#the feeling. I always think of how deeply wounded and angry at the world I felt when I first learned about patriarchy or when I came out. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

X. So I Follow || KNJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

In light of the incident with Taehyung, you prepare to spend Christmas alone.

Section Warnings: language, arguing/fighting (just some shoving), angst!, but also fluff in this one wow, bar scenes and recreational drinking

WC: 7.8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

You watch it cross his face as Taehyung decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found.

You shove Taehyung in the chest with both hands, and he stumbles away from you.

“You fucking asshole,” you growl. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“You said we’re the same as we’ve always been?” he spits back. “You’re a fucking liar.”

You’re so blindingly angry, suddenly, that you can barely think, can barely match up words to make a sentence. “Fuck you,” you manage, the words feeling like they’re torn from your chest, leaving a bloody, gaping wound in their place. “I can’t fucking believe you.”

His brows furrow; for a minute, he looks genuinely lost. Then, something hard replaces the look. “You’re that serious about him? Already?”

You’re ready to answer this affirmatively, but he presses on. “You’ve never dated anyone, never even got to a second date. Now you’re seeing this guy for, what, a few weeks, and I’m nothing to you? Just like that?”

Something changes inside of you; you go from boiling angry to pure ice in only seconds. The silence pulses and then flatlines between you, as dead as your friendship. All you can do is stare at him, the seething rage knitting itself into something metallic instead.

“I waited for you,” you tell him, deathly calm, like you’re explaining a math problem. At your sides, your hands are shaking. “I waited for you for years. I cannot - I do not have words for how deeply unfair it is for you to show up now and try to ruin this for me.” You spit the words, clipping your consonants hard.

Neither of you has ever said it out loud. But it’s out now. No take-backs.

He stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. There’s no going back to how things were, now. That option is well and truly buried, nails in the coffin.

“Goodbye, Taehyung,” you force yourself to say, and you turn and take the steps at a clip, letting the door shut behind you, leaving him out in the cold for good.

You stop on the staircase, nearly at your floor, and slump against the bannister. What are you going to say to Namjoon? Hey, by the way, the guy you knew I had feelings for just kissed me. Maybe not quite like that. But you definitely have to tell him.

Honestly though, you don’t feel like you have the bandwidth for that conversation right now. You feel like… you feel like you’re grieving.

You need the space and time to mourn, to accept that you’ve walked away from something that you’ve lived in comfortably for years. To accept that you’ll never have back the friendship you once had - even if you and Taehyung manage to land somewhere okay when this is all over, the truth is things will never again be how they were between you. It just isn’t possible.

You don’t want to cry over Taehyung in front of Namjoon. He’s already given you so much grace, so much understanding and patience. This… this would be too much. At least until you can calm down, get your head right, talk about it rationally. So, when you enter the apartment and find his door closed, you leave him be. You head for your own bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind you.

–

Namjoon feels tortured and trapped in his room; he paces, he tries doing sit-ups, he takes a shower just to hold his breath under the spray of hot water.

None of it helps.

Finally, like a dog with its tail between its legs, he flops on his bed in defeat and picks up his phone.

[11:24 PM] Namjoon: you guys wanna say i told you so now, or later

[11:24 PM] Hobi: uh oh

[11:25 PM] Yoongi: what happened

Namjoon sighs, rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to tell them. But he can’t shoulder this alone, he knows himself well enough to know it.

[11:27 PM] Namjoon: just caught her kissing him

[11:28 PM] Namjoon: literally right in front of the apartment

He closes his eyes, resting his phone on his chest. He can feel it buzz with the reactions rolling in, but he feels like he can’t make himself look at them.

Something niggles in the back of his mind, stirs in the pit of his stomach.

Something about how your hands had been balled into fists at your sides.

[11:29 PM] Hobi: what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

[11:30 PM] Yoongi: dude i’m sorry

[11:31 PM] Hobi: bro that’s a dick move by taehyung

[11:31 PM] Hobi: like thats legitimately not okay he owes you a huge apology

[11:32 PM] Hobi: if i were you i’d go to his place and talk to him. like right now.

[11:34 PM] Yoongi: forget talking to taehyung, that can wait

[11:35 PM] Yoongi: have you talked to HER yet??

[11:37 PM] Hobi: wow double question mark. Mr Min is serious

[11:37 PM] Yoongi: shut up hoseok

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: i dont think i can even look at her right now tbh

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: let alone talk…

[11:42 PM] Namjoon: wtf would i even say to her?

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: ‘was it everything you ever hoped for?’

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: fuck

He sets his phone on the mattress beside him and closes his eyes. Stupid… stupid… stupid… It echoes through his head, harmonizing nicely with Hobi and Yoongi’s voices telling him he gives people - women - too much faith, lets them take advantage of him.

But you’d told him you were in this.

You’d told him you wanted to be with him, not Taehyung.

You’d told him this thing between you was real, and that it deserves to be.

He’s told you he trusts you. Did that change? Was he wrong to?

Or are things not adding up?

He picks up his phone again.

[11:52 PM] Hobi: might be nice to have some answers

[11:53 PM] Yoongi: that’s true… we all know this wouldn’t be the first time taehyung has shown his ass…

Namjoon considers this silently. He starts to get up, then stills. This repeats twice more, before he finally throws himself out of bed and leaves his room before his nerves can fail. He crosses the living room to find your bedroom door shut – rare, these days. He knocks, calls your name quietly. When you don’t answer, he tries the doorknob.

It’s locked.

“Hey,” he calls. “Let me in.”

You don’t answer.

He knows it’s not the same, not what’s happening now, but he’s picturing you on the day you’d gone silent, laying in bed, facing the wall, unmoving, unblinking. His chest clenches with the need to make sure you’re okay, despite what he’d seen, despite the conclusions he’d drawn.

He leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “Baby,” he says, voice so hushed it’s practically a whisper. “Please, open the door and talk to me.”

He waits a long moment, one hand against the door, and then the doorknob clicks. As soon as he can see your face through the crack, it’s clear you’ve been crying.

His brain starts running possibilities as fast as a bullet-train. You’re crying because you know you did something wrong, and you feel guilty. You’re crying because you’re conflicted about who you want, and it’s hurting. You’re crying because you’ve decided to be with Taehyung after all, and you know you have to let Namjoon down. You’re crying because…

“What happened?” he manages to ask, feeling like there’s glass in his throat as he tugs the words out of his stomach.

He resists the urge to reach out and touch your face, wipe a stray tear away.

You take a deep breath, avert your eyes. Then you seem to steel yourself and say very clearly, “Taehyung just kissed me.”

Then, you rush ahead, the rest of the words tumbling out of you so fast that Namjoon almost misses some of it. “But I pushed him away – I called him an asshole, I told him he missed his chance.”

You take another breath, eyes filling with fresh tears. You still haven’t looked up at Namjoon. “I’m sorry,” you finish in a whisper.

Namjoon doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t decide to move, but his arms are suddenly around you as you bury your face in his shirt, shoulders still trembling a little under his hands.

He’s so overcome with relief that it almost makes him go boneless – relief that he hadn’t been wrong to trust you, relief that you’d chosen him after all.

But as he holds you, as he feels your shaking slowly ebb away, he remembers the times you’d called Taehyung family, the stories you’d told of having no one else. In that moment, he truly feels your sorrow down into his own bones.

“You have me,” he thinks, then realizes he’s said it out loud. You shift in his arms to look up at him, eyes big and red-rimmed. He gives you a little squeeze, struggles to wade through how protective he feels with you. “I know that maybe it’s not the same… but for as long as you want me there,” he promises, “you have me.”

Tuesday December 11th

You lay in Namjoon’s embrace, chest to chest, his strong arms locked behind your back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been encased like this, one leg tucked between his, listening to his heart beating next to your ear. Long enough for the sweat to cool.

You shiver a little, and Namjoon runs a hand reverently down your arm, chasing away goosebumps with the warmth of his palm. Behind him, you can hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand.

Again.

You try to pretend you don’t hear it. You try to distract Namjoon by reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. He looks down at you, eyes narrowed, seeing right through your bullshit.

“Is that him again?”

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “I haven’t looked at it.”

But you both know it is.

He’s been calling - and texting - since you left him on the sidewalk two nights ago. You’d turned your phone off on Sunday night, as soon as you’d cottoned on that he wasn’t going to give up. When you’d gotten brave enough to turn it on Monday morning, it was to three voicemails, unending missed calls, and a series of texts that blurred before you as you teared up over their desperation.

[12:18 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please pick up

[12:31 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: pick up the phone [12:32 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: talk to me

[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m so sorry [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m such an asshole [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: fuck i’m so so sorry

[3:22 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please talk to me [3:23 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’re probably sleeping so i’m gonna stop [3:24 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: but if you decide you want to talk please call me

[9:04 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: good morning [9:05 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: can we talk today?

You hadn’t answered any of it, and he’d continued Monday afternoon.

[4:46 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: please, talk to me so i can apologize for real [4:52 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’ve never not talked to me for this long before [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: even that time i backed into Lin’s car and let her blame you… [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: did i fuck everything up that badly?

Yes, you want to tell him. But you don’t have the heart. It’s hard enough, takes enough of your self-control, to resist answering. To resist telling him it’s okay.

It isn’t. You know it isn’t.

As the texts roll in through Monday night and Tuesday morning, you feel like Namjoon’s steadying gaze on you, or his hand solid in yours, is the only thing that keeps you from skittering back into safe, familiar old habits. And to his credit, he barely leaves you alone while you’re both home. He stays in your space, quiet and calm, watching you carefully, searching for signs that you might need more from him.

The phone buzzes again, insistent - a phone call.

You sigh in Namjoon’s arms. “Maybe I should answer him,” you muse. “If for nothing else, then to tell him to knock it off.”

Namjoon rolls to pick up your phone and places it, still buzzing, in your hands. “It’s your decision,” he says carefully.

You watch Taehyung’s name, with the stupid emoji after it, scroll across the top of your screen. You don’t pick up.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” you admit. “I don’t even know what I’d tell him. I have nothing to say.”

“Then don’t,” Namjoon advises gently. “Turn it off for a while. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Yeah,” you say absently, pressing your finger to the power button. “You’re right.” You watch, feeling utterly hollow, as your screen goes black.

Thursday December 13th

It’s hard for Namjoon to watch, honestly, though he does his best to bite his tongue and just support you. But you float through the apartment like a ghost, and he can’t help but feel guilt over the fact that you chose to be haunted for his sake.

You’re staring at your phone, which - despite being powered off - is sitting by your elbow. Like, even though you pressed the power button yourself, you're waiting for the next call.

“You should do something for yourself tonight,” he hears himself suggest. Problem-solving mode again, like he just can’t help himself. But maybe it’ll be for the better. “Like a bubble bath or something. Why don’t you go run one? I’ll pour you some wine.”

The look you give him nearly knocks his knees out - you turn to him with a look of pure adoration, disbelieving wonder. You look at him like he’s too good to be true.

It breaks his heart. It breaks his heart that a simple act of kindness feels so large to you - because no one, not your family, or fucking Kim Taehyung, or any of your other friends, had ever done it for you.

“You should leave your phone out here,” he suggests. “Bring a book.”

You give him a different sort of look, then, one that says don’t tell me what to do.

“I’m just saying!” He smiles innocently. “It’ll ruin your inner peace if you turn it on.”

“Inner peace,” you grumble at him, but you head into your bathroom, your phone face down on the breakfast bar. A minute later, Namjoon hears the bathtub water running.

He brings you in a glass of wine as promised, also carrying in the poetry book you’d bought him at the antique shop a few days ago.

“Don’t get this wet,” he warns jokingly. You smile up at him, most of you hidden beneath an aggressive amount of bubbles.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I have a tray.”

Namjoon backtracks to the kitchen, recorking the wine and wiping down the counter. He’s humming absently, lost in thought about what he’d been writing, when he hears footsteps stop outside the front door.

His intuition kicks in with a quick slap of adrenaline. He opens the front door roughly and immediately shoulders Taehyung backwards into the hallway, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms, physically putting himself between Taehyung and you.

Taehyung gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped in indignation. Then, his pride catches up, and his eyes narrow. “What are you, her bodyguard?” he asks sourly. “Did she tell you not to let me in?”

“No,” Namjoon admits, willing himself to stay logical, not to let his temper take over. “But I want to talk to you.”

“I just bet you do,” Taehyung mutters.

Namjoon breathes in for four, holds it for four, lets it out for six. He’s known Taehyung for years, sees him as a nuisance of a little brother in a lot of ways, has a lot of affection for him. But watching you hurt, and hurt, and hurt - it isn’t going to continue.

“I’m sorry you found out about us the way you did,” Namjoon says, hoping that beginning with his own apology will help soften the rest of the conversation. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to be… it would have been better for her to talk to you about it on her own terms. I didn’t mean to take that away from her. Or you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” Taehyung says, voice low and dangerous. “I want to talk to her. Move.”

“You need to back off,” Namjoon says carefully. “You’re breaking her fucking heart, bro. Give her some time.”

Taehyung laughs in his face, the sound ugly and echoing in the empty hallway. “Fuck you,” he says. “If it’s breaking her heart to stay away from me, doesn’t that tell you something? She wants to talk to me, she misses me. Move.”

