is that I sincerely hope Jordan himself never had them called to his attention. Something tells me he would have given them the eye roll they deserved.

And the sheer decency of it has sort of shamed me to such an extent (especially since I am a non-achiever who hangs about on the internet criticising other people's work) that I can hardly bring myself to review Red Seas Under Red Skies, especially since my attempt to write about The Lies of Locke Lamora degenerated into a (semi-harmless) mock-fest of Scott Lynch's hair. By the way the important word in that sentence was "hardly." With this mind and all due humility, here are some thoughts on Red Thingies Over/Under Red Other Thingies, which I shall hereafter refer to as RSURS for the sake of my sanity. It's the second book in the Gentleman Bastard sequence which will, I understand, eventually form a septet. I have to say, this idea distresses me. Not only has Harry Potter soured me on the number seven for life but, given the fact the fantasy genre generally can't cope with trilogies, the idea of a septet seems utterly ludicrous to me. I mean, what do you have to say that takes seven books? Seriously?

For the moment, however, Scott Lynch seems to have something to say. Ultimately there's no point in reading RSURS if you haven't read The Lies of Locke Lamora not because it doesn't almost stand alone but because familiarity with the background, the setting and the characters deepens the experience of reading. To give it due credit: RSURS is reasonably satisfying on its own terms. You can feel the slow gathering of plot upon the horizon like distant clouds (and fear the coming storm) and there are some massive danglers just left hanging in a deliberately taunting and irritating fashion but, hey, thems the breaks with this kind of thing. And, as in Lies, the mysterious Sabetha, the apparent love of Locke's life, is alluded to but remains absent: for fuck's sake, Lynch, stop it. You know she's just going to be a total let down after a build up like this.

The problems evident in Lies are evident in RSURS, only slightly moreso because you don't have the novelty factor of being a first book to distract you from them. If you didn't like Locke the first time round, you won't like him here because he's exactly the same and still, some might argue, something of a Mary Sue or the male equivalent thereof. Although I don't personally object to the love affair Scott Lynch is tenderly enacting with his (anti)hero, I do struggle somewhat with the character. As I think I said in my review of Lies, he's absolutely the nicest bastard you could ever hope to meet: he never harms or kills anybody who doesn't thoroughly deserve it, his supposedly long-dead conscience miraculously reappears whenever he's confronted by any sort of cruelty or injustice and his unswerving and self-sacrificing loyalty to his friends is a virtue of such magnitude that it eclipses everything remotely unsympathetic about him. It shouldn't, but that's the way fiction works: if your character cares about the same people as the reader, it doesn't really matter how that character behaves, they're always going to garner a degree of support and approval.

I wouldn't mind this so much if I didn't have the feeling that Locke is supposed to be a shady character for a dark world. Perhaps I have the wrong end of the stick and Locke was never meant to be anything but a big bleeding heart beneath a thin veneer of survivalist criminality but I don't think so. I think the problem with Locke Lamora is that he's neither enough of one thing nor its opposite: he's neither selfish enough to be a convincing anti-hero nor virtuous enough to be a convincing hero. I know part of his shtick is his shifting sense of self and I'm not averse to complicated, contradictory characters but I find Locke incoherent rather than complex. I'm genuinely uncertain as to what Lynch is trying to do with the character or what we're meant to think. I'm not saying he doesn't do terrible things - he mutilates someone (who, admittedly, deserves it) in the first book - but everything he does that's vile and shocking is excusable whereas everything he does that's compassionate is extraordinary. For example, in RSURS, he and Jean, hanging out a decadent casino called the Sinspire, witness an entertainment in which a young nobleman, unable to pay his debts, has to survive in cage of stiletto wasps. Needless to say he doesn't and Locke secretly makes a blessing over the young man's forgotten corpse:

"Crooked Warden," Locke muttered under his breath, speaking quickly, "a glass poured on the ground for a stranger without friends. Lord of gallants and fools, ease this man's passage to the Lady of the Long Silence. This was a hell of a way to die. Do this for me and I'll try not to ask for anything for a while. I really do mean that this time."

There is no reason for this scene to be in the book (not that it isn't cool) - there are plenty examples of the upper classes being cruel and bloodthirsty to make the point and if the stiletto wasps are at all relevant beyond providing atmosphere they're certainly not to this book. In fact, its only purpose is to remind us that Locke Lamora is great and to show him, thief and conman that he is, being humane in the face of the world's inhumanity.

Unlike some of the reviews I've read, I've never had a problem with the snappy, modern dialogue and the very modern obscenity. In fact, I genuinely relish it. Unfortunately, it was during RSURS that I realised something that had passed me by in the first book: it's the only kind of dialogue Lynch can write. Everyone sounds the same. Pirates, noblemen, thieves, priests Locke, Jean: they're interchangeable. Witty but interchangeable.

"And now, my dear professional pessimist," said Locke... "my worry merchant, my tireless font of doubt and derision ... what do you have to say to that? "Oh very little to be sure... it's so hard to think, overawed as I am with the sublime genius of your plan." "That bears some resemblance to sarcasm." "Gods, forefend," said Jean. "You wound me! Your inexpressible criminal virtues have triumphed again, as inevitably as the tides comes and go. I cast myself at your feet and beg for absolution. Yours is the genius that nourishes the heart of the world." "And now you're-" "If only there was a leper handy," interrupted Jean, "so you could lay your hands on him and magically heal him-" "Oh you're just farting out of your mouth because you're jealous."

And so on. And here we have Jean talking to his ladylove:

"Have you really been practicing on barrels Jerome?" "Barrels. Yes. They never laugh, they never ridicule you and they offer no distractions." "Distractions?" "Barrels don't have breasts." "Ah. So what have you been telling these barrels?" "This bottle of brandy," said Jean, "is still too full for me to begin embarrassing myself like that." "Pretend I'm a barrel then." "Barrels don't have br-" "So I've heard. Find the nerve, Valora." "You want me to pretend that you're a barrel, so I can tell you what I was telling barrels back when I was pretending they were you." "Precisely." "Well ... you have ... you have such hoops as I have never seen in any cask on any ship, such shiny and well-fit hoops-" "Jerome-" "And your staves! Your staves ... so well planned, so tightly fit. You are as fine a cask as I ever seen, you marvellous little barrel. To say nothing of your bung-."

See what I mean?

I think in my review of Lies I commented on the deftness and subtlety of the world building - well, in RSURS, the action has moved from a city made of elderglass to a city consisting of islands made of elderglass. Astonishing. And sadly the delicacy of touch seems to have been replaced by the typical fantasy fiction obsession with geographic detail. It's nowhere near Perdido Street Stationbut, as much as I enjoy Lynch's world, there's a bit too much of this sort of thing:

Tal Verrar, the Rose of the Gods, at the westernmost edge of what the Therin people call the civilised world. If you could stand in thin air a thousand yards above Tal Verrar's tallest towers, or float in lazy circles there like the nations of gulls that infest the city's crevices and rooftops, you would see how its vast, dark islands have given this place its ancient nickname. They whirl outward from the city's heart, a series of crescents steadily increasing in size, like the stylised petals of a rose in an artist's mosaic.

And so on for two or more pages at a time. A bit like this review really.

Also it has to be said, the plot makes no sense whatsoever. It attempts to follow the embedded narrative format of the first book but it feels strained: Lynch occasionally plays with chronology, explaining how events came about after they occur, and offers a few reminiscences but it's noticeably a device now, rather than the most natural vehicle to tell the story. And, like the first book, it begins with Locke and Jean mid-heist only to drag them - reluctant and swearing as ever - into much bigger events, allowing the plot to twist, turn, double back on itself and eventually come full circle in a strangely satisfying manner. Except this time, it turns out that the Archon of Tal Verrar wants them to become ... wait for it ... pirates. Yes. Pirates. Two conmen from the streets of Camorr. Pirates. Now, I know that pirates are just inherently cool and you can't go wrong with them but still, come on. What's next? Locke Lamora and some ninjas? Locke Lamora and zombies? I don't know whether to respect the sheer brass bollocks ludicrousness of it or complain bitterly because it has to be the most spurious excuse for a plot I've ever encountered. And the fact that even main characters complain about the stupidity doesn't actually counteract that stupidity:

"Send us out to sea to find an excuse for you, that's what you said," said Locke. "Send us out to sea. Has your brain swelled against the inside of skull? How the screaming fucking hell do you expect the two of us to raise a bloody pirate armada in a place we've never been and convince it to come merrily die at the hands of the navy that bent it over the table and fucked it in the arse last time."

This is Lynch's latest technique, by the way, one I think he might have borrowed from JK Rowling. He seems have developed a tendency to address the inevitable plot holes of his novels by having his characters draw attention to it. To be honest,

fridge logic

doesn't bother me - I don't care how Buffy the Vampire slayer pays the mortgage on her dead mother's house or how Sydney Bristow circles the globe in half an episode - but attempting to pass it off as anything other than what it is offends me. Having the Archon blackmail Locke and Jean into mustering a pirate armada for political reasons is little more than a blatant excuse for the author to have them messing about with pirates, which is in itself fair enough. However, having Locke and Jean constantly bitching about the insanity of the plan even as they enact it only serves to induce bouts of fridge logic before you're even anywhere near the fridge. It also leads to odd little moments like this:

"Why not?" [said Jean] "Why not? We carry your precious misery with us like a holy fucking relic. Don't talk about Sabetha Belacoros. Don't talk about the plays. Don't talk about Jasmer or Espara or any of the schemes we ran. I lived with her for nine years, same as you, and I've pretended she doesn't fucking exist to avoid upsetting you. Well I'm not you. I'm not content to live like an oath-bond monk. I have a life outside your gods-damned shadow."

Err...actually Jean, you're a sidekick. Haven't you noticed? You actually do not have a life outside Locke Lamora's gods-damned shadow. The more Lynch tries to demonstrate to the reader that Jean is a person in his own right the less convincing it becomes. All it does is illustrate the fact that whatever Jean does on his own account is completely meaningless because his only relevance is tied to his supporting role, a role to which he will always return. His short-lived relationship - although actually moderately engaging, while it lasts - is only further evidence of this. You can see its inevitably tragic conclusion approaching on the horizon like the sails of the good ship Obvious.

