#anyway ive lost my mind over the span of two years . enjoy !

[squishdraws]

no i will post this actually

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (4/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). The chapter count went up again because I just can’t stop writing this story lmao. 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

IV - A Surprise Discovery

Geralt is certain that a stag do shouldn’t involve this much crying.

The evening started innocently enough. They have had a room rented at a fancy club and they’re drinking, talking and playing cards. Geralt would rather do this at home but Lambert and Eskel told him not to be so “tragically boring”, hence the current arrangement.

Geralt’s been spending the day with “the guys”: Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, Vesemir, as well as his soon-to-be brother-in-law Silvio and not-quite soon-to-be brother-in-law Nasir. Jaskier, on the other hand, is away partying with “the girls”: Rozalia, Amelia, Triss, Essi and Yennefer.

Geralt hasn’t heard from Jaskier in a few hours, so he assumes his soon-to-be husband (only two months left to the wedding, and isn’t that a thought) is enjoying himself. Geralt, for his part, is having fun too; the stag do isn’t a disaster at all.

Then, it gets better.

Because Eskel is crying.

They were talking about Essi, commenting on what a lovely person she is. Although she’s not exactly Geralt’s type (he’s into people who are more... feisty), he still agrees that she’s a great woman – loving, warm, intelligent and beautiful inside out. Vesemir commented that there had to be many people mourning the fact that she was taken.

Eskel, upon hearing this, started weeping.

“Should we tell him?” Aiden, sitting beside Geralt, murmurs to Lambert.

“Nah,” Lambert replies gleefully.

They watch as Eskel sheds tears, mumbling about how much he’s in love with Essi but he wouldn’t dare to ruin her current relationship because she deserves happiness and –

To be fair, they have drunk a lot at this point.

Silvio and Nasir are clearly holding back their laughter. Lambert doesn’t even bother and guffaws freely, to which Eskel pays no mind, so lost he is in his despair. Aiden hides his face in the crook of Lambert’s neck, his shoulders shaking.

Vesemir seems more tired and sick of their shit than usual, though sparks of amusement dance in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this relationship makes you cry,” he tells Eskel gruffly, playing along.

“It does!” Eskel whines, “I should be her boyfriend.”

Vesemir’s lips tremor but he manages to keep his cool as he asks, “And what’s her boyfriend’s name?”

Eskel opens his mouth to respond but he says nothing. His brow creases in thought – it’s visible how the wheels are turning in his head – and then the moment comes when something clicks in his brain.

“Wait,” he says, understanding slowly dawning in his face.

At this, everyone at the table collectively loses it. Geralt is laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh. Silvio and Nasir are in convulsions. Lambert and Aiden are leaning against each other, wheezing. Vesemir has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

Eskel is too happy at the discovery to even notice the amusement at his expense. “I am her boyfriend!” he exclaims with wonder. Letting out a joyful chuckle, he repeats, “I’m her boyfriend!” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table. “We should drink to this!”

At the same time, Vesemir answers, “No.” and Aiden replies, “Yes!”

Vesemir plucks the bottle from Eskel’s hands and says, “You’ve had enough for now, pup.”

Lambert starts arguing and Geralt rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to drag his older brother to the side and force a lot of water and some food into him. While he does this baby-sitting, the phone in his pocket rings. As Geralt pulls it out, he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s name displayed on the screen. Slightly worried, he picks up.

“Hey, my loveliest sailor,” Jaskier slurs, his voice unsteady and watery. “Can I –” A sniff. “Can I come?”

Geralt frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t we spent this night apart?”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier grumbles, “I miss you.”

“You haven’t seen me in five hours.”

“So?” Jaskier asks. “I just... want to see you. Please?”

Jaskier sounds downright miserable. Geralt has nearly come to terms with the fact that he may never master the art of telling Jaskier no but he's not fully resigned to his fate yet.

“Okay,” he answers.

“Are sure, darling? I won’t come if you don’t want to, you know,” Jaskier babbles nervously, “I don’t want to make you do anything you–”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “it’s fine, come here and bring the rest.”

Ever since their argument three months ago, Jaskier takes extreme care not to do anything without Geralt’s knowledge and consent. He keeps asking about every little idea, fretting and worrying whether he’s not overstepping. Most days, that’s the reassurance Geralt needs to keep believing in Jaskier's words. It does get tiring sometimes, though.

“All right.” Jaskier’s voice goes from resonating from the darkest depths of sadness to cheerful as the sun on a spring day in the span of those two words. “We’ll be there soon, my dearest.”

Geralt hums and hangs up.

After fifteen minutes more of trying to turn Eskel into a more or less functioning human being, Geralt witnesses the other stag do party members arrive. Jaskier opens the door to the room with a bang, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.

“Geralt!” he exclaims and walks towards him with a prominent stagger in his step.

Before Geralt knows it, he has his arms full of drunk Jaskier. His fiancé peppers kisses all over his face and mumbles something nonsensical while Geralt holds him up, a smile tugging at his lips under all the loving attention.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the rest greeting each other, apart from Yennefer and Triss, who are watching him and Jaskier with a judgemental and an amused look respectively.