Namjoon shakes his head, clings to reason, tries desperately to make Taehyung see reason, too. “Try to understand,” he begs. “You’re messing with her head. Do you even want her? If she came out here now and said she wanted to be with you, would you even know what to do with that?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow even further, if possible. “What are you talking about?” he asks, the question like a hiss between his teeth. “You’re pissing me off, Namjoon. She and I need to talk - get out of the way.”

Namjoon’s temper flares. “Taehyung,” he says, just one of many times in their friendship he’s felt like he had to talk sense into the younger man. “You don’t love her, so let her go.”

Taehyung freezes, then raises his chin, face flat and impassive. “Who says I don’t love her?” he asks, bone-chillingly cold.

Namjoon breaks eye contact, takes another steadying breath. “Feeling like she’s yours,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to explain, “doesn’t make it love.”

Taehyung makes a disbelieving tch noise, but Namjoon pushes on.

“Feeling like you have a claim on her doesn’t mean you love her. And you know what? Even if it did, even if we agreed that you love her… this is not the right way. She deserves to be loved the right way, and this isn’t it. And if you don’t want to lose her completely, then you need to wrap your head around that.”

Taehyung is spared having to respond to this. Behind Namjoon, you’ve been listening from the doorway. You step into view, your face flushed from the warm bath and the glass of wine, flushed from what you’ve overheard.

Immediately, Taehyung moves closer, trying to dart past Namjoon to reach you, saying your name like a prayer.

“Please, let’s talk,” he begs, the words all a rush.

Namjoon keeps his body between you, but glances over his shoulder at you. Taehyung’s intended dig about being your bodyguard doesn’t feel too off, right now. “Do you want me to make him leave?” he asks, feeling so worked up he thinks he could probably carry Taehyung out of here by the back of his neck if given the okay.

“No,” you say, your voice tiny. Namjoon tongues his cheek, but steps aside. Taehyung shoots him a cutting, victorious look, but then you speak again, your voice still so little. “But… will you stay?” You creep into the hallway, looking entirely unsure, and Namjoon welcomes it happily when you press against his side, one of your hands resting over his diaphragm, the other curling into the material of his shirt over his back.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, and Namjoon’s heart breaks again at the look of betrayal and hurt that you level at your best friend. “What are you doing?”

“I –”

“Taehyung,” you say again, so broken, and it stops him in his tracks. “You don’t love me. You never did. So what the hell is happening here?”

He looks back at you, a look of absolute devastation crossing his face. For a second, Namjoon feels bad for him - just for a second. “Please, let’s talk by ourselves,” Taehyung begs.

You shake your head. “After the shit you pulled last time? Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I shouldn’t have - I know I shouldn’t have - it’s just -

“What?” you snap, suddenly pissed all over again.

“I can’t lose you,” he says plainly.

You look at the ground, then - inexplicably - up at Namjoon. Like you’re deciding something. Like you’re calculating. Then, you look back at Taehyung, your body language changing as you stand up straight again. When you speak, your voice is firm and even.

You grounded me.

“I don’t want that either,” you say, finally. “But I’m not going to be with you - not like that. And let’s both be honest - you don’t actually want that, either. You only went there because you thought someone else was winning. And frankly? I refuse to play. So you know what, Taehyung? When you can grow up and figure out what you actually want, you can call me to talk about it - not until then.”

You disentangle yourself from Namjoon and stalk back inside. Namjoon pauses. Taehyung is staring at the ground, unblinking.

“You’re my friend, too,” Namjoon says quietly, feeling like he can’t even look Taehyung in the face right now. “I hope we can figure that out, too, when you’re ready.”

Taehyung’s response is his middle finger over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway towards the stairs.

Friday December 22nd

Through cobbled streets in tiny towns Through suffocating crowds on city sidewalks Down dirt lanes and past silent, towering silos

I follow you

Through pathless forests, over tripping roots Beneath canopies of black and green Over fallen trees whose rings tell of being felled

I follow you

To mountains bathed in sunlight’s glory Up slopes that want to pull me down To views of winding rivers - strips of ribbon below

I follow you

To ocean waves that crash and scream Tantruming relentlessly against packed sand shores The line of the horizon ebbing with the moonrise

I follow you

My feet are meant to follow yours My heart is meant to follow yours The world is mine, but I want only yours

So I follow

I follow you

–

You close the notebook before you can scratch anything out. That one needs to marinate a little. It’s not like you to forgo a rhyme scheme, and you’re not sure how you feel about the flow.

You haven’t heard from Taehyung in almost two weeks. But you haven’t reached out, either.

When you hear Namjoon come through the front door, you slide your notebook back into your backpack, leaving no incriminating evidence.

“Hey,” he says, stopping by your side and giving your shoulders some affectionate squeezes. “What are you up to?”

“Was writing,” you tell him. “Sort of.”

He laughs at sort of. “What a mood,” he says with a smile. Then, he drops himself in the stool next to yours at the breakfast bar, drumming his knuckles where your notebook had been just moments before.

You know that tic - he’s anxious.

“What is it?” you ask, instantly worried. “Did something happen?”

You’re imagining all sorts of scenarios - Taehyung confronted him, Elyse texted again, he failed an assignment, he’s breaking up with you -

“Nothing bad,” he assures you, stopping the spiral in its place. “I just had something to ask you. I guess I’m nervous. I know I shouldn’t be.”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well - what is it?”

He glances at you shyly, and you feel your heart swell with affection.

“What are your Christmas plans?” he asks.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Oh,” you say again, deflating. “I was… just staying here, I think.”

The I think is a lie. Your plan was absolutely to stay, alone, in the apartment. You had no intention of going home for the holidays. It would mean over an hour in the car each way with Taehyung, whom you haven’t spoken to in ten whole days. Plus, Lin is working. Normally you’d go to Taehyung’s house and let his parents try to pretend you weren’t imposing, but that’s not an option this year either.

Honestly, the idea of your first Christmas without them - Taehyung’s mom and dad - is kind of depressing. You’d sent a gift in the mail, but it won’t be the same.

Namjoon raps his knuckles again. “Um,” he says, so uncertainly that it makes you smile a little bit, “how would you feel about coming home with me? To my parents’?”

You’re stunned into silence. “I - Do - Would your parents be okay with that? It’s not too last minute?”

“They’d be thrilled,” Namjoon tells you seriously. “They thought I’d never get ov- I mean, they’d be happy to meet you.”

You smile to yourself at his slip. “When were you going to leave?”

“I’m taking the train in the morning. Plenty of time to pack.”

“I need to do laundry,” you muse out loud, already in planning mode.

“So, you’ll come with me?” he clarifies.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, still mentally writing a to-do list. “If you’re sure I’m not imposing… they have to feed me and everything. You’re sure it’s okay?”

He laughs, kisses the top of your head. “I promise,” he says.

Later, as you and Namjoon sit side by side on the couch, folding laundry together, your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your heart leaps, hoping it will be Taehyung, caving just in time for the holidays, wanting to talk it out before Christmas Day.

It’s Lin.

Your heart sinks, your throat gets tight. You push the hurt and disappointment aside and avoid Namjoon’s knowing gaze as you open the text.

[6:22 PM] Lin: i just ran into taes family

[6:22 PM] Lin: they said hes coming home tonight

[6:23 PM] Lin: will you be here tonight? We didn’t talk about it

You purse your lips.

[6:25 PM] You: sorry, i should have called you. I know you’re working so i wasn’t planning on coming home

[6:26 PM] Lin: oh. Are you going to be alone?

You type the start of an answer - “no, staying with my -” and pause, looking over at Namjoon.

“Joon?” you ask, and he looks at you, surprised. “I don’t know - I mean - Should I say we’re -?”

He leans to read over your shoulder, smiling when he sees “with my -” and your cursor waiting patiently for you to finish the thought. Your what? Friend? Roommate?

You glance up at him, feeling your face flush. “Do I say boyfriend?” you finally ask in a whisper.

His smile almost splits his face. “Is that what I should tell my mom?” he counters, his own phone in his hand.

You grin at him. “I will if you will,” you tease.

His smile turns cocky. “At the same time, then?”

[6:31 PM] You: no, staying with my boyfriend’s family

[6:34 PM] Lin: your WHAT?????????

Namjoon brings his phone to his ear, still smiling at you. When someone picks up, he says, “Eomma? Listen, I know it’s last minute - my girlfriend will be alone for the holidays, would it be okay if she came home with me instead?”

On the other end of the line there’s a series of unintelligible shrieks, and Namjoon’s playful smile only grows. “Yah, I know, I know, I’m sorry!” he laughs. “You’ll meet her! I know! I’m sorry!”

You giggle quietly.

“No, no, Eomma, you don’t need a gift for her, just send us home with leftovers, that’s more than enough,” he says, eyes widening. “It’s last-minute for her, too, no one knew about this ahead of time. It’s okay. No, the guest room is perfect. Eomma, the guest room is fine. Let me talk to - Dad, hi.”

Giving him a reassuring pat on the knee, you stand, taking the folded laundry with you.

–

You’re essentially packed, your suitcase closed but still unzipped on top of your bed when Namjoon sticks his head in the door, that playful, up-to-no-good smirk on his face.

“What?” you ask him, smiling. It’s contagious, you can’t help it.

“Yoongi and Hoseok want to know if my girlfriend will come get a beer with us tonight,” he says, his smile growing sideways.

You laugh. “News travels fast.”

He gives a sheepish chuckle. “I tell those two everything. I can’t function without them.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Is this going to be an interrogation?”

He considers this. “Probably,” he admits. “But I’ll keep them in check. They’re just… protective. Especially after the Elyse debacle.”

You sigh. “You’re asking me to handle the best friend interrogation and meeting your parents all in the span of twelve hours, you realize that, right?”

Namjoon’s face falls a little. “You’re right,” he says. “Sorry. It’s okay - I’ll go by myself tonight -.”

“No, I want to go,” you say quickly, holding up a hand to stop his backpedaling. “I’m just saying. I think you owe me some cookies or something.”

His smile returns, tentative. “Let’s start with I’ll buy your beer tonight,” he jokes.

“Deal,” you tell him, but when you find yourself on a sticky barstool in a mostly dark hole-in-the-wall, a pitcher deep with the three guys, you’re wishing you’d demanded cookies after all.

Hoseok gets up to get a second pitcher, and Yoongi leans forward on his elbows, eyeing you carefully.

Here we go, you think. Namjoon shoots you an apologetic look and you shrug him off.

“So, it’s official now, huh?” Yoongi asks, voice a touch too casual.

“Apparently,” you say dryly, eyes on Namjoon. He’s kicking at Yoongi under the table, as subtle as an elephant.

Hoseok returns, carefully placing the new pitcher of beer on the center of the table. Namjoon reaches desperately for a refill.

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, eyes still on you, calculating. “You don’t want to be with Taehyung?”

“Hyung!” Namjoon protests, spluttering over his beer. Beside him, Hoseok frowns and murmurs Yoongi’s name reprimandingly.

You will yourself to stay calm, not to get defensive. “I don’t,” you say evenly. You hope the truth of it will be enough.

“You did though,” Yoongi points out.

“Hyung!” Namjoon barks a second time, starting to actually look pissed now.

But it’s a fair point. And Namjoon has never once through this whole thing asked you to explain yourself, has never asked you to defend or examine the way your feelings have changed since he met you in August.

So maybe he deserves to hear this answer, you think.

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s true. Yoongi’s entire demeanor changes with this admission - like he’d expected you to lie, or deflect. Like he’s ready to take you way more seriously now that he knows you’re willing to be honest.

You rub your hands down the tops of your thighs, trying to dispel the sweat collecting on your palms. “I guess I learned…” you say, thinking as you speak slowly, “I know that Taehyung loves me, but… I didn’t have anything to compare it to, before. I had never felt anything for or… received love from anyone else. I had nothing to put his… fragmented version of loving me into perspective.”

“Yah, you writing people are so well-spoken,” Hoseok sighs over his beer. Namjoon glares daggers at him.

Yoongi presses forward. “But now?”

You give Namjoon a tiny smile across the table. “Honestly… now I’m not sure how I could have ever been so wrong,” you say to him, not to Yoongi. You know he needs to know.

Saturday December 23rd

“Explain to me why I’m nervous,” you complain, your foot bouncing as the countryside rolls past the train’s window outside.

Namjoon smiles at you indulgently, and then places a large hand over your knee to quell the bouncing. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared out of my mind.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is a bad time to tell you that my parents hated Elyse?”

Your blood runs cold. “They what? You’re fucking with me, right?”

He grimaces. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, they were never rude to her. They just… never warmed up. Each time we’d fight and get back together, my mom… well, she made sure I knew how she felt about it.”

“Great,” you say dourly, eyeing the window.

He gives your knee a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

You’re a jumble of nerves for the rest of the ride.

When the train slows to a stop in Namjoon’s hometown, he leads you by the hand down the steps and out into the cold.

“That’s my dad’s car,” he says, pointing to a dark green sedan. “You ready?”

“No,” you joke, but you follow him towards the car, hoisting your duffle bag higher on your shoulder as you go.

Namjoon’s father exits the vehicle and comes around to hug his son; it hurts to watch, for some reason. Something inside you aches at it.

When he turns his attention to you, you greet him respectfully, and then Namjoon helps move your duffle bag into the car.

The drive to the house from the train station is quick - if it weren’t December and carrying luggage it would be walkable. Inside, Namjoon hugs his mother as well, towering over her. You greet her formally, and she gives you a tight-lipped smile, welcoming you to their home.