The other thing I'm feeling a little bit peeved is Lynch's reliance on a technique he seems to have ganked from Alias. Now, I'm not sure if it continues in the later seasons but the early episodes of Alias always end with a cliff-hanger. And at first I used to get tremendously caught up in them. Oh no, I'd cry, Sydney is hanging from a cliff with only her suspender belt between her and certain death. Oh no, Sydney's rival has locked her in the poison-gas filled vault. Oh no, Sydney is being held at gunpoint by the bad guys. And then I'd insist that we watched another episode to find out what was going to happen, only to be faintly disappointed when the desperate, deadly situation resolved itself harmlessly in about two minutes of screen time. RSURS opens with Locke and Jean caught at crossbow-point on the docks and then, gasp, ever-faithful Jean turns on Locke. The novel then spools backwards in time to show you how they got themselves into this mess and, yes, it's arresting except that it's basically just like Alias, a cliff-hanger critical on the surface but ultimately completely meaningless and wrapped up quicker than a streaker at a tennis match. A couple of similar situations happen over the course of the book and, despite the satisfactory resolution of the plot, there's one left right at the end. I suspect I'd be more interested/frustrated by this Tense and Terrible State Of Affairs if the experience of the rest of the novel hadn't led me to the conviction that it's merely there for affect.

Okay, so I've just written four pages of bitching about RSURS but the fact remains that, despite its flaws, despite everything in it that doesn't quite work for me, I still heartily enjoyed it and very nearly loved it. Pirates, for God's sake, pirates! It's not quite as taut as the first book but once Locke and Jean hit the high seas the pace really picks up and the book becomes wonderful fun, sweeping you along on sheer exuberance and panache. And, damn it all, that's good enough for me. Roll on book three.Themes:

Books

,

Sci-fi / Fantasy

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Arthur B

at 01:09 on 2008-02-02It strikes me that the Gentleman Bastard series embodies a problem I have with lots of fantasy series, namely that one book is really enough. I've felt absolutely no urge to go and read RSURS, and most of the things you point out in the review cement that; sure, it seems to be more of the same, and that's well and good - at least it's not a serious decline. On the other hand, one

Lies of Locke Lamora

is enough for me - having read one book, I don't feel as though anything the other books say can really add anything. (I'm also utterly unconvinced that there's enough juice in the Gentleman Bastards concepts to fill 7 books. I mean, for goodness' sake, he's only on the second book in the series and already he's resorted to pirates.)

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empink

at 02:49 on 2008-02-02@ ArthurB: Forsooth, he *will* go to ninjas next.

You know, I had more faith in this guy. I thought he'd at least 'fess up about Sabetha whatshername, or tie the book back to the first one, or do something other than send Jean and Locke to cavort with pirates for no good reason. It made for fantastic cavorting and rather dull and simplistic reading, though-- I won't be buying any more sequels in hardback, or holding on to them out of guilt either.

Oh, and Kyra, the DIALOGUE. Everyone does sound the same, it's so boring. No one is allowed to be stupid, or say frightening things without twisting themselves into witty shapes and cursing fit to kill themselves. It was all right in the first book, but in RSURS, it starts to look like lack of imagination on Lynch's part.

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Arthur B

at 12:04 on 2008-02-02Yeah, I can think of several points in the first book where I had to start reading a conversation again from the beginning because I lost track of who was who. It's this really weird blind spot in Lynch's writing; he can, when he tries, differentiate between characters in terms of disposition, personality, and so forth, and you can tell that by looking at their actions. (To pick the most obvious example, Jean is far more inclined to charge headlong into a fight like a raging bull than Locke is.) But he's chronically incapable of differentiating them when they're speaking.

I can only assume that he finds dialogue difficult (and to be fair, dialogue

is

difficult), and is trying to compensate by finding a style of dialogue he's quite good at and applying it to everyone.

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Wardog

at 14:23 on 2008-02-04I'm glad the dialogue thing isn't only me ... it's the main problem I have with the series to be honest, despite all my trivial bitching above. After a while, it gets really wearing and the characters all start blurring into each other because I find that it's language rather than behaviour that distinguishes people in books - heh, she says, massively generalising.

I think I must be less bothered by "more of the same" than Arthur is - I genuinely enjoyed both books and I'll happily read more (although I've never splashed out a hardback of either, so the cost of my good will is significantly cheaper than Empink's!) as long as they stay on this kind of level (or get better!). I do find them a nice antidote to ponderous, serious fantasy. I genuinely dig the exuberance and the irreverence.

Also I've been poking about Scott Lynch's personal sites and he seems like a pretty decent, charmingly humble guy...

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Cheriola

at 16:16 on 2014-07-26You know, oddly most of the things you mention didn't bother me at all. Except the utter pointlessness of the opening cliffhanger.

The only thing I did have a problem with is the way Jean shames Locke out of his depression, and Locke keeps apologising for "letting Jean down" in those few weeks for literally the next two years. I mean, in this book, it still reads like he's just mourning/recuperating a little too self-indulgently and maybe like he has a really short bout of alcoholism - but since the next book starts pretty much the same (except Locke has even more good reason to be depressed), and Jean then actually makes a reference to some kind of mental disorder (more something like Freud's innate death wish than depression, but still), it becomes problematic in hindsight. Especially since, either intentionally or not, Locke pretty much reads like a textbook case for bipolar disorder (spending most of each book in a manic phase), if you read all 3 books right after another. So for largely-neurotypical Jean to go "If I can handle our losses, why can't you?" and being sucessful at shaming/angering Locke out of suicidal depressive phases, that's rather problematic in my eyes. I know it fits with the setting that nobody has a clue about modern psychology and how Locke's mood issues are a disease, not willful misbehaviour, but Lynch should find a way to make at least narratively clear that Jean isn't right to do this. Besides, that kind of shaming would just make things worse with a real depressive person.

By the way, I'm fairly sure Locke is supposed to be a straight up trickster hero. Like Robin Hood, or the characters of the show "Leverage". He's not just a crook, he's also a priest and he really does believe in his duty to the dead and that holy mission for class revenge that Father Chains put them all on. (Even if this was retconned into this book and not in the first.) If anything he gets ever kinder from book to book. I think the third one literally points out that Camorr culture is particularly brutal, macho and homophobic compared to all the other city states, and much of Locke's initial darkness is part of his culture (like for example an extreme belief in having to take personal, blood-feud style vengeance) and that this is supposed to be a character flaw. But as he spends time in other cultures, he grows out of some of it. For example, in the first book, he calls the villain homophobic slurs several times. After encountering the queer-positive pirates in the second novel and that little discussion with "I'll try anything once - or 5 or 6 times" guy, he never does that again. And by book 3, when encountering a random pair of gay lovers making out in a garden and being tempted to go through their discarded clothing for their wallets, he stops his kleptomaniac impulse by reminding himself that doing malice to happy lovers would be bad karma.

Also, the losses of his friends, the brush with alcoholism and several with death have seemed to have made him a lot more sympathetic with other people's failings and tragedies. I actually really liked this character development. Yeah, he starts out as a bit of a cock-sure, obnoxious ass, but he does grow up and mellow out over the years, as one should expect.

Heh, but one character actually goes into a rant in the 3rd book about how Father Chains ruined them all for life as hardened, greed-motivated criminals by saddling them with a conscience. So I guess Lynch sees your problem.

By the way, can you really call a character a Mary Sue if literally none of his grand plans for cons ever work out, sometimes because of his own sheer stupidity (e.g. forgetting the cats), sometimes because his mark is just plain cleverer than him (e.g. the paintings), and the author takes an almost perverse delight in beating the crap out of him on a regular basis?

And, as in Lies, the mysterious Sabetha, the apparent love of Locke's life, is alluded to but remains absent: for fuck's sake, Lynch, stop it. You know she's just going to be a total let down after a build up like this.

I thought so, too, and got annoyed at the on-the-pedestal-putting. But now that I've read book 3, which features Sabetha both at about age 30 and when they were both teenagers: She's not. She's really, truly not. In fact, I was genuinely amazed at Sabetha - she's the best feminist (NOT straw-feminist!) character I've ever seen a male author write. And even if half of her discussions with Locke function mainly to introduce the male part of the audience to concepts like male entitlement to female sexuality, Nice Guy behaviour, Shroedinger's Rapist, victim blaming, the general frustration inherent in being an ambitious, highly talented woman in a patriarchal society and the frustration of being in love a with patriarchally socialised guy (who messes up occasionally even if he tries very, very hard not to, and who can't help the unfair male privilege that said society gives him), and that what feminists most want in a man is the ability to listen and learn - even if she's a bit of a mouthpiece in that regard: It's for a good and noble cause, and the author's heart is in the right place. And besides, there still is a clever, head-strong, angry, conflicted, and of course snarky character behind all the Issues. Her characterisation and reasons for leaving are thoroughly believeable, and also function as an Author's Saving Throw by actually pointing out in-text that the worldbuilding in the first book was problematic. Locke and Sabetha are still in love when they meet again, and they are surprisingly mature about their falling out and their attempts to fix it (if not in their professional rivalry...)

And Locke's adoring pedestal-putting, claiming her to be the love of his life, and his whole fixation on her are just that, quite literally - and the text seems aware that it is creepy, and the only thing that saves it is the fact that Locke is absolutely respectful of Sabetha's wishes and never, ever would force so much as a kiss on her. (I found the retconned-in reason for the fixation a bit sad, though: Until book 3, Locke could be read as demisexual for only ever being romantically/sexually attracted to one person. Then it's retconned as having creepy magical reasons that I don't want to spoil.)