“Thank you for letting me join Namjoon here for Christmas,” you say, glancing sideways at him for reassurance. “I know it was last-minute.”

“No one should be alone for Christmas,” she tells you, her voice soft and even, and Namjoon squeezes your arm affectionately. “May I show you the guest room?”

You follow them both through the house and to a small room with a narrow single bed, a nightstand, and a small chest of drawers. In the corner, in a beam of morning sunlight, is a tall, leafy plant. This makes you smile; it feels like Namjoon’s touch.

“How long are you staying?” Mrs. Kim directs this question at her son, and you turn to look at him as you place your duffle bag on the end of the bed.

Namjoon hums, considering. “I’m not sure yet,” he tells her, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “We’d planned for the 27th, but I was looking at the weather forecast while we were on the train and there’s a storm coming through. We might have to try and get back before that, so maybe the 26th. We can play it by ear.”

She shakes her head, swats playfully at his elbow. “You know I’m no good at spontaneous decisions,” she chides.

“We’ll keep an eye on the weather and figure out the plan,” he soothes.

She turns back to you, casting a playfully sour look at Namjoon over her shoulder as she does. “If you want to use the drawers for your clothes, you can,” she tells you. “The bathroom is straight across.”

“Got it,” you say, trying to sound breezy and cheerful. “Thank you again for taking me in. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

She nods at you, smiling. “I’ll let you get settled in,” she says, and brushes past Namjoon on her way back down the narrow hallway.

His gaze on you is suddenly heavy.

“What?” you ask.

He opens his mouth to speak, then looks over his shoulder, seems to think better of it. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks instead. “I have a place I’d kind of like to show you.”

Everything inside you that’s been held tight like a breath melts into something soft. “Okay,” you tell him, reaching for your coat, which is shoved under your duffle bag on the bed. “Let’s go.”

As you pass back through the kitchen, Mr. Kim is seated at the table, buried in an open newspaper. A cup of coffee sits, untouched, near his elbow. Mrs. Kim stands on a step-stool, searching a high cabinet for something, muttering under her breath.

“We’re going to walk down to the pond,” Namjoon says. His father lowers the newspaper and smiles at him a little absently. “Gotta show off the geese.”

He steps out the kitchen door that leads to a sloping backyard and you follow. Once you’re halfway across the yard he reaches back for your hand, not turning to watch you take it.

“Geese, huh?” you ask.

He turns to grin at you. “It’s my favorite place. Come on, keep up.”

“We don’t all have long legs like yours!” you protest. At the end of the property, there’s a small space between two hedges, the grass in the gap long worn away by frequent foot-traffic, only dirt remaining. He leads you through the gap and down the rest of the hill, where you can see the ink-dark water of a still pond waiting below.

When you arrive at the water’s edge, you notice that there is - as promised - an entire flock of geese, as well as a large swan.

“I heard swans can be nasty,” you say, a little apprehensive.

Namjoon puts his arm around you, looking out over the water. “Ah, that’s Clarence. He won’t mess with you. The geese might, though, especially when their babies are around.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Clarence? You named the swan?”

He laughs, the sound low and melodic, warm and welcoming. “He’s been around for a few years. We have an understanding.”

This startles a giggle out of you, and Namjoon looks down at you, smiling.

“I love having you here,” he admits fondly. “This is my favorite place - I’d come here to think, to read, to write. Sometimes, to clear my head.”

“You like to go outside when you’ve got shit going on,” you agree.

“There’s a Welsh saying,” he says seriously, “that means to kind of get your head on straight, to sort your thoughts out. But when you translate the words literally, they say to return to my trees. That always spoke to me.”

“Wow,” you say lightly, running the words through your mind again. “To return to my trees. I like that.”

He stands quietly next to you for a minute, both of you watching Clarence and his geese friends cross the pond at a snail’s pace.

“You know what I like about you?” he finally says, as a small breeze picks up enough to rustle his hair, to blow yours around your face. “I can say shit like that to you and you take me seriously. I’ve never had anybody like that in my life before - not even with my friends.”

You get it - you never really had that, either. You smile up at him. “I like pretty words.”

His smile goes crooked for a second. “I like pretty words and pretty girls.” He gives you a squeeze.

“What a line!” you laugh, but you can feel your face flushing. “Did you look that one up on the internet?”

He laughs too. “I was inspired, what can I say?”

You lapse into comfortable silence again, watching the edge of the dark water lap at the muddy shore. “Can I say something?” you ask after a minute, and Namjoon looks down at you, surprised.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

You think for a second about what you want to say - the points you want to hit, how you want to word it.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” you start slowly, “that I see and appreciate how patient you’ve been. How understanding.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he actually leans away from you a little, like he wants to look at you better. “What?” he asks hollowly.

“Seriously,” you insist. “When it comes to everything between us, you’ve been in a shitty position from day one. You never held it against me, never got mad, never made me feel like I wasn’t… worth wanting. You never demanded anything of me - not an explanation, not an answer. You just… stayed by my side and let me figure it out. And I… it’s not lost on me that that’s extremely fucking rare. That’s all.”

Namjoon’s chin is jutting a little, his jaw clenched. He keeps his eyes on the pond and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is a little rough.

“Well, uh,” he says, then coughs to clear his throat. “Thanks for saying that. It’s all really… not that big of a deal.”

You lean against him, and he squeezes your shoulder.

“It is,” you whisper. “I know you don’t recognize it… but, it really is.”

–

Back inside, you somehow find yourself in a situation where you are way out of your depth: alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Kim.

Namjoon told you he’d be right back and went to - you assume - talk to his dad in the other room, and here you are.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to talk to mothers. You don’t know how kitchens work.

Mrs. Kim saves you from yourself by placing a large, yellow onion in your hand. “Will you chop this while I start the –”

You don’t even hear the end of the question over the panicked rush of white noise in your ears. You hold the onion like it might explode in your hand.

Her back is to you as she pulls out a cutting board from a lower cabinet. When she turns and sees you standing there like you’re holding a grenade, she freezes.

“You certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to –” she backtracks quickly.

“The thing is,” you say, face flushing, “I don’t… exactly… know how.”

The sigh of disappointment she lets out is almost comical. You cringe, feeling terrible, when she says, “Aish, no wonder my son likes you - you two are just the same.”

This makes you laugh out loud, and the tension breaks just like that. With a playfully chastising look, she takes the onion back from you, placing it on the cutting board. Then she cuts it in half and shows you how you’re meant to slice it before passing you the knife.

She watches carefully as you slowly and clumsily try to mirror her movements with the blade. And even though you’re slow and clumsy, she still smiles at you and says, “Very good.”

“I never really had the chance to learn,” you try to explain, your eyes on what you’re doing. “My, um, my parents passed away when I was really young. And my grandmother… she didn’t ask me to help, she didn’t try to teach me. I think because… she wanted to let me be just a kid in as many ways as I still could. But, yknow. Now I’m an adult who can’t cook.”

You’re not sure what reaction you expect from her, but all she does is hum quietly, an affirming, understanding listening noise, and lean just a little closer over your shoulder to watch the knife.

You’re about to say something else - anything, just to move on from the moment - when she speaks.

“His last girlfriend was a genius in the kitchen.” She cocks her head to the side sharply, almost as if flicking away an annoying bug. “But she certainly had her failings outside of it.”

Elyse. You’re suddenly picturing her here, at this counter, making her way effortlessly around the kitchen.

Mrs. Kim moves beside you, turning the sink on and grabbing a colander to wash some more vegetables. You keep working slowly on the onion, keeping your eyes on your fingers.

She looks sideways at you as she rinses whatever she’s holding. “All I’m saying is, sometimes change is good. And it’s never too late to learn,” she tells you.

Change. Like Namjoon letting go of his past. Like you letting go of yours.

“He told me you and Mr. Kim didn’t like her,” you admit, pushing the onion to the side and setting down the knife, ready for new instructions.

Mrs. Kim shakes her head, exasperated. “What did he say that to you for? No wonder you’re nervous. For such a smart boy, he just has no sense.”

You smile and hurry to defend him. “I think he just wanted me to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” she grouses. “We liked her fine until she broke his heart. We’ll like you that long, too.”

“I don’t think I ever could,” you say quietly.

Next to you, she softens. She touches your hand for just a second in a gesture that feels somehow like gratitude, and then removes it to plop whatever she just washed onto your cutting board.

“Chop,” she instructs. She watches, reaching over once to adjust your hold on the knife, then nodding in satisfaction when you carry on correctly. Her eyes on your hands, she asks, “So your grandmother raised you? Where did you grow up?”

You tell her - about your hometown, about your Grandmother’s strict upbringing and how it led into Lin’s barely-there parenting. She listens as she works, eventually moving over to the stove and starting the base of the sauce while you finish peeling and chopping the pile she’s left for you to handle.

“So, your aunt is working for Christmas?” she asks, stirring as you gently add the onion to the sauce when prompted.

“Yes, and she works nights and sleeps days,” you explain. “So I decided to just stay home.”

“You wouldn’t have seen her at all?” she asks, no bite or judgment to the question. Just asking. “Even Christmas Eve, or the day after?”

You think about this. In all honesty, you would have been home and awake with Lin for at least some of break. But you two didn’t really spend time together, never had. Plus it would have meant asking Taehyung for a ride, since he brought you to campus back in late August, and he isn’t currently speaking to you.

“Maybe in passing,” you say, which isn’t entirely true. But suddenly, you feel weirdly guilty - like you’ve done something wrong to Lin by leaving her alone for the holiday.

“That’s a shame,” she says. “Here, come stir this.”

As you finish the meal together, she asks you more questions - mostly about school and your major. It’s nice - calming. You feel like this is a place you could get used to.

“I think it’s good for him to have found another writer,” she muses. “Sometimes our Namjoon just has his head in the clouds. It’ll be nice for him to have someone who… understands.”

“Yeah,” you say, continuing to stir, as directed. “That’s nice for me, too.”

<- Prev || Next ->

what are we thinking?! am i in less trouble or more compared to last chapter? lol

246 notes · View notes

gilly-moon · 4 months

Note

Also blackice 👁️👁️

when I started shipping it if I did:

Basically from the moment I first saw the movie in theaters lol.

my thoughts:

So??? Many?????? But hey I already wrote most of them out in a long-ass fanfic aka my love letter to this ship

What makes me happy about them:

That they see bits of themselves in each other. That they understand - really understand - what it means to be lonely and how deeply that can harm someone. That they're both angry in their own right about the situation they've been living in for centuries. That they've experienced love and have loved in return, only to have it cruelly torn away. That they find solace in each other over these things, and bring their own strengths to the table as they connect and heal together.

What makes me sad about them:

The idea that they're in a cycle that may never be broken. Fear and the Shadows will always have their claws in Pitch's back, and even if he tries to break free, he will always be haunted by them. Jack may have the Guardians and believers, but what if those believers fade before they can spread his story? Will he be all alone again, invisible and unable to connect to the children he holds so dear? Will the cycle repeat again?

things done in fanfic that annoys me:

Generally just...mischaracterization I think? Sometimes people write Pitch to be way too nice and thoughtful, or Jack to be way too reserved/timid. To each their own, but...them aren't my boys.

things I look for in fanfic:

Possessive Pitch™. It's a requirement. But other than that, I'm generally in one of two moods: bad ending type fics where Pitch is still a Bad Guy and ropes Jack into a relationship willingly or unwillingly, OR mutual recovery fics where they're both trying to heal from the deep wounds isolation has inflicted on them. Bonus points for mention of Kozmotis/Emily.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Hm...I don't think I have any other romantic ships for Pitch. A friendship with Sandy or (a begrudging one) with North would be nice. As for Jack, even though I don't ship it myself and it's technically a crossover, the HiJack artists have successfully invaded my brain with cute af art of those two. Jack & Katherine is also pretty cute.

My happily ever after for them:

'Happily ever after' doesn't quite feel like their brand. They're immortal, after all, so I think they'd define things in simpler terms. But I like to think the point at which they've 'made it' or whatever, is when they're able to rely on each other without question - to be each other's constant in an ever-changing world.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Pitch is big spoon, but Jack probably sleeps in ridiculous positions or ends up laying on top of Pitch instead, so spooning is a rare occurrence.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

Genuinely these two are so conversation- and touch-deprived that just spending time together is enough. Whether is chatting on the go while Jack spreads his icy magic across the globe, or just hanging out in Pitch's cave, Jack really likes to talk, and Pitch really likes to listen. I also love in fics when they play board games together ♡

#blackice #rotg #rise of the guardians

40 notes · View notes

nyhti · 3 months

Note

I feel like Jervis and Hugo would make each other normal (they would literally make each other so much worse)

I'm literally writing a fic right now about them making each other normal (worse). They would fuel each other's fucked up kinks <3 But honestly, at the same time they would make each other better in some ways as well. I love that cute shit <33

And this is where I could have ended this response, but because I love these two so much and think about them all the time, I wrote all this:

It depends on the writer just how ”aware” Jervis is. Some writers like to write him permanently stuck in Wonderland and in some versions (mostly Pre-Crisis) it's like he's never even been there. I prefer the versions somewhere in between; the ones where he's lucid most of the time, but slips back into Wonderland under stress. And I especially like the versions where, at times, it is unclear whether he is actually in Wonderland or just faking it to get out off a situation (think Gotham Central #19-22).