The only thing about Sabetha I found a little... amusing, was that teenage Locke was almost too understanding and willing to accept anything feminism-related that she says and to change accordingly. Like I bet the author wishes he was at the age of 16, now that he finally gets it. Still, again, if it serves as a positive role model for male teenage readers, I'm fine with that kind of Mary-Sue-ism. Maybe it's a little preachy, especially since Lynch tries to cover so many topics, but I was just smiling through the whole thing. We do need more books like this.

The con plot of book 3 is a bit meh (basically it's a satire about 'democratic' elections, where Sabetha and Locke are press-ganged into controlling the campaign of one rivaling but politically indistinguishable party each, with all methods allowed short of murder, all ostensibly just for the entertainment of the people who really control the power in this 'republic' - their lives are being threatened to keep them in line, but it just doesn't have the personal stakes and sense of danger that the previous books had), and the teenage flashback is largely about the gang having to stage an annoyingly faux-Shakespearean play while conning a noble into paying for the production. So the relationship between Locke and Sabetha and the object lesson in how to make feminism 101 easily digestible in a fantasy novel, really are the main draws of the book. The meta plot for the series gets going right at the end, though. Which to me felt a bit like jumping the shark, but YMMV.

But I really do recommend the 3rd book, even if the plot is a little weak. Just for the sheer surrealness of reading a male author who manages to get practically everything right with regards to feminism. I mean, I've just read Elizabeth Bear's "Carnival" thinking she must have been the one to teach Lynch - but even she had like two dozen points in that ecofeminist polemic that made me headdesk.

(That book also needs a Ferret review, by the way. It's not thoroughly bad, as such, but the social philosophising made me uncomfortable and I wasn't always sure if I was supposed to be, and the worldbuilding has huge holes at least from my biologist/ecologist point of view. Still, queer protagonists are rare and deserve a mention.)

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Robinson L

at 20:15 on 2016-12-21

Cheriola: You know, oddly most of the things you mention didn't bother me at all. Except the utter pointlessness of the opening cliffhanger.

That pretty much sums up my feelings about the book, too. I guess I just think of this series as running on Rule of Cool and nothing else. Locke and Jean become pirates? Sure, why not? Doesn’t make sense? Who cares? And of course they’re going to complain about how ridiculous the Archon’s plan for them is, but that’s part of the fun.

Dialogue’s all the same? Ehn, so what? It’s all fun. And like you, I relish the modern snappiness/obscenity.

I mean, I don’t blame Wardog or Empink or anyone else who is bothered by this stuff, but just for myself, it seemed fine.

Wardog: I genuinely dig the exuberance and the irreverence.

That’s me, all the way (well, more like ~90% …)

I think the series is of two minds about whether Locke is actually supposed to be kind of an awful person or a stand up guy who happens to be a criminal—but as explained in my comment to the

Lies

review, I’ve chosen not to engage with those aspects and treat the whole thing as a rollicking adventure yarn. I will, however, once again point out a couple instances from this book of Character We’re Supposed to Root For Acts Like a Shitheel and Is In No Way Critiqued For It By the Text presently.

Re: description

And sadly the delicacy of touch seems to have been replaced by the typical fantasy fiction obsession with geographic detail.

Okay, here we come to a criticism I wholeheartedly agree with. Ye GODS but the description got tedious at times. It got tedious on

audiobook

; I shudder to think of trying to slog through it in text format.

I didn’t so much resent the book ending on a cliffhanger – although by the time I got to it, <Republic of Thieveslt/i> was already out, so I knew I’d be reading the next installment in a few months. Mostly, though, I was just relieved the cliffhanger revolved around Locke’s survival rather than Jean’s, because there’s a chance, however slight, of the series killing off Locke’s sidekick before the final book, whereas there’s absolutely none with Locke. So I appreciate the book making it absolutely clear that it’s not really a question of

if

the poisoned character will survive, but

how

.

His [Jean’s] short-lived relationship - although actually moderately engaging, while it lasts - is only further evidence of this. You can see its inevitably tragic conclusion approaching on the horizon like the sails of the good ship Obvious.

I think you undersell the extent to which the tragic conclusion was telegraphed beforehand. We’re talking

a MegaBrooks at the very least

. And I don’t think it would be humanly possible for the way it played out to have been any more cliché. Not to mention the whole fridging angle. Easily the lowest point of the series so far for me.

I thought RSURS handled the aftermath of said inevitable tragic conclusion a heck of a lot less annoyingly than most other books with similar big deaths I’ve encountered, though (lookin’ at you,

Harry Potter

). Jean is, of course, grief-stricken, and the book portrays the depth of his unhappiness while mostly avoiding an Epic Angst Sequence (seriously, there are few things in fiction less engaging than characters sitting around moping), and even sets up some genuinely touching moments, such as in the immediate aftermath of Ezri’s death, when Locke talks Jean down by threatening to throw himself at Jean, forcing the latter to beat the crap out of him (Locke), “and then you’ll feel terrible.”

Yes, pretending Jean is anything more than Locke’s sidekick is on par with “suddenly, Harry realized Dumbledore had actually been a fully-fleshed, three-dimensional character the entire time.” (Book 3 confirms this, when, after Locke is all patched up, Jean slips happily back into his role as Locke’s Number 2 without a hint of lingering grief over Ezri’s death, even as he’s helping out his best buddy romance Sabetha.) However, I thought the conflict between Locke and Jean set off by this outburst of Jean’s you quote in the article was actually pretty decent in terms of a “tensions between the series’ Main Pairing” subplot, which are usually of the eye-bleedingly terrible variety.

And what’s this guff about “moderately engaging?” I found it one of the two most engrossing parts of the story, along with some of Locke and Jean’s interactions. Jean and Ezri are adorable in every single scene they’re together: they bond over martial arts (with Jean being impressed that tiny Ezri actually managed to take him down at first), and their mutual affection for the Gentleman Bastardverse’s Shakespeare analogue. And then there’s the celebration scene where the two of them officially get together, soon after Jean has had his argument with Locke. And he’s keeping his distance from Ezri and it seems like at first he’s heeding Locke’s “you need to stay away from her, bro” bullshit, but it turns out, no, he’s craning away because he’s near-blind and he’s trying to see her properly and it’s incredibly cute you guys, like seriously.

Another thing I really like about the Jean / Ezri relationship is that the presentation feels balanced. I instantly get why Ezri is attracted to Jean as much as why Jean is attracted to Ezri, and in that scene during the celebration where, of course, Jean is being all shy and awkward, there’s a part where we suddenly see Ezri being shy and awkward as well. I’ve read a lot of similar romance arcs—especially those told from the male perspective—where the viewpoint character is vulnerable and complex while their love interest is all strong and confident and basically put on a pedestal.

I actually found it more engaging than Locke’s relationship with Sabetha in

Republic of Thieves

. While I agree with Cheriola that Sabetha is a great character, we don’t get much sense of her interior life, and the only times she displays vulnerability are when it directly relates to Locke. Also, it takes a long time into the story for her to tell Locke and the reader why she’s attracted to him, and I don’t feel the text really

shows

her being attracted the way RSRUS does with Ezri.

RSURS opens with Locke and Jean caught at crossbow-point on the docks and then, gasp, ever-faithful Jean turns on Locke. The novel then spools backwards in time to show you how they got themselves into this mess and, yes, it's arresting except that it's basically just like Alias, a cliff-hanger critical on the surface but ultimately completely meaningless and wrapped up quicker than a streaker at a tennis match.

Oh my god, that was the worst; maybe even worse than Ezri’s death.

I detest flash-forward openings as a general rule. I feel like there

may

have been one or two I’ve encountered which actually worked okay, but if so I can’t remember them now. Those possible examples aside, at best, flash-forward openings contribute f***-all of substance to the story, and at worst they undermine immersion by distracting the reader from the current action with questions which aren’t going to be answered for another 200-400 pages.

To be fair, some flash-forward openings, while still crap, sometimes do something clever with the reader’s expectations (I remember one where a guy wakes up and wonders what the heck is going on, and when we get to that part of the book in turns out the original guy died, and this is a clone, so that waking up sequence is technically his birth). RSURS is not one of those stories, though. The sequence takes on no new significance or added meaning for having read the rest of the book up to that point.

But wait, it gets

better

! Jean turning on Locke is in itself not terribly surprising: they are master con artists, after all. The linchpin (no pun intended) of the tension to this scene is that Jean fails to give the hand signals which mean “this is a scam, play along,” leaving Locke, and the readers, to wonder if this is a real betrayal, after all. Then, after Jean has dispatched the two assassins he says: “Oh, yeah, didn’t you see me giving the hand signal which means ‘this is a scam, play along’?” and Locke is all like, “Gosh, man, I must’ve missed it.” And that’s an end to it. Are you f**king kidding me?

Granted, this sort of stuff happens all the time in real life, but narratively speaking, it’s the worst kind of cheap trick for creating false tension. It

might

have been forgivable if there were some long-term consequences to the whole business. Locke and Jean have both been dosed with a slow-acting poison at this point in the story, and I thought maybe Locke’s failure to notice the hand signal was an early warning sign that the poison is beginning to effect his perception. But

no

. Or maybe Jean really was considering turning on Locke for some reason or other and then had a change of heart, and made up the part about the hand signal. No sign of that, either.

Look, I’m glad Jean doesn’t actually betray Locke, because as story turns go, that would have been at least as irritating as Ezri’s death, probably worse. But first you hit me with this bullshit flash-forward, then you double down on the bullshit by revealing the whole thing was just a trifling misunderstanding with no effing consequences whatsoever? What a waste of time.

… So yeah, on balance, I was not well pleased or amused by this sequence, especially as our hook into the main story.

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Robinson L

at 20:30 on 2016-12-21And now it’s time for another installment of Robinson Dissects the Ethics of the

Gentleman Bastard

Books. This week’s episode: Captain Zamira Drakasha Edition.

So yeah, Zamira is all kinds of awesome, but like with the other main characters, it’s best to turn one’s critical thinking off when thinking about her actions, or it becomes very hard to think of her as any kind of hero.