I'm saying all this, because Jervis' awareness is very key to how I write this relationship. Aside from those moments when he is genuinely in Wonderland and genuinely disconnected from reality, he is very aware and has a very keen eye in my verse. This comes from the whole hypnotist and general Mind Games World Champion thing. I think as a hypnotist Jervis needs to be very good at reading people to know exactly what to say and do to put people under his spell. And given that he is an expert in mind games himself, it is impossible to play mind games with him. In general, I love the contradiction of a character who pretends to not even be here mentally most of the time, being actually incredibly keen eyed, smart and fucking with people's heads. They think he's lost his mind, but they're the ones who are about to lose their minds. He might seem like he doesn't understand what's going on at all, and sometimes that really is the case, but most of the time he knows exactly what's happening – even better than most people.

How this relates to Hugo is that he basically has immunity to Hugo's bullshit. You cannot play mind games with him, because he knows every trick in the book. He was there when mind games were invented. My Jervis is like a human lie detector, if lie detectors actually worked and Hugo, as we know, is a big fat liar. I love it, I love it, I love it. Hugo cannot stop lying, it's so second nature to him that he lies even when he doesn't necessarily need to and every time, every time Jervis catches him on it. This is where it's at for me. Hugo has been Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlbossing his way though life for 52 years and suddenly there's this 150cm tall 48-year-old man who finally tells him to shut the fuck up. I love it. Immovable object, unstoppable force. I love it.

I just love the frustration that it ignites in Hugo when he cannot lie to get what he wants, when someone is forcing him to be genuine for the first time in over 50 years. I think it would remind Hugo of being young. See, he wasn't born a Girlboss, he had to learn how to Gaslight, how to Gatekeep. He was always shitty and was trying to manipulate and control others from a young age, but it was hard. He made mistakes and things didn't always work out and it left him frustrated. And it's all happening again now, his bullshit doesn't work on Jervis and it makes him feel frustrated, angry and finally depressed. But ultimately, it is all for the better.

I think it's evident reading Pre-Crisis Hugo issues, that he wanted people around him and not just as his little minions that he would dispose of when they weren't of use to him anymore. He has those too, of course, but I'm saying he wouldn't have made sure Magda wasn't defenseless if worse came to pass, had he not truly cared for her, he wouldn't have healed Bruce's wounds and ”died” to protect his secret, had he not cared for him. He wanted people around him and he deeply cared for the few people he was close with. All of his relationships are fucked up, because he is fucked up, but it is clear to me that this man both wanted to love others and was capable of loving others.

He wants people around, but I think it's very difficult for him to let anyone that close. Even though in my verse Jervis is the one person next to Batman (and mayyyybe Joker) that he respects, I don't think that he would ever even consider letting Jervis close, letting Jervis see behind the lies. But that's just the thing, Jervis saw thought them anyway. It was like he was forced to let Jervis close, because he couldn't keep him away. And as stated, it makes him frustrated, angry and even depressed, but ultimately, it is for the better. It does him good to be genuine around someone for once. To stop lying for two seconds and just be himself. It does actually make him more normal.

For example, if Hugo was upset over something, his first response would be to lie that he wasn't, as to not seem weak. Think of when Thorne had him kidnapped and beaten by thugs and Hugo was still going on about how: ”Threats mean nothing to Hugo Strange! You mean nothing to Hugo Strange!” Yet, after he had faked his death, he spent so much time and effort on getting his revenge on Thorne – TWICE. This man had to avenge what he suffered in Thorne's hands TWICE. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure the torture did mean something to Hugo Strange. Plus, we have seen countless times the way he responds to his plans not working out: faking his own death. Seriously, the tiniest thing goes wrong and he's out there faking his death again. This man CANNOT handle setbacks.

Imagine now if Jervis caught him on that first lie, when he pretends to not be upset. Imagine he was forced to face the fact that he very much is upset. Imagine he had go through that emotion, instead of running away from it (to his ”grave”). If he actually sat through that emotion, he would find it isn't the end. It wasn't that bad. Life goes on. Jervis could never fix him, but I do think that he could make him more normal.

And what does Jervis get out of all this? Well, he gets to play with Hugo's nice round ass <3

#hugo strange #jervis tetch

23 notes · View notes

heyidkyay · 1 year

Text

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twelve

A/n: This is a lot shorter than the last few but I had to leave it here so I'm sorry about that, hope you like it though! Already working on the next part!!<3

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Lots of angst, pls dont hate me x

Masterlist

My eyes met his straight on. There was no worming our way out of this.

“The night you finished with me. I want to know what really happened.”

...

George just laughed me off. “You know what happened. Why do you want to rehash things now?”

He was acting like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t care that he’d gone and broke my heart. That I’d never felt so lost whilst looking at him.

“Because I need to.” I told him honestly.

I tried to catch his eye then but he was already moving again, standing from his seat and walking straight past me. I watched him open the window, watched him fiddle with a cigarette he’d pulled from the packet he kept there on the side, watched his hand tremble ever so slightly when he lit it.

“I need to know, George. Please. It’s been eating me up inside.”

He inhaled deeply and his eyes fell shut on instinct. I sat there in the silence. Wallowing. Hoping. Thinking over everything I could possibly say to him.

I was shaky when I climbed to my feet, using the edge of the coffee table for assistance. I tried to stay level-headed, keeping the stilted distance even as I rounded on him, using the window to divide us. Him on one end, me on the other.

“Why?” I repeated.

Why won’t you answer me? Why won’t you tell me what went wrong? Why won’t you just look at me?

That word always seemed to be on repeat. The instrumental to my life, I supposed.

George simply shook his head, tapping some ash out onto the window ledge outside. It was dark. The moon was high in the sky, the streetlights had been on for a couple hours, and there wasn’t another soul in sight.

I decided to play a different angle.

“Never pictured you in a place like this.” I breathed, eyes drawn to the quiet street below. To it’s perfectly paved pavement. “In a big empty house.”

I was being spiteful. I knew that but I couldn’t quite seem to help it. To stop myself. I knew what wounds to poke at. Where to hit where it hurt. I knew how to get him to bite back.

“Figured it’d remind you too much of home.” I shrugged, feigning my obliviousness to the way every muscle in his neck was now tensing. “You always hated it when they were away. When you were left on your own. This feels similar.”

“Yeah, well things change. People change.” George snipped back, I could just make out the faint reflection of his face in the glass, his expression hard and unblinking. He took another long drag.

“I know that much. Suppose you did, didn’t you? Right in front of my eyes, without me even realising.” I replied, voice barely above a whisper. “How is your mum, by the way? Did you tell her about me?”

“She’s fine.” He answered the first, but not the second. “Just drop it, would you?”

But I couldn’t. Not when I was finally getting somewhere with him.

“How did she take the news?” I prodded further, fingers toying with the floral netting he had hung. “Was she as surprised as I was?”

“I said leave it.” George snapped, tossing the cigarette he'd almost finished out of the open window before he turned to me. “You never know when to just stop.”

“I want answers.” I told him with a jerky shrug, chest rising and falling at a new found rate when he stepped closer. “I’ll get them one way or another.”

“The fuck you will.”

He was angry now.

Stood before me, so close I only needed to let go of the curtains I was clinging to to touch him. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were just as glossy as mine felt when I watched him rake his gaze over my pitiful expression. I stood my ground even though he towered above me.

“Or what?” I snarked right back, my whole body heaving. The feeling you’d only ever get when toeing so close to the very edge. Never knowing how far you'll fall. “You wanna scare me? Make out you don’t care so you can push me away, is that it?”

His jaw locked and his hands clenched by his sides, but I didn’t dare move an inch. George was a thousand things, but violent was not one of them. I could see beneath the stoney expression he’d long perfected, he was just as hurt as I was. He had to be. Because he had to have a reason for keeping me at arms length. For keeping me away for so long. For lying to me again and again.

“Come on, George!” I shouted at him, arms thrown out wide in my irritated exasperation as I waited for an answer. An in. “Is that all you’ve got to say to me? Or-” I scoffed, unable to help my painful chuckle as I stared up at him, “Haven’t got to say, I ‘spose would be a better fit. ‘Cause that’s all you given me since the day you left! Isn’t it? You’ve given me nothing, nothing but lies. When all I’ve ever asked from you is the truth.”

George took a giant step away from me, hand pinching at his nose whilst he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He laughed defeatedly to himself when his arm finally fell away, releasing a heavy harsh breath along with it.

He was shaking his head next, at me or himself, I wasn’t sure. But his gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. “Why can’t you just leave this the fuck alone?”

“Because it’s been keeping me up at night!” I all but screamed at him, hoping he’d somehow hear the plea behind my words. “It’s made me question everything I am, everything you’ve ever taught me! You were my best mate before anything. I always thought that meant something to you at least.”

“You’re talking shit now.” George bit back, an attempt at belittling me. He rolled his eyes. “Fucking grow up.”

“You know what? You’re a joke.” I scoffed. I was flat out crying now. I could feel the tears as they stained my face, catching on the bow of my lips and falling aimlessly down my cheeks. I wondered whether or not he actually cared. If it hurt him to see me like this, in the same way it tore me apart having to watch him act like this, to me of all people. He’d never felt so far out of reach.

“What’s that meant to mean?” His eyes were on me now, narrowed and flitting back and forth between my own. I just wanted him to hear me. To stop and see how much he was hurting the both of us.

“You, George!” I shot back, “You! You’re a paradox! You want to be happy but you only ever focus on the things that make you sad. You say you don’t care, when really you care so much it hurts. Love is something you crave but whenever things get too real, or when stuff starts to change, you reject it and push it away. Push me away! You’re a walking contradiction, and a fucking complicated one at that. If you cant figure yourself out, George, how the hell am I meant to?”

I was crumbling, falling apart under his cold stare. He hadn't moved an inch.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Is it?” I questioned with a tilt of my head. But he was already on the defence.

“And I never once asked you to work me out either.” George added mostly for the sake of it, his voice so harsh and unfamiliar. We were toe to toe now, only the coffee table there to separate us. “So, who cares if you do or if you don’t? Who the fuck cares if I’m everything you say I am? We’re not together anymore! You’re not mine. I’m not yours. Why can’t you get that through your head?”

He was right.

I slumped at his words. At the very thought. All the fight I’d been building up practically slipped away from me in that moment. I felt it untangle in my chest, drifting through my veins, up my arms and then down my legs until it was just gone.

But even at my lowest, I still couldn't turn away from him.

I had one more thing to ask. For my own peace of mind.

“Then what have the last few days been for?”

He stared back at me. Mute. Gone was the sheen in his eyes, the tick of his jaw. All I was met with was a blank gaze. It was like he wasn’t even there at all.

I closed my eyes for a moment, dipping my head once. Well and truly done. I didn’t say another word to him as I made my way out of the room, or down the stairs. Even when my mind silently begged and pleaded for him to follow.

I put my shoes on one by one, I grabbed my coat. And then I waited a second. Then two.

For something.

Anything.

I realised after the third second that followed I would have to open the door, that he was just going to let me leave.

I wondered if he saw the irony in it all. In me being the one who was giving it all up. Who was walking out on us.

And as the door closed quietly behind me, I felt the rattle of it shake the hinges, shake my bones. It echoed in my ears and danced out into the empty night. My fingers trailed across its wood as I dragged my hand away. Realising then that it appeared to be raining now too.

I guess somewhere during the time we’d spent arguing, the skies had opened up. I found myself wishing I’d worn a thicker coat, or at least had the forethought to grab a hoodie on my way out that morning.

I kept my head down as I made my way down the garden path and back through the iron gate, arms crossed firmly over my chest in hopes that they would somehow hold me together. I wouldn’t let myself look up to that upstairs window where I hoped he might be. I wouldn’t do it to myself. I couldn’t. So I continued on, head down sheltering my face from the on pour, putting one foot in front of the other.

The rain was really coming down now. Lashing as the evening wind howled around me. I figured I’d catch a cab at the end of the street, or order an Uber a bit away. Somewhere where I wouldn’t be tempted to turn back. To try with him once more.

I dropped down off the curb, water cascading down the slope of the road and under my boots. My feet splashed against its current, splattering the hem of my trousers. I found I didn’t much care, my mind focused on just getting home.

It was in that next moment I heard his voice call out for me. My head shot up at the sound, hope rising in my chest, and I meant to turn back towards the house, towards him. I really had. But then there were lights. They were so bright they stunned me. Froze me in place. I put my hands up to cover my face, confused. And then I couldn’t see a thing.

Only hear the heavy fall of rain, then a screech I couldn’t quite make out, and George’s voice calling my name.

Part thirteen>

86 notes · View notes

ratkingwizardudecatboydeluxe · 4 months

Text

Eddie is the kind of boyfriend to hold you in his arms whenever you're scared. Whenever you wake up gasping from a nightmare, breath trembling and hands shaking, sweat falling from your neck onto your back, Eddie would pull you into his lap and put his arms around you, whisper sweet comforting nonsense into your ear. Whenever you're scared, of nightmares and thunder and of darkness, Eddie would pull you into his lap and whisper into your hair, breath hot against your scalp- "it's okay, it's okay, everything's fine".

(Whenever your dysphoria gets too much he hugs you, gently, and presses kisses onto your neck, your face, and you hold onto him like he's a lifeline and you're about to drown in the sea).

Eddie is the kind of boyfriend to sit with you on the floor, wipe away your tears and hold you close, giving you a forehead kiss after forehead kiss. He hugs you tightly, holds you tightly with his arms around you, hands on your back or your arms or your hips and he says- "I love you. Okay? Don't ever forget that."

He holds your head between his hands, hands on your cheeks, and he bumps his forehead against yours and you smile and he smiles. "You mean the world me." He says, as he caresses your cheek, holds you close, looks at you with those big brown eyes that you've always adored. You put a hand onto his, feeling the cold of his rings, the little skullring that you gave him and says- "I love you too" and he knows that it's your way to say 'you're the universe for me too'.

Eddie is the kind of boyfriend to give you gifts for days that aren't even special. "They made me think of you," he says on a tuesday as he offers you a big bouquet of orange-pink roses. You laughs and smiles and takes them into your arms, smells them- they smell of cheap perfume, nice perfume, you've read somewhere that roses doesn't have a natural smell- and you say "Thank you Ed. They're beautiful."

Eddie is the kind of boyfriend to see how you sit when you work, hunched over the kitchen table with a pen in your hand and a confused look on your face. He's the kind of boyfriend to put a hand on your lower back, pushing you up a little and saying "sit straighter love" before moving past you.

He's the kind of boyfriend to sit down beside you as you work by the table, sitting down with his own work- a piece of paper, a pen and a guitar. You're working together, somewhat synchronised. He's the kind of boyfriend to see that you struggle, looking up at you and see that you're stuck on a number and ask you if you need help even though he much worse at math than you are. He's the kind of boyfriend who interrupts you with a "does this sound good?" and a melodi of notes from his guitar, a melodi of words from his mouth. You're the kind of boyfriend to listen to it, to hum along with it and say- "yeah, sounds good" with a nod before going back to your math again.

You're the kind of boyfriend who kisses Eddie's knuckles. They're often bloody, from all the fights he gets into and you scold him gently whenever he comes home bleeding. He laughs when he comes home, all smiling and bright, grinning, saying "you should see the other guy, this is nothing" about his bloody knuckles but your answer to that is always "you're hurt. This is something."

You kiss his knuckles, saying "you're kissing them better", as you scold him. You help him put on bandaids, afterwards, making him promise to never fight again. He always does and you always sighs when he comes home with new wounds on his body.

You're the kind of boyfriend who calms down Eddie by blowing air into his face. Whenever he's angry or mad or about to get mad, you hold his hands, his face between yours, and blows air in his it, blowing the steam out of him. You see it, mostly, often, when he's about to get angry- hands clenching into tight balls, teeth bitten harshly, eyes getting darker, looking like hell itself. Eyebrows furrowed deeply into his face. You blow air into his face, unclenches his hands with soft movements, caresses his face from anger into softness. You make every angry line in his face go away with your fingers, stroking lightly onto his cheek, forehead, nose. You blow face in his air and he chuckles, smiles, holds onto your hand tightly. He calls you his wind.

You're the kind of boyfriend to paint his nails. Black, always black even though you once convinced him to do red. "It'll look good!" You said, leaning forward with the brush in your hand and he had chuckled, smiled and said "sure, windy, sure". It had, in fact, looked good- a nice red colour onto his nails and he had smiled when he saw the results, the dry paint, on his fingernails.

Eddie's the kind of boyfriend to make gifts for you, handcrafted ones. Rings that fits your fingers made out of steelwire he'd found the day before or of an old paperclip he stolen from school, embroidery of flowers and suns and smileys onto your jacket sleeves or jeans when you had said that you liked the patches on his trousers. Paperflowers, neatly done, perfect folded. A song- nice and well-written and warm in that way that you feel it heat your chest up- dedicated to you, played at the local bar by the band he's in, by Corrored Coffins.

He's the kind of boyfriend to kiss you. During late nights when you walk home from a party, snow shining white on the ground. When you run, like kids, through Hawkin, he's holding your hand and you pants heavily and smiles and laughs and he kisses you, puts his lips onto yours, smiling and wheezing out laughs. He puts his hands on your back and you feel the heat from them through your jacket and he kisses your neck.

He's the kind of boyfriend to wake you up with kisses, lazy ones on sunday mornings, on your neck and your face and your hands. You lay with your head in his lap during late-night movienights and he presses kisses onto your scalp, into your hair. He kisses your hand before he gives you a ring, saying- "you need something here, your hand needs a friend." You had protested, of course you protested- he gives you too many gifts!-, saying- "I already have a friend Eds. You're my friend." You said and he laughed before passing you a hand-made ring. You look at it, eyes wide, mouth thin, teeth clenching slightly, and let him slide it onto your finger. Eddie smiles and he looks so happy that you start smiling too and it's cute, the ring, really, with steelwires made into looking like a flower. You says such and then you say- slowly, painfully, low- "thank you Eddie".

You're the kind of boyfriend to hold him, when he's upset- when the taunts and sneers and laughs get too much. You hold onto him and he hold onto you, his hands gripping your shirt tightly, his fingersnails digging down into your flesh. You used to whisper, before, when he believed you, that he wasn't a freak. That he was normal. Not weird. Now, you just whisper that you love him.

#my writing #eddie munson #eddie x reader

19 notes · View notes

lady-lazagna · 8 months

Note

hello tumblr user lady-lazagna.

what are your current tsubasa thoughts?

i know you like to think about him so i'm putting him in your head

Hello tumblr user fullcaps-ethan.

It is true, I do like to have him in my head. I keep him in a little cage up there. Don't worry about it, he has a hamster wheel, a water bottle, and some grain to nibble on👍 While he's up there, I like to do a little Angsty Projection.

The main projection point came from the "outsider looking in" feeling. I had already had this portrayal of him in my mind for a while, but after Metal Fury and the Legendary Bladers debacle, it solidified.

Almost all of the bladers in Fury are hoping that they were chosen to have star fragments, unaware that this was mostly predetermined by ancestors. And when they're told about this, and how the remaining chosen blader has to fit into the specific category of Winter constellations, hope is lost for a lot of them- Tsubasa included.

The show doesn't dwell too much on this for him, since the "not feeling worthy" storyline is given to Masamune (for good reason, that storyline fucked💚❤), but I like to dive into how my main boy Tsoobs feels about this (because I need his perspective in every situation, because I am sick and unwell).

A fun little tidbit about Tsubasa's constellation, Aquila, is that it's mainly a Summer constellation (appears between June and October, and is a point in the Summer triangle). And who ends up being chosen as the legendary blader of Summer? His absolute favourite guy on the planet, Ryuga.

That has got to be salt in the wound of not being chosen; to have the guy who not only tried to destroy the world and hurt all your friends in the process, but hurt you specifically in a deeply personal and traumatising way, be chosen as some kind of hero destined to save the world from the ultimate evil. And he doesn't even do it! He fucks up Zeus's Barrier and then dies because he was too prideful to work with the team. How unbelievably insulting to every other blader on the planet who would've been 100 times more worthy.

Tsubasa spent the whole of Masters learning to rely on and work with his friends. He knows he never would've fucked up like Ryuga did because he doesn't have a problem working with the team. But instead, Ryuga got the power, wasted it, and traumatised yet another one of Tsubasa's friends in the only selfless act he'd ever committed. Dying was the only good thing he'd ever done, Tsubasa would think, spitefully.

But oh my god he absolutely Cannot say that in front of any of his friends; they all admired and respected him as a true blader, no matter what he'd done! So he must keep all these feelings to himself, or they'll all think he's a terrible person with no compassion. Just continue to say nothing, and you'll keep the peace. Besides, the legendary blader of Summer is someone who deserves it now, right? Why continue to be angry?

The legendary bladers are the saviours of the planet. Even though every other blader in the world contributed to taking down Nemesis, they were the ones that assembled and fought the villains all the way through. Everyone around them fades into the background. Tsubasa wishes he could fade like that too, and be able to do his own thing without having to stand beside people far superior to him every second of the day. But for some reason, Director Ryo just won't let him. He continues to drag him to the forefront of every issue alongside the legendary bladers, so he's always feeling like he's working with people who don't need him. What is being a trained spy to having the power of a star, anyway?

So there he stays, bitter and utterly inferior with a pointless existence. Maybe if he bothered to communicate any of his feelings to his non-legendary friends, he could get some support- or maybe he'd just make them feel worse as well. Who's to say?

#maybe a hug would fix him #sorry if you were looking for silly thoughts and were smacked with The Horrors #but you know what they say #mfb #metal fight beyblade #beyblade #beyblade metal fury #tsubasa otori #beyblade ryuga #headcanons

37 notes · View notes

hollygl125 · 3 months

Text

On January 15:

Am I declaring another GSR holiday? Maybe. Why not? This is my Tumblr account, so I guess I’ll do what I want to do. Is it already over in pretty much every time zone except mine? Yep, that too. (Edited to add: it’s over here now, too, by the time of posting.)

January 15 is a pretty significant day in GSR history—perhaps the most significant. (Surely the first day of the AAFS conference would be in the running in the fictional world. But in the real world I’d say January 15 beats out most.) First, twenty years ago, on January 15, 2004, we got “Butterflied” (04x12). Then, exactly five years later, on January 15, 2009, we got “One to Go” (09x10), the episode that really should have tied it all up with a bow (and, for a time, did).

Last week I made a GIF-set for Sara’s introduction in “Cool Change” (01x02) then a day or two later I continued my CSI rewatch with “Invisible Evidence” (04x07). Inevitably I watched the (“Pin me down”) scene repeatedly before continuing with the episode. I know season 04 is the GSR angst season (*insert “TM” I can’t type here*). But, spending that much time with “I don’t even have to turn around” and “Pin me down” in such quick succession, I was particularly struck by the sadness of these two people having gone from friends (or “friends,” if you get my drift, of course) who were, despite the tragic circumstances surrounding their reunion, pretty darn happy to see each other to, in about three years’ time, colleagues who could barely have a normal, non-awkward conversation. (See: “I’m always over-talking around you.”) Viewed in retrospect it’s an enjoyable though angsty loop in the GSR roller coaster ride, but it feels really sad when viewed from the perspective of the time.

At the end of season 03, Grissom turns down Sara’s dinner invitation (“Play with Fire,” 03x22). In “Invisible Evidence,” “Pin me down” aside, he’s kind of a jerk to her (when she’s concerned about the murder she’s already investigating, he gives her the terse “It’s not a negotiation”). He lets her down again in the next episode (“After the Show,” 04x08), when he lets Catherine take over Sara and Nick’s case just because the suspect thinks Catherine is “the pretty one.” Sara doesn’t know it until much later, but she suffers another (metaphorical) blow at his hands in “Eleven Angry Jurors” (04x11), when he recommends Nick for the ultimately-cancelled promotion to Lead CSI (whatever the heck that is) over Sara. Of course, at the same time, Sara and Grissom get some ridiculous cuteness in that episode, as seen here, when Grissom makes a corny pun over a bee (of course a 🐝) corpse and checks to make sure Sara thinks he’s adorable. (Newsflash: she does!)

(As an aside, on which I will possibly ramble more at a later date, I tend to see Grissom up to this point as a wounded animal—occasionally accidentally lashing out at his would-be rescuer, Sara—who is simply unequipped and unprepared for the situation in which he has found himself, so I think he is trying his best but does not really realize how deeply wounded he is.)

Then we continue on the GSR roller coaster with the beloved and angsty “Butterflied.” CSI being a show about forensics, this really could have been the kind of relationship that always simmered under the surface but never came to much of anything for the presumably star-crossed lovers. We know the writers planned to let the whole thing disappear after Sara’s failed dinner invitation. But WP and JF liked playing the relationship! (JF has, repeatedly I am sure, said it was her favourite part of the show!) They didn’t want it to go away! So instead in the first half of season 04 we get first “Pin me down” and then the David Rambo-penned “Butterflied,” which finally confirms (as we all knew all along!) that Sara does not just have some unrequited schoolgirl crush on her boss and mentor. This is the real deal, and Dr. Grissom has been suppressing some deep feelings for the young and beautiful Ms. Sidle—really deep feelings, as seen in the original script for Grissom’s “Butterflied” monologue.

I don’t actually remember watching “Butterflied” for the first time. At the time most of my attention was focused on my first year of [professional] school. I was definitely a more casual fan and not down the rabbit hole (although I am the kind of person who manages to ship couples on shows she’s never even watched). The first episode of CSI for which I have a clear memory of having an emotional reaction was “Bloodlines” (04x23), because I felt pretty upset by Sara’s almost-DUI.

On the other hand, I have a very clear memory of first watching “One to Go” (09x10), which originally aired fifteen years ago today (yesterday now), although I did not first watch it on that day. I was in Pakse exactly fifteen years ago, or so my photo evidence tells me; so I assume I would not have managed to watch the episode live in Laos (I didn’t even have a laptop with me), but I must have watched it soon after I got home at the end of the month, and I was wholly unspoiled for the experience.

I don’t know whether anyone at the time had hints of whether JF was showing up at all for WP’s last episode. (Fi? Anyone?) But as far as I am aware they all pulled an ER/George Clooney and didn’t let anyone in on the last scene. (GSR has echoed Doug on the docks on more than one epic relationship occasion. And yeah that song is so perfect that it’s on my GSR fic playlist for the first post-“Immortality” reunion chapter.) They held JF’s name from the initial credits so as not to give her appearance away. So there we were in the last scene, with Gil Grissom walking through the “Costa Rican” rainforest, and Sara Sidle still nowhere to be seen, and I vividly remember thinking, “Please just tell us he goes to Sara, please just tell us he goes to Sara, please just tell us he goes to Sara, please just tell us he goes to Sara, please just tell us he goes to… Sara!!!” I’m in tears just thinking about it—I kid you not.