Case in point: she takes Locke, Jean, and the rest of their sorry crew onto her ship as probationary pirates. You do good, you play by the rules, you become full crew members; you step out of line, you die. All pretty standard stuff, except it turns out when she says she will kill you for breaking the rules, she means it.

One of the guys who originally signed on with Locke and Jean now despises the two of them intensely and is kind of an asshole in general, so the reader is primed to dislike him. He’s getting picked on by some of Zamira’s crew members, and finally he gets pushed too far and grabs a weapon to defend himself with. But laying hands on a weapon is against Zamira’s rules, so she has him executed on the spot. For the kind of mistake that anybody could make. And the reader is supposed to be okay with this because the guy was made to be unlikable. It could just as easily have been someone like Jean or Locke making a similar mistake, prompting Zamira to execute them, and the reader to hate her, in turn. We’re not invited to judge her character based on her actions, but on how we feel about the characters she acts against.

Later, there’s the time when we first see Zamira’s

Poison Orchid

attack a merchant ship, which involves pretending to be in peril themselves. As the pirates are preparing to board the ship, one of Zamira’s lieutenants tells the new recruits “if any of you are feeling moral qualms about attacking these merchants, just remember that they thought we were in distress, and only came to help us when we signaled we were willing to give them unconditional salvage rights.” Which, if you stop to think about it, is a

really

clever rationalization to psych people up to potentially commit an atrocity. I mean, if that were the point of the sequence—which it isn’t—I would’ve said it was brilliant. For all they know, the captain of the merchant ship was just a huge asshole, and literally everyone else aboard was clamoring to help the

Poison Orchid

right from the beginning.

It also seemed like, in the three way struggle between the Archon, Stragos; the proprietor of the big gambling den, Requin; and the members of the Priori; Stragos winds up being the Designated Villain of the book, not because his actions are worse than those of Requin or the Priori (we’ve already established they can be equally vicious), but because it happens to be Stragos’ actions which got Jean’s girlfriend killed. He gets punished, whereas Requin and the Priori members get happy endings, only because Stragos hurt someone the reader is supposed to care about.

Locke and Jean are quick to forgive the Priori member who was sending assassins after them because the Bondsmages told him the two Gentleman Bastards were going to cause him trouble. Which, okay, the assassins all failed, and all got killed, but by the logic of this story they were probably all Bad Men who deserved what they got, so no harm, no foul, right? Except, no, there

was

harm. One of the attempts to kill Locke and Jean was a really convoluted scheme to give them free drinks which were laced with poison. And the thing about convoluted schemes is that they’re full of holes, as in this one where Locke and Jean weren’t interested in the drink in question, and passed theirs on to the dockworker at the next table, who proceeded to die in their stead. No one in the story ever gets any kind of comeuppance for this murder, ‘cause I guess we’re not supposed to care about red shirts.

So basically, what I’m trying to say here is that the ethics of this series are all kinds of messed up if you look closely.

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Robinson L

at 00:00 on 2016-12-22

Cheriola: book 3, when encountering a random pair of gay lovers making out in a garden and being tempted to go through their discarded clothing for their wallets, he stops his kleptomaniac impulse by reminding himself that doing malice to happy lovers would be bad karma.

That was cute. Another very minor point I appreciated from that book was in a scene where Locke has to hold Sabetha as part of this play they’re performing and the narrator (speaking broadly from Locke’s perspective) talks about what it’s like for someone to hold another person whom they’re attracted to. It would have been

so

easy to gender the subject of attraction in that sentence as female, or to say something like “a person of the opposite sex whom they’re attracted to.” But no, it’s a general statement, and so the book sticks with generalities, not making stereotypes about the genders or orientations involved. Again, a minor point, but one I’ve seen even a lot of nominally well-intentioned works fail at, so I was mildly impressed.

I was genuinely amazed at Sabetha - she's the best feminist (NOT straw-feminist!) character I've ever seen a male author write.

I think it was this part which finally clinched it for me to read the series. As a male author myself, I can’t help but take it as a challenge.

As mentioned earlier, though, I feel like we didn’t get much sense of Sabetha’s internal life, except as it relates to Locke, and she has to tell Locke (and the reader) what particularly attracts her to Locke, rather than the book showing us.

It probably was implausible to have 16-year-old Locke be so receptive to Sabetha’s Feminism 101 lectures, but for me it was preferable to the second hand embarrassment of having Locke throw out insipid, MRA-apologist arguments for Sabetha to shoot down.

Since I’m not seeing a

Republic of Thieves

review on the horizon, I suppose I might as well give my thoughts on the book in general. Overall, I liked it, and Sabetha is a fine addition to the series’ cast.

I also kind of dug the way the main caper of the book was not a high stakes life or death game of taking on some brutal, affluent, entitled snot or other, but rather fixing an upcoming election. It shows you can have all the same drama and intrigue without putting countless lives on the line, which comes as a nice change of pace. (Granted, it turns out there are countless lives on the line in the Bondsmagi’s larger game, but that only comes up after the whole thing is over, so in my view it still counts.)

My political sensibilities being what they are, I particularly liked the election angle to the plot because the book depicts it as 1) an aristocratic exercise with no pretense of populist input (only a small fraction of the city’s residents have the franchise), and 2) a complete farce in any case, because who gets elected has f**k all to do with who’s better leadership material or has the best policies – the book dispenses with such preposterous fig leaves and dives straight into the real heart of electoral politics: naked corruption, double dealing, and general chicanery. There’s also the implication that who gets elected is ultimately trivial in terms of how Karthain is actually run, because the real ruling elite (in this case, the Bondsmagi), make damn sure that in practice, it gets run exactly the way they believe produces the greatest benefit for the city’s inhabitants. (The book seems to suggest that what they think is best for Karthain really is, which is where its views and mine diverge, but other than that, I’m completely on board with the book’s representation.)

Locke’s backstory seemed … really out of place. Given how magic has always taken such a tertiary role in the books up to that point, I didn’t expect it to play such a huge part in Locke’s past. This felt like the backstory to a character in a very different type of story, honestly. But other than that it’s just kind of, “whatever.”

[capmerthur]

THE BODY SWAP

Summary: It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV, bonus Gaius, bit of George, mentions of Will.

Excerpt PART IV:

“I’m supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn’t a bad one. Except I’m not you; I do not *fall* for no reason twice a day. So. I’ll make you fall. That’s more plausible.”

“No way! You’ll end up in the stocks!” Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn’t want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. “Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon.” Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic’s sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. “So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I’m clumsy, as ever; you’re noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn’t want me hurt to start with?” (pause, before adding) “If he doesn’t though, I’ll stand guard next to you.”

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER IV)

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin's internal crisis as he shares what he's uncovered until now: "It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves."

"So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally."

"Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?"

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur's usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: "But why you?"

"Well, obviously *you*'ve forgotten, but I am Camelot's Crown Prince, responsib-."

"Which is exactly what's bothering me!" Merlin can't help but interject. "Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?"

"Oh... Do you think... Could someone be... training on us, then? Before attacking-"

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you're head of security. We shouldn't rule anything out."

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: "Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We'll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn't work?"

Merlin can't help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: "That's... a lot; on both accounts."

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: "I know."

/

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: "So. What's on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?"

"Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there's concil, tomorrow."

"Well, let's start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It's mostly your father's duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you're to hear and listen..." Fear grips Merlin at once: "But it's public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!" He MUST protect Arthur's body: "Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?"

"No."

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn't the time for Arthur feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): "Arthur, please (again?). It's the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can't - You're the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-"

"I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention", Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn't registered at first how Merlin's concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. "Court clothes are required, anyway. We're not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes," Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. "Besides, the guards will be present. So don't worry too much about anything happening to us", Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us'...

Merlin though isn't reassured enough about his Prince's safety: "Please (yes, that's thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic" - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: "As you wish; but it won't be comfortable against naked skin."

"I'll manage." Merlin can't help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: "But I'll need your help to tie it in the back?"

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: "I *know*, Merlin." 'My clothes' going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn't piqued about doing a servant's work...

/

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur's clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather's straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper ("Impressive, ain't I?") echoes in Merlin's ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know', Merlin can't refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

"I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height", Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to growing up... No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin's eyes...

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: "Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-"

"Shut up, Merlin", accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything just feels right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn't noticed before, when all he felt was STRESS.

Oh no.

/

"Arthur?" Merlin can't help but wince at the odd tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. "I think I need - I mean you need... to... have to go?"

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing...): "Merlin!"

"He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It's *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn't have drun-"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!"

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can't help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius's healing balm to bruises on Arthur's back because it's a place Arthur can't reach on his own, and, well... watching and touching Arthur's manhood, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: "This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?"

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: "Do you want to... hold-"

"Your hand, Merlin!", Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that's a 'No way' if Merlin ever heard one...

"Would you rather it to be your hand-"

"It's *your* hand right now!" Indeed. So. Another 'No way'.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: "What if I... go sit into the stream? There's a quiet spot not so far from the castle, where Gaius collects herbs... If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas."

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: "Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius." He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: "Let's go!"

"You're coming?" (while hurryingly putting the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

"Well, as I just said, it's bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is."

/

On their way to the torrent, they plan the day further.

"We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you're not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn't right. And, well..."

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. He doesn't have to:

"You're right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of... stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with... If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it's him; even if it's only about finding an adequate book."

Merlin nods, relieved: "So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you're not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow's concil. Do you address things in an established order; who's whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on..."

"I'm supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn't a bad one. Except I'm not you; I do not *fall* for no reason twice a day. So. I'll make you fall. That's more plausible."

"No way! You'll end up in the stocks!" Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn't want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. "Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon." Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic's sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. "So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I'm clumsy, as ever; you're noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn't want me hurt to start with?" (pause, before adding) "If he doesn't though, I'll stand guard next to you."

"Would you? Well, who knows, maybe I'll return the favor the next time."

"The next time?"

"I can't save you from my father's wrath every time; it's bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth."

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, smiling:

"I guess I'm supposed to say 'thank you'?"

"I might have forgotten to mention that I'll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince's privilege and all that..." - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn't know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn't felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since "I'm rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables". Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn't change it for the world.