Anyway, I am sure that scene in Costa Rica is ingrained in the hearts and minds of GSR fans everywhere, but—just in case you needed to see another version—I made a two-part GIF set for it, which you can find here and here. I think “Wild Heart” by Bleachers is a perfect song for Grissom going into the rainforest in search of his beloved, so it makes me pretty emotional (and of course “Unbound” by Robbie Robertson is a GSR classic).

On another note, this weekend I also made a season 04/CSIV GIF-set (not linked because it’s currently sitting in my drafts, uncertain as to its fate), and I have to say I find it really pretty remarkable that we got to see our two lovely science nerds go from a cute-turned-angsty under the surface maybe-relationship to a real relationship, to our awkward bugman going on a heroic journey (“from the isolated figure we first meet him as to the one who, when he leaves us, believes, above everything, in love”) and following his beloved into the rainforest, to places we don’t talk about (okay, I could have skipped that part), to sailing off into the sunset together, to being the world’s cutest old marrieds. It really was a roller coaster ride, but I think it’s pretty special (and I feel pretty privileged) that we got to experience it all.

I’ll stop rambling now. Usually I proofread everything I write about twenty times to make sure I haven’t missed any typos or accidentally written anything that could offend anyone, but tonight I’m posting this immediately before going to bed. So, if you’ve actually read this far, please be polite in pointing out my typos, and please know that I really didn’t mean any offence (to anyone, on anything).

Those are my (very rough) thoughts; obviously your perspective may differ! 💛 Happy tumbling!

#gsr #otp: gsr #sara sidle #gil grissom #sara x grissom #grissom x sara #💛: survivors in the night #my thoughts and feelings on the two lovely science nerds

9 notes · View notes

gunnerkriggcritical · 10 months

Text

A Personal Reflection On Gunnerkrigg Court (by @kestrelknight)

I started reading Gunnerkrigg Court at least by the time of Chapter 20. I was in elementary school, and obsessed with a number of webcomics. Gunnerkrigg Court was among the two that I persisted in reading up into college. It has been a foundational piece of media for me; it was one of my models for good visual storytelling, for pacing, for mystery and atmosphere, for kitchen-sink fantasy. I even made a single page of a comic in middle school, heavily based on the "spooky magic girl in abandoned industrial setting" concept. I loved it.

I wouldn't care about Gunnerkrigg Court so much if I hadn't loved it for so long. I wouldn't be this frustrated, and hurt by the comic, if I hadn't loved it for so long, so much.

There were always a few little bits that made me uncomfortable in the comic, though I had difficulty articulating it- mostly the way young girls wound up being sexualized, or having romantic teases with older men (humans or magic wolves). None of it ever really impacted my enjoyment of the comic; I tried not to dwell on it. While I was frustrated by Annie's perpetual tolerance for her father's neglect, I assumed this was just the beginning of her character arc- that the point would be her coming to process and reckon with the fact that he had not treated her well, and that she was allowed to be angry about it.

The point at which I started having misgivings came at the same place as for many people: The Tree. This chapter hit me very hard, and very personally. I've never been in a situation similar to Annie's. I have been in situations similar to Kat. I was so affected by each individual update, I read more than the top comments- and was deeply disturbed by how many people tried to justify Tony's behavior, especially as comeuppance for Annie for cheating. From that point on, the comic was a source of stress and worry for me. I bore with it, because I loved it, and had faith that Tom would deliver catharsis at some point- that there was a point to all this, that he had something to say about the nature of neglectful and abusive parental relationships. He was writing one, after all.

Annie and the Fire meant so much to me, as someone who's struggled with anger, and a desire to please and placate others, to the point of struggling deeply with dissociation for years. It resonated with me to the point of being hard to read; but I kept with it, and accepted that Annie's journey wasn't done yet. Tony's remorse did very little for me, but it didn't kill my hope in Annie's development. Just because Tony feels bad doesn't negate what he's done, and what he's failed to do. That's obvious. I waited longer.

The moment where Kat suddenly turned face and decided Tony wasn't so bad a guy after all caught me completely off-guard. It felt like a betrayal- and I thought that was the point, that Annie's astonishment at this character change was the point. That now, Annie couldn't offload her own resentment onto Kat- she could no longer rely on someone else to get mad on her behalf. I hoped she would try to convince Kat, even indirectly, of why she should still be mad at Tony, and so come to realize she herself was still angry at him. Something. It didn't happen- but I was willing to wait. Tom had unfolded an incredible, dynamic slow-burn of a story for years and years. I had faith in him.

The second point came with Loup's arrival. Ysengrim and Coyote were some of the best characters in the comic, characters that had defined the dually humorous and sinister tone of the world. To have them both killed off, and replaced by a worse-designed, boring, Chaotic Stupid deviantart wolf without even the honesty of a glitter and rainbow color scheme? Yeah, hated it. The way the plot bucked and heaved, gaining and shedding momentum just as fast did not do it any favors.

I think I stopped reading during the Two Annies arc. I've never been a fan of stories that introduce time-travel or multiple universes late in the story, so it was never going to be to my taste. Combined with Loup, it just felt like the comic was off the rails. And since the plot was all over the place, there was little motivation for me to keep. waiting. To keep putting myself through this constant anxiety, reading every individual update- waiting to see if Annie's relationship with her dad would ever have the pay-off I wanted.

I was nervous it wouldn't come. I really couldn't tell, at this point, what Tom's intent was. But I didn't want to make assumptions prematurely. This was a story told a page at a time; it would be silly to get upset over a narrative resolution that wasn't even going to happen! But I realized that it was doing me no good to keep waiting around for the story to end, one way or another. I stopped reading sometime around 2019, having read for maybe a decade.

There was another layer to my discomfort with the comic, one more related to real life events and relationships. To put it bluntly, the main other GC reader I knew IRL agreed with Tom's framing: Annie was immature, headstrong, and was facing the just repercussions for her actions. Not in those exact words, but close enough in sentiment. I didn't have anyone else in my life to discuss the comic with. I was getting old enough that while I could see how Annie had made mistakes, and was a flawed, messy person- she was also a child, surrounded by uncaring or passive adults, in an uncaring system, constantly reprimanded for taking matters into her own hands while also burdened with immense responsibility. She was treated like a kid while being expected to act like an adult. There were very few adults in Gunnerkrigg Court that I could even like anymore. Even the kind ones frustrated me by their inaction. Obviously, you don't need to like the characters in a story to enjoy the story, but it did stop me from enjoying GC. I realize now that it was because the framing was leaning more and more into Annie being the problem, not the system and adults around her. Which, is horsepiss.

Every now and then I came back, and read several chapters in one go. It was a disappointment pretty much every time. Something felt off, and the parts of the comic I cared about weren't really the main focus. I dropped it again, picked it up, dropped it. There are still whole chapters of the comic I've not read, or only skimmed through. My family owns the first four volumes of the comic, some of which are coming loose at the binding for being handled so often. I've barely reread anything past The Tree.

Some point a few months ago, I was stewing over the comic again, and wanted to see if people on tumblr were talking about it at all. I found some fanart, and one or two critical posts that validated my feelings. I kept coming back to the tag, looking for more of both- and eventually came across gunnerkriggcourtcritical. I've gone through the backlog of this blog multiple times- every time my memories of the comic frustrate and upset me. It's comforting to know that other people feel the same way, underwent the same disappointment, even betrayal, reading this comic.

And finally, it was closure for Tony and Annie's arc. Not the closure I wanted- but at least I know now what Tom was planning. I don't regret giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now I know for certain what the point of it all was. I was disgusted by The Mind Cage.

I've been in Kat's situation: watching my best friend be ridiculed in a public place by their parent, helpless to do anything to help them. Listening to another friend make constant excuses for their parent, idolizing their worst aspects, wanting to be more like them, so they can feel in control. I've been like Annie, so horrified by my own anger, so unable to process my emotions, that I just cut them out and sent them to another country. I've washed my face in that mirror, the restroom unrecognizable around me.

Annie deserved better. There are no heroes or villains in Gunnerkrigg Court; there are abusive parents, and neglected children. There are no readers who keep up with the comic, just to complain and hate it for the sake of hating; there are readers who saw themselves in Annie, in Kat, and who are still trying to process what the hell happened.

Authorial intent does matter- but a good author understands that readers will always get the last word. Stories are a reciprocal process, especially episodic ones like webcomics. Tom had all the opportunities in the world to observe reader responses, and adapt his story to be both consistent with what he had already written, and sensitive to what dynamic he was portraying.

I still love Gunnerkrigg Court. I'll probably reread those volumes again, sometime. It's still what I point to, when I want to give an example of how simplified style can be more effective in comics. It was my model of a beautiful, effective webcomic, both in story and artwork. I'll never forget how Gunnerkrigg Court shaped my art and my stories.

I'll also keep thinking about how it ultimately failed to recognize the story it was telling, and turned to mean digs at its audience rather than reflect on its own content. I'll keep thinking about what a wretched message it is, to imply that being neurodivergence is the cause of child neglect, to point at Annie doing all the work in her relationship with her father and say: that's fine, and you're stupid for thinking that isn't fine. I'll keep dunking on Loup/Jerrek, because he sucks.

I'll never forget how Gunnerkrigg Court let me down.

#submission #gunnerkrigg court critical #gunnerkrigg #gunnerkrigg court

29 notes · View notes

arlestial · 2 years

Note

Hii, just wanted to wish you a warm welcome into the writing community here and I was so excited to see that you write for that time I got reincarnated as a slime!! Can I request some fluff with Souei where the reader gets hurt and how he takes care of her? Please and thank you <3 (Have a great day/night!)

❝death by a thousands cuts❞

synopsis : You're injured, but don't worry, your boyfriend Souei is here for you.

pairing : Souei x genderneutral!reader •—That Time I Got Reincarnated As A Slime

tw : None, only fluff :)

word count : 525~ words

author-note : OMG, HI ! When I saw your ask, I was super excited. There's not a lot of Tensura writings on Tumblr, I just love this anime so much and I'm waiting for season 3 !! I hope I haven't made Souei too occ, and that it's not too short ! Hope you like it, @yeosatinyngz ! take care of yourself ♡

SOUEI doesn’t like the idea of love. In fact, he thinks it’s terribly stupid. It seems cliché, yeah, but his opinion changed when he met you. He felt you were kind of different from everyone else, and he can’t just erase the feeling growing in his chest, even if he really wanted to. And he can’t erase this feeling of anger when he saw you, little wounds, bruises and blood, on your soft skin, your face contorted with pain.

"Y/N ?? What happened to them ?", he said, visibly worried.

In fact, he hated showing his emotions to people, but at that precise moment, seeing you deeply hurt, he didn't care. He rushed to hold you in his arms and disappeared, wanting to keep you safe, without everyone surrounding you. Now, you were in his room, precisely on his bed, while he was treating your wounds carefully, frowning when he saw you flinching in pain. He asked every doctor he can how to take care of your wounds, but he didn’t want them to heal you. He wanted to do it himself : he was scared they would hurt you.

"Souei ? Why are you here-"

"Why are you hurt ? I told you to be careful", he snapped, angry and worried at the same time. "Plus, Benimaru was supposed to look after you. I’m gonna fucking end him-"

"Souei, please", you sighed, "Benimaru has other things to do that look after me. I can fight for myself."

"You can fight for yourself ? That’s why you’re injured ?"

You didn’t respond. You have made terrible mistakes in your fight, so you remained silent. Souei sighed, realizing he had spoken to you a little bit too harshly. So, he took your hands in his and kissed your knuckles, looking straight into your tired eyes, and intertwined your fingers. Then, he kissed softly your forehead, stroking again your hand with his finger, and spoke tenderly :

"Please, be careful next time. I love you."

He then made you rest, he was always with you, cooking your favorite food, sleeping with you, patting your head, brushing your hair… you cannot think of something better than a deeply in love, caring, and flustered Souei, that would never admit that you’re the most important thing in his world.

#tensura x reader #that time i got reincarnated as a slime x reader #souei x reader #that time i got reincarnated as a slime

299 notes · View notes

matchayogitea · 2 years

Text

Suspicious Minds

Steve has had enough of Hawkins and Reader's parents. So he suggests the most logical thing: eloping!

"Steve?"

You found him sitting by the pool, jeans rolled up, legs dipped in water. Normally that scene would have struck you as odd - he hadn't really enjoyed using the pool after Barb's disappearance, and finding out about the Upside Down and all that jazz - but right then you were too shook to really pay attention.

"Hey, Y/N, I didn't think you'd come over today." Steve looked up at you as you walked closer and his smile fell. "What's wrong? What happened?" He quickly got to his feet and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

"Do I look that bad?" You tried to joke.

He shook his head. "No, you're beautiful. Always. But... you look like you've been crying."

You could see it in his warm brown eyes, all the love and worry he felt for you. You could see it in the slight frown on his forehead, and you could feel it in his grip.

"I..." You inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. You did not want to start crying again. "I had a fight with my parents."

"How bad was it?" You knew the implication behind the unsaid words. How bad was it this time? was what he had really meant to ask, but he clearly didn't want to rub salt in the wound.