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS :

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can’t help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings…

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin’s, and relief surges through him somehow - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it’s Arthur’s fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything…

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin, he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range…

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin’s mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin’s eyes… except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is… Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realises he is actually in Merlin’s bedroom. He’s been in here before, once; and he recognises it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right…

And, as it surely doesn’t feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well… Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else’s body this morning? That would be… precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds… So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn’t bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet …

/ / /

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn’t used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin’s fault if he falls over his own feet that often after all…

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind… Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side a full minute, which has Arthur questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn’t where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn… Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom’s door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn’t sure it’s a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn’t* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn’t; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand… well, it isn’t Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready… This time, it’s only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin’s body has ill intentions…

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur opens the inside door to his bedroom, hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be…

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right… Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions…

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR’S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR’S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This… just DOESN’T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur’s armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn’t recall walking to Arthur’s chamber, and even less…

Oh my… What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn’t look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: “There is actually a perfectly valid explan-”

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is… himself? His breath catches as ‘utter confusion’ gets a new meaning, you bet…

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice just sounded, and how he’s wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what’s NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes… And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur’s bed in Arthur’s clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and… Arthur… is him? MUST be him. He has been calling him right the right way, right?!

“Arthur?” Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin’s mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn’t entirely look like his own though - “Yes, Merlin. It’s me,” followed by a relieved sigh: “And it’s you”. And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can’t help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur’s armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur’s food (picking at it as a way to make sure it’s not poisoned etc…) and about Arthur’s armour: it’s one of Arthur’s protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion…

Also: I know mirrors were not so advanced at the time… But Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic right… And on a side note, I’m never going to be over Arthur’s priority-thinking (I’m in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin’s priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn’t have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn’t actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he’s wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur’s desk behind Arthur’s back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed…

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

So. Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now… Will after all didn’t lie to protect Merlin’s secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after…)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur’s life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that’s dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin’s life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin’s earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur’s had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn’t been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur?

It shouldn’t have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father’s orders in order to save a child’s life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur’s disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn’t walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther’s judging cold glares and Morgana’s sharp witty tongue; and the physical playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go…). And last but not least: Ealdor owed Arthur its renewed safety. And Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn’t gone looking for a Mortaeus flower… So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. Notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn’t even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself in order to fix his error instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well… There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* ready to die for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin’s heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousands deaths to save his Prince.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what’s to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur’s love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

[hopeduckling13]

Find My Way Back To You: Chapter 19

Summary:  Hope Swan-Jones is the product of the product of true love and her true love, so her having very powerful magic was always in the cards. Luckily she lives in a town where everyone is very familiar with magic, so nothing can go wrong, can it?

Or so everyone thought, but then one day as a newborn Hope accidently travels back in time with her mother Emma.

How will the past population of Storybrooke react to their Savior having another kid and being married? And more importantly will the Savior and her baby daughter find a way back home to all of their loved ones?

- - -

Catch Up:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857127/chapters/34395467

FF.NET: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12964592/1/Find-My-Way-Back-To-You

Tumblr: [Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18]

--- PAST EMMA’S POV ---

 What the hell?! Emma can’t possibly have kissed Hook? Right?

I mean she’s me. He’s Hook. I would never ever kiss Hook. I don’t even like him. This just doesn’t add up. Why would I ever even consider kissing him? Sure, he isn’t too bad looking and we do kind of understand each other, but that doesn’t automatically make me want to kiss him. He’s one of the most annoying people I know, so kissing him would only lead to him being even worse than he already is with all the teasing and smirking 24/7. I swear if I could, I’d staple that eyebrow of his on his face, so he couldn’t raise it every few seconds any more.

There has to be another explanation for the whole kiss problem. One that actually makes sense.

It’s probably like I originally assumed. Hook is a crazy person or a liar. So, him believing this kiss happened, doesn’t make it true. He thinks it happened since he believes everyone loves him as much as he loves himself. But he’s wrong about that. Most people are just annoyed by him – including myself.

There’s no way a version of me kissed him. And besides my obvious dislike towards him, Emma being a happily married woman proves this, too. She wouldn’t risk what she has with her husband, whom she seems to love a lot, for a kiss from Hook – in the past. She seems to think they’re true love after all, so she honestly wouldn’t cheat on him – especially not with such an infuriating pirate. The few failed relationships I did have, never involved any cheating on my part either. So, I doubt I would start now that I am in a great one.

So, let’s just move on and agree that Hook is insane.

“Oh, Swan, that kiss did most certainly happen. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. But one day you will and that's when all the fun begins.” He smirks at me and I consider leaving, but I know it won’t do me any good. He’ll just run after me. And I’d have nowhere else to go except for the loft, which is out of the question for at least another few hours.

So, I order another glass of rum as a staff member passes us, and lean back into the booth, trying to enjoy my evening away from the craziness happening at the loft. I do my best to ignore Hook, but his constant staring sure does make it hard. If I don’t control myself, I know I’ll punch him soon.

I down another shot of rum, thinking it might distract me enough to ignore Hook for a little, but that’s not the case. That’s also when I have enough. I turn towards him and snap at him. “What?!”

He raises his eyebrow in surprise at my sudden outburst. And here he is constantly going on about how he can read my every thought since I’m an open book to him. Seems like he was wrong now, doesn’t it? One point for me.

“Quit staring at me!” I say angrily.

“I’m just enjoying the view, love.” He smirks. I punch his arm lightly, which just makes him chuckle. I know I should’ve hit him harder. Now he’ll just assume it was a friendly little punch.

“That’s such a cliché.” I reply, trying to distract him. Hook seems to be confused by that, so my plan officially worked. He knew that he probably doesn’t know the word. I’m not sure whether it exists in the Enchanted Forest and in addition he’s 300 years old or something, so how would he even know? “It’s a kind of sentence, that is used very often – to the extent that it’s overused – and it sounds creepy because of that.” I actually offer him a smile. “Also, I’m not your ‘love’ so stop calling me that.”

“Well, it is the truth, love. And if I’m not allowed to look at you, then how am I supposed to figure out why you’re so vexed today?”

Just proves again how much I am not an open book. That time on the beanstalk he must’ve only gotten lucky. He couldn’t actually ‘read my mind’ then, just like he can’t now. Everything he did knew was probably just a guess or Cora spied on us and told him to make him seem trustworthy.

I never completely believed him – only partly since we seem to be a lot alike, bonded by our pasts – when he called me an open book. And I am very relieved that that’s right. Not a single person in the world needs to know my business. I’ve done well on my own since I was a little kid, and that hasn’t changed. I don’t need anyone in my life. It’s great to have Henry, but he’s really the only person I’m willing to get vulnerable with. That’s a smart choice, right?

Why does Hook want to know what’s up with me anyway? Is he still working for Cora? I mean he said that she has her own agenda here and I actually believed him then. My lie detector didn’t indicate a lie, which seems to be the case whenever I talk to him. He never seems to lie to me, but that doesn’t make sense. He’s a pirate and they are supposed to lie. So, what’s his deal right now?

He doesn’t really care, does he? He’s probably just bored or inquisitive.

“As if you actually care about what has me in such a bad mood.” I say dryly, trying not to let it show, that this actually scares the crap out of me. Why does he have to seem so trustworthy and nice all the time? It just confused my brain into thinking that he cares about me. But he doesn’t. I mean, who could ever care about me? I’m not someone that other people give a crap about. That’s how its always been.

Also, I’m always doing my best at being mean to him, so why doesn’t he ever leave? Why doesn’t he let me push him away? It’s always been so easy with everyone else in my life – they even left me without me trying to push them out of my life.

“Maybe I do care.” He’s almost whispering by now, but I hear every single word crystal clear. The worst thing about this is that it sounds so damn sincere. He’s actually serious about this, isn’t he? I was prepared for that admission, at least that’s what I thought when I teased him. But I wasn’t really ready for this.  “So, what is it that’s bothering you, Swan? Maybe I can help…”

He must have better things to do then sitting here and offering to listen to my problems, right? People don’t put me first. Is he doing this because he’s got no one either? Or because he actually wants to help me?

Tears build behind my eyelids and I just stare at him with big eyes. I don’t know what to say, so I tell myself that sometimes actions speak louder than words. I shift in the booth to sit closer to him. I lean in very slowly to make that kiss he keeps talking about real, but just as our lips are about to touch, I hear the bartender setting down a little bottle of rum on our table.

I pull away very fast, so that I’m almost hitting my head on the wall behind me in the progress. I say “This didn’t happen, so never mention it again – not to me nor to anyone else.” to Hook before getting out of my seat and leaving the Rabbit Hole. He doesn’t follow me this time.

[kingofthenorth49]

Potholes on the information superhighway, and other things to miss

So as I sit hear listening to the sound of the wave gently caressing the soft sandy soiled walls of the eroding bank in front of our COVID driven overly expensive waterfront view, I’m staring at two words blinking at me from the screen of my laptop that are causing me to smile, that deep internally satisfying smile we only get when something so perfect touches our souls.

No internet.

Now that may send shivers down the spine of even the most hardened 15-year old gamer as they sit in front of their Xbox One for the 100th time as it does a 12 gig regular update, but not me, it brings a sense of inner peace. See I’m a gen X’er, born during Canada’s centennial and raised on skinned knees, streetlight hide and seek, and the best music generation of all times, if you discount the renaissance. Love me some Mozart.

But why would the lack of access to the internet of things, an absence of bit transfer, make me so happy?

Because we have become enslaved by technology, and we are indebted to a few technocrats who now control almost every aspect of our lives. Don’t believe me? Leave your phone at home for a day. Let me know how that works out for you.