"Bad enough. They got mad because I got a D in math, and they said I need to study more and they blamed it on-on us. I tried telling them a million times that math is just hard for me, it's always been and I hate it, but they don't listen. They don't care if every other grade is an A..." you paused. "I need to leave. I can't take this anymore..."

Steve didn't reply, not immediately. He enveloped you in his arms and held you tight, placing gentle kisses on your hair. You closed your eyes and instantly felt better, enjoying his proximity, his enticing scent.

"My father slapped me." You couldn't believe you'd said it out loud, and when you saw the anger in Steve's eyes you wished you hadn't told him.

"He what?"

"He was angry. I don't think it was because of me really, he had a bad day and he was tense and... I don't know." you muttered reluctantly, half-trying to excuse your father, half-wanting to disappear. You felt like a failure. Your parents always made you feel like a failure, no matter what, and you were exhausted.

Steve pulled away from you and took a deep breath, then another. "Ok, I wanted to wait until you graduated since it's less than two months away..."

You listened, wondering where he was going with that.

"But I might as well tell you now. I thought about this a lot. I don't want to keep working in Family Video and waste my life away. I don't want to stay in Hawkins. The only reason I'm still here is because you're one year younger or- or I would have left already. With you, I mean."

You were starting to get confused. "Leave and go where?"

"Let's elope, Y/N. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to go on adventures with you, I want to travel all over the country and-and maybe the world someday. But for now we both want, we both need, to get out of here."

You thought you were dreaming. No, not even in your wildest dreams you'd ever imagines Steve asking you to leave him. To elope.

That was wild.

"I... I know you're upset, but I don't want you to say things you don't mean-"

"I do mean it! I've saved some money, working and living at home, and I know you have savings from your part-time job as well. That'll do for renting a place somewhere and we'll get jobs wherever we end at and-"

"But Steve... I wanted to go to college." you reminded him softly, feeling guilty, almost.

"And I'll be with you. I'll work full time, and you can work part time if you can manage, but you won't need to. I'll take care of you. And then when you graduate and you get a great job I can be a dead beat boyfriend for a few years to make up for it." He joked. That made you smile. "You could never be a dead beat boyfriend."

"Then let's do it. We'll wait till graduation, and then we'll pack up and leave." He leant down to kiss you, once, twice, and soon you forgot everything except Steve and his soft lips and his warmth. "Isn't it romantic? We can get married on a beach somewhere, or- or even Las Vegas if you want to, I will never get your love for Elvis but I am such a great boyfriend I'm willing to get hitched in a chapel in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator standing by if it makes you happy!" He stepped back, pretending to sing in an imaginary microphone. "We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out because I love you too much, baby!"

You finally laughed, the first real laugh of the day, hell, maybe of the week.

As Steve kept serenading you, singing Suspicious Minds and imitating Elvis' moves, you realized you had zero reasons to say no to him. Nothing else made sense in the world, except being with him. You could have lost him so many times - to the Mind Flayer, to Vecna - but both of you had made it out. Did you really want to push him away when you'd realized, at just 18, how fragile life was?

"Let's elope, Steve Harrington."

He stopped wiggling and singing and looked at you wide-eyed, then proceeded to smother you in kisses all over. "Yes! I'll make you happy, I swear!"

"We'll make each other happy," you corrected him with a small smile, finally feeling like everything was going to be alright.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington is a sweetheart

167 notes · View notes

apphiarothowrites · 9 months

Text

A timeless fear

(sort of, kind of, continuation of A Timeless Feeling but focusing on something else)

Ace doesn't notice it until after Marineford. Until after Marco freaks the fuck out and, in the process, freaks out the World Government.

Marco saves him, rebuilds his ruined body nearly from the ground up, and then rips Akainu to shreds in the way only Haki can inflict on a logia user. He doesn't remember that part, only a distant warmth like waking up under a nice blanket, but he's heard all about it from literally everyone. Even a quote from Crocodile ended up in the papers, "I always knew he was hiding some kind of beast inside him, no one eats a Mythical Zoan and doesn't end up less than human after."

But it isn't Marco's edge of restless animal energy that seeps into his grins and flares feathers on his shoulders when he's hiding that he's angry about something. It isn't Marco's eyes glowing at night, just a little (so subtly that it disappears in the daytime unless he's in a dark room). It isn't even his increased propensity to stalk the deck like a predator that sets off Ace's sense that there's something deeply strange going on.

It's Luffy's wanted poster.

When the crew disbands after the payback war (a hard stalemate that left Marco almost literally licking everyone's wounds and Teach with a new scar on his belly), Marco retreats to Sphinx and Ace follows. He could go hop islands until he meets up with Luffy and train with him, but the idea of hanging around Silvers Rayleigh makes his hair stand up on end. He's not ready to face someone so close to his father. So he goes with Marco instead.

Things settle down for the two of them. Ace might even call them happy-the villagers adore them both, he thinks he's about to adopt literally every child on the island, and the little house they built together is perfectly positioned to guard against anyone coming through the waterfall entrance while still having an overlooking view of the valley. It's not as exciting as the sea, and Ace sometimes itches to go fight waves and sea kings again, but two years after Marineford he can say that Marco finally means it when he smiles.

Then Luffy does something on Punk Hazard and Dressrosa and his first new wanted poster is dropped off with the mail and newspapers. His whole crew, actually, has new posters and he rushes to slap them on the wall he and Marco keep of everyone's activities. He plasters it over the top of Luffy's first poster and steps back, admiring how far his little brother has come.

When Marco comes home, he doesn't notice at first. But Ace definitely notices when Marco does finally see the new poster. He freezes, predator still, in the main room of their home with his head turned and tilted just slightly. His eyes are glowing, like always, but it's brighter than usual. More intense.

Ace calls his name and it seems to startle him.

"You alright there, blue bird?"

Marco, literally, shakes his off. Shoulders rolling, he nods and says "Yeah, just reminded me of something is all. When did the new posters come in?"

#AR writes #a timeless fear

17 notes · View notes

smartycvnt · 1 year

Text

Hurt

Pairing: Matt Jackson x Reader

Prompt: 8. "I don't know why you don't understand that I care about you."

WC: 765

"Goddamn it!" Matt shouted from his office. You flinched at the sounds of things being thrown around and destroyed in there. Matt had been so upset since losing the Trios Titles to House of Black. You wanted to tell him that you understood how he felt, but Matt hadn't been listening to a word that you had said for quite some time. He was content with being absolutely angry in his own little world and had been lashing out at you for trying to get through to him. You were at your wit's end with him, but every single time you were ready to give up, there was hope that things were turning around.

"Matt, are you okay?" you asked timidly. Matt would never hurt you, but now you had begun to approach him like a wounded animal. Matt would hate himself even more than he already did if he knew how you had begun to think about him. He was hurt, that was all. He was hurt and you didn't know how to help him because he wasn't willing to let you in to do so.

"Yeah baby, I'm fine," Matt answered as he opened up the door. He was breathing a bit heavier than normal, and his face was red, but other than that, he looked normal. Well, as normal as he had been looking as of late. Matt had stopped taking care of himself like he had before and kept himself holed up in his office all day. Your house had stopped feeling like home, and you didn't know when that had happened exactly. "Don't you worry about me."

"I can't help it," you told him. Matt cleared his throat as he awkwardly put his hands in his pockets. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before going back to your bedroom. It was starting to get late, so you decided to go to bed. Matt would either sleep in his office or come crawling back to you at an ungodly hour. You just hoped that he came back to bed with you. Sleeping on your own was not something that you wanted to allow yourself to get used to again. Not whenever the most important part of your vows to Matt had been the part where you promised to always take care of each other in whatever ways were needed. Matt had started to flake on that part as of late, but you kept reminding yourself that he was just hurting from his big loss.

You had just barely begun drifting off to sleep whenever you heard Matt come into the bedroom. He bypassed the bed completely for the bathroom to take a shower. You doubted that he meant to wake you up, but when you were in bed by yourself, you were a light sleeper. Matt took much longer in the shower than what he usually did, almost long enough for you to get sleepy again. However, you knew that talking to Matt was much more important than you getting a little bit of extra sleep. And so, you stayed up until he walked out of the bathroom wrapped up in a couple of towels.

"Matt, I need to get something off my chest," you said.

"Go ahead," Matt sighed. It was like he had been expecting this. You wondered how long he had been holing himself up in his office to avoid talking to you about his feelings.

"I'm worried about you, and I know that you don't want me to, but I can't help it. I don't know why you don't understand that I care about you. Fuck Matt, we're married. I wouldn't go off and marry someone that I don't love and care for deeply. It hurts me to see you hurting, especially when I know that it would make you feel better to let it all out. I get that I'm Nicky or Kenny, but I'm your wife. That means something, doesn't it?" You hadn't meant to sound so broken, but once you had started it was hard to stop.

"Yeah, it means something Y/n. It means a lot to me, and I'm sorry, but I'm not quite sure how I feel so talking wouldn't help me right now. I know you mean well, but I have my own process," Matt told you. He walked back into his office, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before things escalated even further. He couldn't push you away forever, if you were unwanted in a place long enough you'd just leave.

#matt jackson x reader #matt jackson #aew #aew x reader #my writing

42 notes · View notes

fae-fucker · 9 months

Text

Nexus: Chapter 1-3

It's time for the thrilling conclusion to Sasha Alsberg's and Lindsay Cummings literary diarrhea. Described by the illustrious Sarah J Maas (whose taste we can surely trust) as a "whirlwind, out-of-this-galaxy adventure," the queen of fae jizz has once again put egg on our collective faces and told blatant lies to uphold false narratives.

It's apparently been two years since I last left Andi to die as the new General of Arcardius. Nor was the evil queen, and Valen was the perpetual victim turned evil guy at the last moment. Dex was there, and so was Andi's crew. Dex rescued Andi and the general, but the general died after giving Andi his title for reasons as uninteresting as they are pointless.

I won't be recapping the whole thing, just read the last parts of the previous snark to get caught up. Or the whole thing, if you want xoxo

Chapter 1: Dex

Dextro Arez had never truly believed that the Godstars were tangible beings. They were soul-felt, a comforting presence inside your heart, an idea that filled your mind as if soldered on with iron and fire. Always nearby, yet as far away as the stars in the night sky.

Hoo boy. Shinsay are so very good at one-sentence K.O.s They bypass my armor and do direct psychic damage.

Dex is sitting by Andi's busted-ass body. She's been out for a week, and he's all angsty about how she has to wake up because she's the general now and is the only one who can save them all. He's then overtaken by a telegraphed wave of memories, flashing conveniently back to the climax of the first book, so we're all caught up on what's happened.

BUT THEN! Andi wakes up! And she's all angry about how Dex saved her but left HER GIRLS behind, and she gets up and tries to go and save them immediately despite having an open and gaping chest wound that starts bleeding the moment she gets up. She's so so angry you guys. And also really badass for how she wants to save her crew, whom she loves so much that she'd die for them. It's very cool and tragic and sad and uuh. Anyway.

She stabs him with a syringe full of a pain medication called "soduum" which, I mean, yeah. Soduum indeed.

The first chapter of Nexus ends like this,

“I’m sorry, Dex,” Andi said, her voice like a funeral dirge as his head hit the floor. “There is no me without them.” When she left the med bay, she was no longer Androma Racella. The Bloody Baroness stepped into the halls of the Marauder, a captain who would tear apart the skies to rescue her crew.

I do love the childlike sincerity of Shinsay being so enamored with the bad-mouth-feel name of their main character, and her shitty little title, that they keep repeating both. I also hate the way the title is deeply unoriginal while also being completely meaningless, indicating that Shinsay just chose words that sounded cool to them without thought or effort. There's a certain unearned smugness in repeating the full name and title every time Andi does anything they think is cool, because guys? You didn't do anything, but you're expecting goosebumps every time? Cmon now.

I read my own snark recently in preparation for reading Nexus (cuz there's no way I'm gonna read Zenith again lol) and I'm surprised that I never deconstructed the title of "Bloody Baroness," because it's so bad. So I'll do that now, because there's nothing else cool happening.

First of all, what does baroness mean in this world? The title existing implies the existence of peerage. Adhira has a queen, so that sort of fits, but Andi is from Arcardius, which is noted to be the most militaristic planet, ruled by a general instead of a king. So who gave her the title? Why is it baroness specifically? Does Andi hold land? Where did the title of baroness come from? Who started it and why? What did she do to earn it? We never really find out what Andi did during her criminal years, so her having a wacky title would have given us a clue as to what kind of pirate she is. Instead, we get baroness because it sounds fancy to Shinsay and is alliterative with "bloody," I guess?

As for "bloody", well, it speaks for itself, doesn't it? It's a fine enough descriptor for a space pirate, but the fact that it's followed up by "baroness" makes it sound too small for the title it's describing. The alliteration was also a mistake, IMO. It just sounds childish. Combine all this with the fact that "bloody" is something a mildly annoyed British person might say before a real curse word, it's just a bit silly.

Compare to two examples that kind of work, on the opposite ends of the spectrum that Andi occupies. We have Star Lord, from Guardians of the Galaxy. I haven't read the comics, but the title works for the guy because it's both ambiguous (in the first movie, nobody knows who he is or what he's done, because it's not a lot) and grandiose (because he's full of himself). It is a cool name, but it's clearly something an unimaginative egotist might come up with, name himself the lord of stars because they're in space, so ruling stars means he's a big deal. Nobody's calling him lord unless he convinces them first. It works because it builds his character.

Then we have The Blood Countess, one of the epithets given to Elizabeth Bathory, a real-life historical figure who was said to have killed women and girls in order to bathe in their blood and remain young forever. Notice the similarities to the Bloody Baroness. Except Bathory was given this moniker because she 1) was an actual countess and 2) killed people and had a fascination with their blood. Obviously this is a real-life person, but the title works because hey, she did do that shit, at least according to the people who gave her that name. She's a countess that likes blood? Blood Countess!

What did Andi do? Everyone calls her the Bloody Baroness, but we don't know why, and she clearly didn't give herself the name, though she embraces it because ...? She likes it, I guess. She likes to be called bloody because she loves violence, and to be associated with nobility, despite supposedly hating the upper class after they stabbed her in the back.

Y'all see what I mean?

We don't know where the title came from, so we don't get an insight into her past, and we don't know how she feels about it, aside from stuff we can assume that turns out to be contradictory anyway.

But hey, it sounds cool, right? Right? RIGHT?!

Chapter 2: Andi

Anyway, because she's got a huge hole in her chest that's gushing blood, Andi can barely get herself into the captain's seat, but she's so so so so determined to save HER GIRLS, you guys. Can you feel the female solidarity simply seeping off the page? Totally not undermined by the fact that the three girls are basically lamps who only exist to be Andi's motivation and have no character of their own in this book, essentially objectifying them in this supposedly feminist narrative.

The navigation holoscreen began to flicker before her eyes, highlighted by the swirling, shimmering clouds outside the varillium walls of the ship. The dense fog of color obscured Andi’s view of the stars, and the sight of it sent a shiver of dread down her spine. “Memory?” she asked breathlessly. The soothing female voice of the Marauder ’s control system came to life around her. “How may I assist you, Captain?” “Where exactly are we?” There was a long pause before Memory responded. “The navigation system is currently off-line. I am unable to determine our precise location at this time.” Andi stared at the dancing whorls of pink and gold mist, a sudden suspicion dawning. “Memory, what was the destination of the last hyperspace jump?” “The last coordinates entered were for a location just outside the Xintra Nebula.” Andi’s hands began to shake with rage. Her ship was inside a damned nebula. A massive pocket of space filled with gases and debris that rendered the Marauder’s tracking and navigation systems utterly useless. A place only the most skilled pilots could hope to fly through without losing their way.

A-heem heem. So, as a child, my obsession wasn't with dinosaurs, or Egypt, or animals. Mine was space. And though I couldn't tell you anything that you probably don't already know, I will say that uuh, nebulas? Do not work like that. Nebulas aren't, like, clouds or mist here on earth, they're MASSIVE. And yes, while they are filled with gases, it's not like water turning to mist, so the amount of gas molecules stretched across hundreds of light-years would make existing inside a nebula perfectly fine. The gases wouldn't even be visible to the naked eye. Like, you wouldn't be obscured by clouds or mist, and certainly not enough to scramble any science-fiction navigational tools in a world that's mastered space travel.

Also, while we're on the topic of Shinsay not knowing shit from fuck, can I say something else? Here's the map of the galaxy:

First of all, what are rogue systems? I don't know if they've ever been mentioned and I don't remember if they ever will be, so why even put them on the map? Second of all: you mean to tell me that none of these people name the stars in their star system? That they're all just "the sun" like we do here on Earth? Huh? What? Why? Third: so several of the aliens come from the same star systems? Most of these planets have been mentioned as habitable. Andi and Breck come from the same star system. How is that plausible in any sense of the word?

Third of all, what the fuck is this?

HOW IS THAT A FUCKING ASTEROID BELT? Like I don't expect authors to understand how gravity works in space, (even though it's pretty basic that these rocks would definitely be in orbit around the sun, much like the planets are) but didn't the word belt clue you in on how they look? Do you have no curiosity at all, or are you so overconfident that you can't even bother to look things up?

Also, I get that this is stylized, but this map feels really small. Combined with how Shinsay don't seem to understand how big space actually is, or how unlikely it is that so many planets and satellites in a system are not only habitable but inhabited, it leads to the whole thing feeling underwhelming, not like the great swashbuckling space opera they were clearly going for. Everything's just squished together, and the whole plot revolves around a handful of planets.

Anywhomst, Lon comes in (Lira's brother who's somehow a "universal donor") and reasons with Andi. They head back to wake up Dex, which is surprisingly easy, given that almost no time has passed and they don't even give him anything to cancel out the drug.

Dex and Lon catch Andi up on what went down once she got her ass beat by a skinny guy with a knife. Valen is Nor's half brother and their mom had fucked up space magic that mind-controlled General Cyprian back in the day. Now they're mind-controlling people into worshiping Nor, including Andi's crew. It's very dramatic but also stuff we already knew, so.

Andi squeezed Dex’s hand and nodded decisively. “So we find a way to free their minds and come up with a plan to get them out.” “And then?” Lon asked. Andi allowed an icy smile to spread across her face. “And then the Bloody Baroness will go hunting.”

Cool. This is the second time in a row that we're ending a chapter with the promise of Andi aka the Bloody Baroness doing something cool, and yet she never does. And guess what! She never will.

Spoilers.

Chapter 3: Valen

The chapter title loudly proclaims that this is three weeks later, so I'm assuming that's on top of the week Andi's been out. So like it's a month after the attack. Keep this in mind.

Valen sits in a garden in his old home and angsts about how this planet used to be his prison because his family hated him, except his half-sister Kalee, who was an angel who could do no wrong. But now thankfully he has another sister who is totally cool and awesome and gave him a new identity, as a Solis with compulsion powers.

With every moment that passed, with every new soldier that set out across Mirabel to spread the Zenith virus, more minds were added to Valen’s nexus of connections. At first, he’d felt the exact moment when each silver bullet hit its target. The bullets contained a serum that Nor’s two-headed scientist, Aclisia, had perfected back on Xen Ptera. She’d somehow replicated strands of Valen’s DNA and used them to create a virus that forever linked the minds of its victims to his own, leaving them vulnerable to his compulsions.

His DNA? They're blasting people with Valen's DNA in order to make them part of his semi-hivemind? This is like if I spit in someone's mouth and they started being able to see my OCs in their mind's eye. It doesn't make any sense, and would've worked better if it was just random space-magic, but sure, whatever, it's DNA now. I just don't understand how it works in-person, then? Because it clearly does, since that's how Klaren used it, and she didn't put her DNA into the people she controlled. It was rather the opposite, really. Bazinga etc.

Like, ok, making a virus out of his DNA is fine, but then why would that infection allow him to take control over them? Look at how it "works" in his mind:

Over time, he discovered a way to quiet the minds, to lock them away in their very own realm, so that when a new mind was added, it was simply background noise. He’d strengthened the mental boundaries around that realm, building walls around those other minds, until they were contained in an impenetrable fortress that rivaled the obsidinite prison he’d once been trapped in on Lunamere. And then, finally, there was silence. Now he need only hear the minds when he pleased. And with the help of the Zenith virus, Valen could reach them from anywhere in the galaxy. He compelled them to serve Nor, their true queen—no matter the cost.

So it's a fucking BBC Sherlock mind palace. Very clearly not science-based, so why the bullshit with making a virus? Guess it sounds more scienc-y.

On Xen Ptera, they’d shared a life together—two years spent honing Valen’s powers. And all the while, his heartless father never came looking for him. Valen had once cared about pleasing the general, but now he knew that hope had been futile. Foolish, and utterly pointless. His father had never been capable of loving him, of feeling pride in his son.

Well, you were his rape-baby. Like I hate to remind you but you were very much unwanted and unplanned and made from a forced union. I get that that's not Valen's fault, and the general shouldn't have taken it out on him, but with how much this book and the first demonizes the general and idolizes (or at least affords complexity to) Klaren, this comes off as kind of uncomfortable. You'll see how Shinsay just conviniently always forget that Klaren was an actual rapist. I guess it doesn't count if it's a woman raping men. Yes, multiple.

Valen talks to Nor through their mind link or whatever, which makes him feel better. He's avoiding Darai (Nor's evil advisor/uncle figure), because the old geezer gives him bad vibes.

As he's sitting there, his gaze drifts to a massive floating thing in the distance:

Nexus. The monstrous satellite had become Nor’s new obsession in the wake of their takeover during the Ucatoria Ball. Engineers, scientists and workers had been laboring around the clock these past few weeks, perfecting every angle and plane of the device that would amplify Valen’s compulsion ability, sending his message to every corner of the galaxy.

Ayoo, title drop! But also, what? How does that work? How are you gonna blast Valen's DNA virus through space and expect it to not only survive the process, but also reach across the galaxy? *Tim Allen AUEGH grunt*

Anyway, Nor is apparently preparing for a public announcement or some shit, and Valen thinks about the Unaffected attacks.

Yes. Time for another Nondescript Proper Noun. Get a load of this:

It was something Valen had feared from the beginning, after he’d learned that some wouldn’t be affected by his compulsion. Their numbers were slim, if Aclisia’s extensive testing of the Zenith virus was anything to judge by. For every hundred that fell to Valen’s compulsion, bowing to Nor despite their original feelings toward her, only one resisted. So despite his unease, he’d never truly thought they’d be able to fight back. But barely a week into Nor’s reign, a group of Unaffecteds had banded together and destroyed the military barracks on Tenebris that housed many of the newest recruits to the cause. Valen had felt the moment those minds beneath his compulsion had died. As if they were matches snuffed out. There one moment, gone the next. It happened again, mere days later, on Adhira. A small but organized group of Unaffecteds had emerged from the jungle sector of the terraformed planet and struck down the communication towers. Nor’s video feed, which was on a constant loop across the galaxy, had been cut off for half a day’s time.

First of all, is this some English speaker thing that I'm not getting? Some nuance I'm missing? Why the hell are they called "Unaffecteds" instead of just "Unaffected"? "A group of Unaffected" works just as fine and doesn't sound as awkward, no? Especially since Valen called them Unaffected previously. Am I wrong? Feel free to correct me but I think that this is just unecessary and weird. And yeah, it's not very original. It's giving Divergent but many years too late.

Second of all, one in a hundred in a galaxy is still a lot of people. However, probably not enough to form a resistance movement that fast and that organized in a manner of weeks. Especially considering that there's a visual difference between those that are affected and those that aren't (as we'll see later), and that most people aren't combatants, most Unaffected/s would be found out pretty quickly. I'm calling bullshit on this one.

Third, why is Nor wasting time on making videos for a galaxy that's already entirely brainwashed by her? This implies that the attack was a calculated effort to weaken her power, but aside from sending her a message, it doesn't really affect anything, does it? Are we meant to believe she's just very self-absorbed? That hasn't really been her characterization up until this point.

The Unaffecteds would fall eventually, when they ran out of steam. When they realized that the galaxy was beyond saving.

Nitpick, but for a guy who's spent an entire chapter wanking about how great and amazing his sister is, it's a very weird word choice to say that his enemies would be "saving" the galaxy from her. Is he devoted to her and her cause, or is he a mustache-twirling villain aware of his own actions? Cuz it really seems like you're going for the former.

But hey, what's one sentence in a book, right? It's not like stories are made up of words and that you should be aware of the choices you're making while writing them or anything.

Sometimes, Valen could scarcely believe what they had already accomplished; how quickly the galaxy had fallen beneath their joined hands. Having a scientist of Aclisia’s caliber on their side had been vital to their success in that regard. It had been her idea to send out the orbs full of tainted rain as soon as they’d seized control of Arcardius. A war does not always require soldiers, she’d said, showing Nor and Valen how the weapon would work. Thousands of silver droplets falling from the skies across the galaxy, unleashing the Zenith virus upon all nearby.

Hi, sorry, hi. WHAT. So you're telling me Aclisia has already figured out a way to poison the rain of the entire planet? So ... why the fuck are we bothering with the Nexus satellite? Why don't you just poison the rain on every planet? Given that Adhirans have "universal donors" and all of these different aliens are able to live in each other's atmospheres and eat each other's food, you could just poison each planet's water supply and wait until the virus infected everyone. Yes, that would leave starships and space stations, but given that we barely have mentions of those, and assuming that they still need to stop at planets to refuel and gather supplies, you'll still reach them eventually.

It's funny how Shinsay feel the need to lampshade and excuse how quickly their spaghetti plot happened by using a bunch of other extremely suspect science fiction that would've been a huge deal in any other writer's hand, but through doing that, they undermine their main plot instead. I love it. It's like the reading equivalent of one of an Escher painting. You have to untangle the layers and once you do, you still don't fucking understand anything.

Anyway, Valen falls asleep thinking about how they're totally gonna win, and doesn't notice how his nose bleeds ominously. Because the toll it takes on him to control an entire galaxy of sentient minds is, uuh, literally killing him btw. Spoilers, I guess. For the obvious.

I honestly think that Shinsay have no concept of how huge space is. I know it's hard to comprehend for most people, but y'all are writers, supposedly. Just no imagination in there at all, huh?

It would've been cool to explore how being connected to a literal galaxy full of sentient minds would probably kill you immediately due to the sheer volume of them, like a semi-eldritch hivemind tearing your brain to shreds, but instead Valen just kinda fizzles out physically like a fart in the wind, while his compulsion remains boring and organized and his mind entirely clear and his own the entire time.

Anyway, sorry for the small amount of chapters covered in this first part, I just had to go off on a billion tangents <3

#eff reads: nexus #rape mention

8 notes · View notes