Think about how easy it is to unperson someone now. They unpersoned the President of the United States in under a day, so think about how easy it would be to make you disappear from society. If you’ve ever read Orwell’s 1984 you’d understand how immensely easy Winston Smith’s job would be in 2021, how quickly you could scrub the very existence of a person from society should a bad actor, say like a government bureaucrat who didn’t like a post you made on twitter criticizing their political candidate. They can shut off your access to your bank account with a keystroke, no cash for you and speaking of cash, once our current paper/plastic currency goes away that control gets even tighter as you won’t make a single transaction without the government knowing about it, and eventually approving it.

Approving it you say? The government can’t tell me what I can and cannot buy! Really? C’mon Prole, you have a short memory. It was only a few weeks ago Walmart had to caution tape off clothing aisles in their stores across Canada so the unwashed masses couldn’t buy new clothes because they aren’t essential goods.

Well I’m glad to hear that, that mandate will fit well into my retirement plans, but I digress....

China has had a social credit system for some time; it’s a way the ruling class keeps the Proles in line. You write blogs like this that criticize the government; they turn off your access to things like travel. Miss too many days at work this month? No access to smokes or liquor for 60 days. Click. Unpaid parking tickets? Forget about booking that cruise Winston.

Do you think I’m making this up like some dude in 1948 writing about Ministries of Truth? Do you think this isn’t coming? It’s coming at us like a drug infused Charlie Sheen at dollar night at Baby Dolls.

Think vaccine passports. Seems innocuous (pun intended) enough doesn’t it. I mean countries have always required vaccinations to travel into them right? But here’s what you aren’t thinking about. If I wanted to travel to Mozambique I’d need a malaria vaccination, maybe a few others, but it’d be my choice to get vaccinated to do the travel. If I didn’t want to be vaccinated, I’d just not travel to Africa in the first place. No biggie.

But they are pushing to vaccinate the world population all at once, all for a bad flu (yes, I know people died, but people die every single day from the same family of viruses, some years more than others) and at the same time some countries are trying to mandate vaccination passports, like Canada for example. I bet most of you didn’t know that the Government of the right dishonourable sock puppet, the crime Minister of Canada, the son of Fidel himself has issues a request for proposal to tech companies to develop and operate a biometric identification system to imprint Canadian subjects’ identities to vaccination status.

That’s right, if you live in Canada soon you will be required to give up your biometric information to the government in exchange for a few beans, that is as long as you follow the mandated vaccination schedule and eat all your veggies. Think my tinfoil hat is on too tight? I’d challenge you to sit down and do some research on some of the bills Trudopes minions are tabling right now. They literally aren’t hiding their agenda any longer they’ve become that bold.

Combine that with the mass buying of single family homes buy large equity funds like Blackrock. There’s no conspiracy theory, both CBC and the National Post have reported on this, and it’s not new, large corporations have for a long time controlled the majority of the residential rental market but now they’ve changed strategy and have started buying homes in suburbia.

Why?

Control.

By 2030 you will own nothing and you’ll be happy. This is the agenda of the progressives, to even the playing field for everyone, equality is the end goal to ensure everyone is equal. Except them. Someone has to live in the farmhouse and drink the milk, you know, for brains and stuff.

Within the next decade those who stare at goats will control every aspect of our lives through the use of technology. Gone will be the days of individual freedoms and opportunity. It’s not a far stretch from where we already are if you think about it, we can easily be cancelled nowadays for simply sending the wrong 128 character combination across the IoT. Remember Jim? Oh yeah, he was a pot stirrer right up until the time he posted that tweet about JT’s wife liking chocolate better than vanilla then POOF he was gone. Whatever happened to him?

Holy squirrel’s batman, it’s hard to focus this morning. Sorry.

We give children iPhones and then can’t understand why they become introverted and troll their friends on social media by the time they are 12 or spend their nights locked in their bedrooms talking to strangers or conducting cam shows for magic tokens they can trade for new possessions.

This pandemic just helped that little model move up the greatest hits chart just a wee bit faster now didn’t it. I heard the word “Cave syndrome” for the first time yesterday, a connotation that some people will have a hard time re-integrating into society once things “open up”, and by “open up” I mean our tormentors allowing us by virtue of some untold regulation to resume our lives in a new normal.

A new normal of more control.

The allegory of the cave is a good one (double points right there folks!). Yes, I was going all Socrates/Plato on that one. Most people do not grasp the enormity of the reality of where we are going, nor do I think they even care because they have been facing the blank wall for way too long and have developed Stockholm syndrome as a result. If you don’t know that the water temperature is increasing, and you are enjoying what you think is a hot tub fiesta, well then all of this will be lost on you anyway so you might as well embrace the bubbles. Technology is a double edged sword that we’ve swallowed whole, damn the torpedoes. We have become so dependent I fear there’s no escape what’s next.

But not here.

Blink. Blink. No Internet.

I’m going to ensure there’s always a Barchetta stored here, you know, for the future, it just likely won’t be red. Red cars always attract attention.

For now I’ll enjoy the sound of the surf, the wind through the trees, and the feel of the cover of a good book in my hands as society races to obliterate itself at an alarming rate, one I’ll never understand. And I know one thing, i’ll use my phone to access the ‘net when needed, then shut it off when not. That’s freedom folks, that’s what I was promised, and that’s what I’m living.

Namaste.

[nothingman]

Congress moved one step closer to averting government shutdown, passing a $1 trillion spending bill in the House on Wednesday — but this wasn’t a Republican-led push.

Even with Republicans in charge of the White House and Congress, it was Democratic support that got the spending bill over the finish line, and it’s rubbing many House Republicans the wrong way.

“Just go right down the list issue after issue — it’s nothing,” Virginia Rep. Dave Brat, a conservative member, said, lamenting the contents of the omnibus spending bill. “The wall, the Middle East immigration stuff, H-2B visas, Planned Parenthood, EPA, military not as much as Trump wanted, and I’m just getting started. It goes on and on and on — sanctuary cities funded — it’s just like, really?”

Brat is not alone in calling the funding package a loss for the majority party. More than 100 Republicans voted against it in the House (nearly half the conference), and the bill will likely lose GOP votes in the Senate as well.

"I think the Democrats cleaned our clock,” Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) told reporters. “This was not winning from the Republican point of view." Others, not willing to go so far as to call the deal an outright loss, have been simply shying away from calling it a “win.”

Congress reached the bipartisan deal on government spending earlier this week, just in time for the May 5 government shutdown deadline. By most measures, it seems to be a huge win for Democrats, who used their threat of a filibuster in the Senate to get their way on spending. The bill doesn’t include any money for a wall on the US-Mexico border, nor does it cut federal funding for Planned Parenthood. There are enough increases to military spending and border security funding for Republicans to claim small wins. Overall, however, the bill is a far cry from the “tough on spending,” small-government platforms most Republicans have spend their careers campaigning on.

It is further proof that the party that now controls the presidency and both chambers of Congress is in a bind when it comes to government spending.

“We won the House, the Senate, and the White House democratically — we won,” Brat said. “So when [Senate Minority Leader Chuck] Schumer is grinning like the Cheshire Cat, you got a problem.”

Republicans are stuck in a lose-lose situation — and that’s not going to change

Bipartisan spending deals will always lose support on both flanks of the parties, but this omnibus package was particularly hard to swallow for Republicans. It both didn’t adhere to the Republican small-government ideal and didn’t fund Trump’s core agenda.

“I don’t see it as a win for conservatives; the hallmark things that most of us ran on are conspicuously absent,” said Pennsylvania Rep. Scott Perry. “We are simply maintaining the current position. That’s not a win.”

It’s proven to be a bad look for Republicans, and the optics are only going to get more difficult for the GOP.

In 2013, Democrats only had control of the White House and a narrow majority in the Senate. When the government shut down, it was easier for Democrats to pin the blame on the Republicans.

Now, Democrats in the Senate have the power of a filibuster, which has made the spending bill look like something out of the Obama era. But in the eyes of the American people, Republicans have control of the White House and Congress, making both a Democrat-friendly spending package and the alternative, a government shutdown, huge risks politically. Ironically, gaining more power across two branches of government has lost Republicans some leverage in pushing President Trump’s agenda through a budget deal.

And Trump isn’t helping. On Monday, clearly angered by the barrage of headlines declaring this 2017 spending bill a huge win for Democrats, he advocated for a government shutdown in September, when Congress has a deadline to pass a 2018 spending bill. It makes it hard to say a shutdown is Democrats’ fault when you have a tweet from the president calling a shutdown a “fix.”

Republican leadership was seemingly aware of this lose-lose situation this time around, an explanation for why they said a “shutdown is not on the table” from the outset. But Brat said that was their first mistake.

“Look at Trump’s foreign policy — the major thing he says is don’t tell your enemy what you are going to do,” he said. “Now, the Democrats are not our enemy — they just happen to be wrong on most issues — but you don’t say we are not going to shut down two months in advance because otherwise you are telling them, ‘Hello, we are not going to fight on anything.’”

Either way, the politics is not going to change by September.

“Does this make the 2018 budget much more difficult and much more contentious in its debate? I think the answer is yes,” Rep. Mark Meadows, the conservative chair of the House Freedom Caucus, said. “It doesn’t fulfill the president’s agenda, and a lot of Americans would like for us to be a little bit more aggressive in terms of our spending priorities in supporting the president.”

Conservatives don’t seem to have a viable solution to this

It’s clear conservatives are struggling to come up with a viable way to get more wins in spending. Meadows said Republican leadership should be more open to walking away from a deal — in other words, they should be more open to allowing a shutdown. Rep. Jim Jordan (R-OH), a man known for liking a good congressional fight, agreed.

Conservatives are also emphasizing the importance of not leaving negotiations to the last minute — which is Congress’s traditions with spending deals.

“We feel like the best way to take this is to take a proactive stance,” Rep. Mark Walker, who chairs the Republican Study Committee, said. “We are not going to wait until September to deal with this.”

But it’s not apparent that playing chicken with a government shutdown and spending more time negotiating would give Republicans more wins, seeing as Democrats will have the same leverage in September.

The Senate has the power to change this calculus. Conservatives in the House say Mitch McConnell should end the filibuster on spending bills, an idea Trump also implied earlier in the week. While not unprecedented — the Senate already changed the rules over Supreme Court nominations this year — it seems unlikely with appropriations, which have long been bipartisan.

There’s also an almost too-hopeful suggestion from Brat who said appropriators should simply emphasize that Republicans democratically won power in all branches of government to win more of their agenda items.

“If you talk to a third-grade kid and you said if you own the House, the Senate, and White House, who do you think in a democracy should get to run things for the most part? Should you negotiate?” Brat said. “I have the House and the Senate and the Supreme Court and the White House. So then, okay, let’s compromise, so Democrats you get one thing, but we get 10.”

“That’s the way it should work,” he added.

Unsurprisingly, the Democrats were amused by the notion: “Turning to third-graders to do their negotiating isn’t a bad idea for Rep. Brat and the rest of the Freedom Caucus, given how this round turned out for them,” a senior Senate Democratic aide said in response.

With a fractured Republican Party on health care, this might be a way forward on other issues

The bottom line is that this spending bill has passed the House, even without 103 House Republicans on board. It’s on its way to pass the Senate, and the president has implied that he will sign the bill and look toward 2018 to make a stronger push for his agenda.

For some Republicans, there is an understanding that this is how budget negotiations go down in Congress.

“This is a classic bipartisan compromise,” Rep. Tom Cole (R-OK) said, himself happy with some of the provisions in the bill, like increased funding for the National Institutes of Health. Ironically, Trump’s 2018 budget proposal looks to slash NIH funding. Even some conservatives unhappy with the deal agree there are some positives. Rep. Mo Brooks (R-AL) cited the funding for NASA as a win (there’s a NASA base in his district).

With so much infighting among Republicans on health care, Cole sees this deal as a way forward on other issues, like infrastructure and tax reform. Already Rep. Kevin Brady (R-TX), who chairs the tax-focused Ways and Means Committee, has indicated working with Democrats on tax reform is an option.

Should that happen, it’s safe to assume conservatives won’t be on board. Obviously, working with Democrats is not a model that House Speaker Paul Ryan or the Republican conference has wanted to pursue on health care.

As for Trump, he has both indicated that he is willing to work with the left and gotten furious at the sight of an actual bipartisan deal.

via Vox - All

[cheerscafe]

Ouma/Saihara fic just posted!

Hello you all! I wrote an Oumasai fic and wanted to share! Yahooo! My first contribution to the Oumasai fandom! :D

Title: Limerence

Summary: After his horrible experiences in his past school, Saihara is ready to enter Saishuu Academy and start anew. Now all he has to do is fit in. Easy. Or so he thinks. It isn't long before a classmate of his starts hanging around him more and more and more, practically existing around him like a benevolent shadow. What's his deal, anyway? It isn't like he asked for the attention, but then again, he's not saying he minds, either.

Basically a fluffy, loving, and supportive high school au where kids don't have to worry about killing each other. :D

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 3,253

Warnings: None, though mentions of bullying. Stay safe! 

Fanart that inspired the chapter: @emubirb‘s ouma and saihara fanart, because I love it! Please go check it out and reblog from them! ^◡^  http://emubirb.tumblr.com/post/155310356005/if-youre-taking-requests-could-you-draw

Chapter 2 3 4

AO3 Link  ✌( ° ∀ ° ) Fic below cut~

Chapter 1: First Meetings and New Starts

New school, new you. There's nothing to fear. Nothing to fear, nothing to fear. Everything will be fine. This isn't the first time you've introduced itself and it certainly won't be the last. Everything will be fine, right? Saihara Shuuichi was currently waiting in the hallway outside his new classroom, convincing himself that transferring to a new school, in a new city, halfway through the year was not something to freak out about. This was a common practice, tons of people transfer schools. This is fine. These people didn't even know him. They had no agenda against him and it was going to be fine. He had come from a smaller-yet-not-cosy-small high school where everyone knew everyone but not on a close enough level to always care. It allowed people to witness drama and bullying but not be familiar enough to justify getting involved. He supposed that system had been kind to others... it certainly hadn't been to him. It had started off small. His peers had constantly teased his appearance, his studiousness, his reluctance to go out and drink with the rest of them at any given opportunity they could. He must have been an easy target: his face hadn't refined into the masculine jaw that his classmates had obtained, nor did his shoulders broaden to a significant degree to allow his masculinity to be apparent. He was constantly mistaken as a girl. He tried to assure himself that they were honest mistakes, but after weeks and weeks of the same misunderstanding from the same people, added onto the fact that their expressions were sneering, he had to come to the conclusion that they meant it on purpose. It was fine, really. He was never close enough friends with any of them to begin with. ...Or, it was, until– Saihara shook his head. Now was not the time to start that train of thought. It's okay, he thought, the people here look nicer. Which was true. He had seen various faces on the campus that morning, smiling and cheerful and not a shred of malice in them. This time, he thought, this time will be different. It has to be. No, I'll make sure it is! He breathed deeply. This was nothing to worry about. All he had to do was to introduce himself and fit in. Easy. Yet despite his self-reassurances, Saihara still pulled on the bill of his hat until it was over his eyes. Oh god, he thought. There are so many ways this can go wrong, aren't there? A sound abruptly crashed Saihara's train of thought. He looked to his left to see two kids half-running toward him. One had extremely pale hair and was chasing after another boy with short and flippy dark hair. Kids? In a high school? The pale-blonde shouted as the other boy laughed. "Ouma-kun! Please return my wrench to me! I need it for my fourth-period elective!" "Not until you promise to build me a super-cool robot arm, Kiibo-chan!" 'Ouma' continued to laugh heartily as he waved the other's wrench around, seemingly not concerned that he was waving around a wrench that could seriously hurt somebody. Saihara just stared. So, they aren't kids? They're my age? They're wearing the uniform... Could they be my classmates? Saihara was so shocked by the display that he hadn't noticed the dark-haired boy coming up to him. The boy stopped and turned to him, expression completely wiped clean of the mirth it had previously. "Huh? Who are you?" Saihara's previously forgotten nerves flooded his senses. It was happening already? He wasn't prepared at all. No, no, I can do this, he thought. He breathed out before responding, "I'm your new classmate... I think." The boy (Ousa? Ouka?) hummed, still standing in place a few feet from Saihara. His classmate, on the other hand, had not forgotten his quest to retrieve his wrench and yanked from the boy's grasp before he could retaliate. He gasped and pouted, "Kiibo-chan! Not fair!" "You weren't paying attention, it was clearly fair game," 'Kiibo' replied tactfully. "Booring." Saihara couldn't help but stare. This was so much more different from where he was before. His past classmates would have just walked off without sparing him a glance. What kind of place is this academy? The pale-blonde noticed Saihara staring at the both of them, awkwardly standing by the doorway. "Oh! A new classmate? So you're the transfer I was hearing about." He stuck out his hand to Saihara before smiling broadly, "My name is Iidabashi Kiibo! It's nice to meet you!" Saihara smiled faintly before returning the gesture and shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Iidabashi-kun." "Oh, please call me Kiibo! Everyone else does." Saihara started to relax. Such familiarity on the first day was a good sign, right? "Okay, Kiibo-kun. My name is–" "Ah! No fair! I wanna introduce myself next!" Saihara found his hand jostled out of Kiibo's grip and into a new one. Compared to the polite firmness of Kiibo's hand, this boy had clasped Saihara's hands in both of his warmly. Saihara looked from his hands to see his new classmate with a bright sparkle in his eyes. "Woow, your hands are so soft!" "Eh-?" Saihara blushed a little. That wasn't something people just said out loud. Who is this kid? "Uh, you are–?" "Oh that's right! I haven't said my name yet. Though with the way Kiibo-chan was shouting it I wouldn't be surprised if you already knew it by now," The boy giggled. "That's because you had taken my wrench!" Kiibo harshly reminded him. Saihara tried to piece it together. He had thought he heard– "Ouma...kun?" Saihara tried. "Is that your name?" "Yeess! You got it!" Ouma cheered. "My name is Ouma Kokichi. I'm super amazing! Did you know I once survived a whole month without food by only living on fruity soda?" Saihara stopped. That's... ridiculous. That can't be true... can it? Kiibo sighed. "It's a lie." "Huh?" "Yuuup! It was a lie. I'm a liar after all." Well then. Saihara sighed. What kind of person responds so cheerfully when getting called out on an obvious lie? "By the way, you haven't introduced yourself yet," Ouma continued. "You're not gonna be rude and make your classmates wait, are you?" Oh, shoot. He had completely forgotten. Saihara almost reached for the bill of his hat but remembered that his hand was still in Ouma's grasp. He steeled himself before looking the two in the eyes and introducing himself. "I'm Saihara Shuuichi. I came here from a different school. It's...nice to meet you both." He finished. There, that wasn't bad, he thought. "Yes! Welcome to Saishuu Academy," Kiibo said, beaming at him. "Hmmm Saihara-chan, huh?" Ouma was wearing an expression somewhere between a smirk and a genuine smile, eyes crinkled at the edges. Saihara stared at it. What is he-? "Anyway, I can't see your face very well with that dumb hat in the way." Saihara had barely any warning before Ouma tugged on his hand. Saihara fell forward slightly as Ouma arched his face up so it was right in Saihara's face, underneath his hat. Saihara stood there, uncomprehending the change in situation. He was suddenly staring into the dark, warm eyes of his classmate and when did he get so close close close– "Woooow, Kiibo-chan, Saihara-chan's eyes are gray! I've never seen anything like it!" "Wh-" Saihara couldn't help it; he blushed. What is happening? What is happening?! Saihara was saved from further embarrassment when Kiibo pulled on Ouma's shoulders, effectively dislodging their hands. "Don't mind him Saihara-kun, Ouma-kun can be a bit... invasive." "Hehe, I couldn't help it!" Ouma grinned, as if it was all one big game to him. Kiibo pushed Ouma towards the classroom door and opened it. "I hope you'll forgive him, Saihara-kun. Anyway, it was nice meeting you. I await to see you in class!" Kiibo declared with a smile after pushing Ouma and then himself fully through the door. Silence ensured before Saihara breathed a sigh of relief. It's only the first day and these are the kind of people I'm meeting... Saihara jolted when a head bobbed out of the open doorway. Ouma was staring at him with a blank expression. He then smiled blindingly. "It was amazing to meet you, Saihara-chan! I look forward to getting to know you this year~!" Ouma then closed the door, leaving Saihara once again in silence. ...Well that was... something. — Saihara had quickly and successfully introduced himself to the class once the lesson had started. His teacher had been unassuming and kind, placing him in the back of the classroom where the open seats were. That was a small relief. At least now if he made a big mistake, not as many people would notice. His hat had been taken off for the day in accordance with the school code and safely placed in his shoe locker. At lunch all of his classmates had introduced themselves and had vowed to make him feel welcome. A classmate who introduced himself as Kaito had instantly placed an arm around his shoulders, deemed Saihara as "a trustworthy individual," and accepted him as a friend right off. A red-haired girl named Yumeno had told him about a magic trick she was preparing to welcome him into the class, and an enthusiastic individual named Yonaga had offered up a prayer to her god to bless his initiation (what god and religion that was, Saihara still wasn't sure). Gokugahara, a large muscular classmate of his (How is he only in high school?) had even offered to give him a tour of the school gardens, ranting on the various bug types present there. Apparently he was an insect enthusiast? All in all his classmates had ensured a warm welcome and Saihara couldn't be happier about it. Things really were starting to look up. Currently he was walking beside a girl named Akamatsu Kaede, who had piano clips in her hair and a gentle smile always present on her face. She offered a tour around campus, which Saihara had gratefully accepted. Apparently this academy was well-funded. There were various classrooms that dealt with music, art, science, and various other fields of study. The gym had a pool, rooms for boxing and martial arts, and there were even rooms for sports like tennis and badminton. The library was full of books and shelves that climbed several stories. Saihara had been in awe. Am I really going to school here? In this amazing place? He and Akamatsu were currently walking to the cafeteria (or what he assumed was the way to the cafeteria, since Akamatsu was leading). She had asked him all sorts of questions, about his likes and dislikes, what kind of movies he watched and what hobbies he had, and she had responded with interesting facts about herself in turn. They were getting along swimmingly and he appreciated her overflowing kindness. He was already beginning to see her as a close friend. Saihara casually mentioned his interest in criminal mystery novels, to which Akamatsu cheerfully replied, "With all the books in the library, you'll be sure to find some good mystery novels!" The conversation kept progressing smoothly and Saihara began to relax a little. He had nothing to worry about. Her questions had been prodding, but not invasive. Right, as long as she didn't ask him why he transferred– "So, why did you transfer?" Well, crud. This wasn't a question he wanted to answer now. Or ever. Why can’t people just forget about it completely? Saihara let out a small breath, coming up with the most believable white lie he could. "Um... my father had a job change." "Oh, cool." Phew. That seemed to do the trick. Hopefully people would stop asking about it. It technically wasn't a lie: his father had come to the new city to work. The reason for transferring jobs however... that was a bit more than Saihara was willing to let his classmates know just yet. Akamatsu turned to him and smiled disarmingly. "Well, for whatever reason you came here Saihara-kun, we're glad to have you!" Saihara could feel his stress slipping away as he smiled back. Yeah... maybe I can make a new start here. — The day had ended and all of his classes had progressed smoothly. Saihara was immensely relieved that his classmates were so warm-hearted and accepting. With a smile on his face Saihara exited the classroom with his bag and headed down to the shoe lockers. Akamatsu had accompanied him with an offer to walk together until she had to go to her piano lesson studio. Akamatsu continued to ramble on about their classmates. "Shinguuji-kun may be a bit quiet, but he'll tell you anything you want to know about folklore. He's amazing! And Iruma-san might have a foul mouth but she means well. Harukawa-san isn't standoffish at all really, she's just shy! I'm sure you'll fit in in no time." "Thank you, Akamatsu-san," Saihara smiled back. "I really do appreciate all you're doing for me." "Don't mention it!" Saihara stopped in front of his locker and slid open the hatch. There were his shoes, right as he... ...Huh? "Akamatsu-san," Saihara asked, "Have you seen my hat anywhere?" "Your hat?" Akamatsu asked in surprise. "No, I haven't. You said you put it in your shoe locker right?" "Yes, I remember doing so..." "Maybe it's back in the classroom?" She offered. Saihara sighed. "I'll go check there. You can go on Akamatsu-san, I know you have a piano lesson to get to." "You sure? I don't mind..." She trailed off. "Don't worry about it," Saihara assured. "I'll just check around briefly. I'm sure it's around here somewhere." — Of course, of course it has to be lost on the first day of school. Saihara had searched the hallway, the bathrooms, and all the other places he had visited. He continued to scrounge in the classroom, checking in corners and under desks. No luck. He let out an aggravated huff. I need to find it soon, otherwise I won't be able to make it in time. He decided to search under the desks, again, when someone came to look in the open doorway. "Hmm? Saihara-chan, what are you doing here?" Oh, it's Ouma. "Nothing, Ouma-kun. I'm just trying to find my hat." "You hat, huh?" "Yes, I remember putting it in my shoe locker but-" Saihara had turned to face Ouma and saw exactly what he had been looking for. There was his hat, right between Ouma's fingers. Ouma noticed his gaze and waved the hat around playfully. "Oh, you mean this hat?" "...Yes." "Well Saihara-chan, I'm kind of fond of your hat. I thought I'd find it if I looked in your shoe locker." Ouma looked proud with his reasoning. "You... stole it from my shoe locker?" "Yup! I did! Hey, are you mad? How badly do you want it? Are you going to chase me for it?" Ouma grinned. Saihara blinked. He couldn't understand what was happening. The day had been going so well yet- The memories flashed through his head as he suppressed a shudder. Classmates holding his books and bag above him, taunting him, kicking his stomach as he tried reaching for his belongings, only to pour out his bag's contents on top of him when they'd had their fun. Their words rang through his head. Come on, Saihara, can't you reach it? What's wrong, too much of a girl to fight for it? Aw, look at that he can't even stand up! What a loser. Hahaha, hey, do you mind if I borrow your pen? I lost mine see, and you can't even stand up to reclaim it... Haha, hey wimp, are your parents proud of such a failure? Saihara felt the anxiety creep in. No, no... I can't let this happen again. This isn't like last time. No, I won't let this happen again. Drawing in a breath, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he calmly walked over to Ouma, who was simply staring at him. Saihara stopped in front of Ouma and held out his hand. "I want my hat back, please." The two stared at each other. Ouma had no traceable emotion on his face. He simply stared at Saihara as he remained firmly in place. Moments passed, and Saihara was starting to wonder what was wrong. I'm pretty sure he heard me correctly. Is he going to decide? Do I need to ask again? Saihara was about to request his hat once more when Ouma's expression changed. His eyes widened and his smile curled until his face was practically beaming with joy. That was... not what Saihara was expecting. Before he could question it, however, Ouma lunged forward and placed his hat haphazardly on his head, the bill pulled down so much it effectively blinded him. Saihara stumbled slightly. "Ah-" "Of course Saihara-chan! If you didn't want to play with me all you had to do was say so!" Playing? Is that what this is? "Anyways Saihara-chan, I don't think you even need your dorky hat. In fact, I think you look much better without it!" Ouma confidently declared. "Uh," Saihara eloquently replied. He wasn't sure how to handle this. Teasing to praise within such a short amount of time? Ouma, however, was unaffected by Saihara's confusion. "Bye bye Saihara-chan! Tomorrow I'll be sure to think of even more fun games to play. See ya!" Ouma left, closing the doorway behind him, leaving a shocked and slightly flustered classmate behind him.

— Ouma walked down the hallway of the school, almost giddy with excitement. How unexpected! He had seen Saihara's attachment to his hat and had decided to play around a little. After all, he thought, if it's so much fun to make Kiibo-chan chase after his things, maybe it'll be fun with Saihara-chan too! It was easy. All he had to do was take his hat, and then the fun would begin. When he waved Saihara's hat in front of him like a taunt, he had expected a chase, maybe even a distressed plea to return it. He hadn't expected Saihara's face to pale, and certainly hadn't expected his eyes to have a touch of fear. Fear? Was it fear? What had surprised him the most, however, were Saihara's actions. After the fear, Saihara had calmly walked over and asked for his hat back. He held his shoulders high and looked into Ouma's eyes resolutely, unflinching. There was no fear or wavering resolve in his expression. It had caught Ouma off-guard. Ouma had seen a spark. A spark that lied in Saihara's gaze. Behind the timidness and the lack of confidence lay someone who would rise to the occasion. Someone who could overcome even the darkest moments of life, someone who would face tragedy head on, someone who would stick by his beliefs no matter the circumstances. The person he saw (no, glimpsed) was a man confidence and willpower. Someone who would not bow down to anything or anyone. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't predicted it. It had been exciting. Ouma was practically bouncing his way out of the school now. Hey, who are you, Saihara-chan? Ouma thought as he started to skip. What are you capable of? I can't wait to find out! Ouma let out a breathy giggle as he exited the school, eagerly awaiting the next day that was already full of possibilities.

Notes!

- Limerence: (n) the state of being infatuated with another person - Kiibo and Ouma's interactions, and even Ouma and Saihara's interactions, were based on when Kaede first met Kiibo and Ouma. Ouma and Saihara's interactions were also based on their love hotel scene that I've seen translated (the part where they speak). - I based Kiibo's last name on the professor that made him in canon. I had Saihara switch to calling him Kiibo because I'm pretty sure even I'll get confused if we use that last name for long... - In this Au Ouma is not mentally ill (at least like he is in canon) and there is no killing game, just kids being normal high schoolers. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ - And yes, they are wearing uniforms to this school in the Au. If you need an idea, the clothes they wore in the prologue are a good reference. - More characters will be featured, just be patient!

Hope you all enjoyed it!  ＼(＾▽＾)／