“Why are you here?” he asks Yen as Jaskier finally stops kissing him and embraces him instead.

“He was crying about how much he loves you,” she replies with an eye roll.

Triss snickers. “He was telling everyone about it, and I mean it. He wanted everyone in the club to know.”

Geralt stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yennefer and Triss laugh. Jaskier raises his head and blinks up at him owlishly.

“Something wrong, my gorgeous sailor?” he asks.

Geralt really bemoans the fact that even a single look from Jaskier can affect him considerably.

“No, siren,” he sighs, “We should join the rest.”

They ask the staff to bring another table and more chairs, and soon, everyone is sitting comfortably, talking, playing and drinking. Everyone except Essi when it comes to the last part, at least; Geralt quickly notices that she doesn’t touch any alcohol. She claims that she simply doesn’t feel like drinking but Eskel, who sits beside her, starts fretting, concerned that she’s ill.

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You sure?” he asks, “You haven’t been feeling well recently. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Geralt’s the only one watching the exchange, as everybody else is occupied with the ongoing conversation about the rules of Monopoly. He sees hesitation in Essi’s face. She bits her lip, seemingly considering something for a moment, but then looks up at Eskel and smiles. “I think I should,” she replies, “seeing that I’m pregnant.”

Geralt freezes in shock. Eskel’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“The fuck. But we –” he stammers out, “Why, I mean, how –”

“I don’t know,” Essi answers, her eyes wide and apprehensive, “I really have no idea.”

Eskel nods slowly, his expression still absolutely flabbergastered. “Fuck,” he says, with much feeling.

Essi looks at him closely, uncertainty colouring her lovely face. “I know this very unexpected and you never wanted a family but perhaps we can... talk about it? We don’t have to keep it but I –”

Eskel seems to finally snap out of his shocked state. “Essi, no,” he says quietly, taking her face in his hands, “I never let myself have a family, but now that the baby is here... Holy fuck,” he breathes out, one of his palms moving to touch her abdomen. “There’s a baby here?” he asks, his voice cracking. She nods with a watery smile, and he takes her into his arms. His whole frame is shaking now, and there’re tears in his eyes. “A baby,” he chokes out. His tear fall but his whole face is alight with joy.

Suddenly, Geralt’s throat is tight. He knows that Eskel never considered himself a father material because of all the issues he’s been battling since his childhood, just like Geralt and Lambert. Although he was quite a ladies man in his youth, he never allowed any relationship to get serious. Years passed like this, and Eskel’s now in his early forties, which is rather late to become a dad. Essi is six years younger than him, so it’s not early for parenthood for her either.

Yet, they both seem so happy now, and Geralt can’t get enough of seeing his brother like this, smiling and crying as he holds Essi and kisses her.

The rest of the table finally catches on that there’s something important happening. Then, the news is out, which brings their celebration to new heights. Jaskier is so happy and satisfied with himself that Geralt suspects his chest may soon burst from how much Jaskier puffs up with pride.  

“See?” Jaskier tells Lambert, “I’m a better matchmaker than you!”

“I made a marriage happen!” Lambert replies.

“I made a baby happen! Beat that!”

Lambert scoffs, the picture of unimpressed. “Maybe you and Geralt are gonna have kids too.”

“We’ve already got two,” Geralt answers without thinking.

Jaskier lets out a shocked gasp, staring at him in disbelief, and Geralt slowly understands what he said.

It’s not that it’s not untrue – they do have two children under their care. The thing is that neither Ciri nor Dara is very likely to call Jaskier their dad. Technically speaking, Jaskier will soon become Ciri’s step-father, but Ciri sees him more as Geralt’s partner. In Dara’s eyes, Jaskier is a supportive, parental figure, but it'd be foolish to think that the boy could ever consider himself Jaskier’s child. Geralt knows that Jaskier realises how silly that wish is but he still seems to hope for it, deep, deep down.

“Geralt–” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

For a stag do – even two of them at once – it’s too much crying involved.

***

“Shoes off, Geralt, honestly,” Jaskier complains, “Are you doing this on purpose every time?”

Geralt only grunts. His head is spinning, too much to be pleasant, and he doesn’t trust his mouth to form a dignified enough answer. Jaskier’s very drunk too, so he doesn’t comment on Geralt’s response, or lack thereof.

The two of them slowly make their way towards the bedroom. Jaskier’s house is rather large, though, and they’re many objects and corners they stumble into. The rucksack they’re causing makes them snicker but their amusement is cut short when walk by the living room – Ciri and Dara are there, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and observing the two of them with delight.

“What are you two doing up?” Jaskier slurs out, “It’s...” he looks at his hand, where a watch should be, but there isn’t. “It’s late.”

“We found an interesting show on TV,” Ciri replies innocently. Geralt doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Well, sleep is important!” Jaskier exclaims, gesturing dramatically with the hand he doesn’t use to hold on to Geralt. “Go to bed!”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Dara answers.

“Young people like you should get a lot of sleep.”

“We know, Jaskier,” Ciri sighs.

Jaskier would go on about the significance of sleep for teenagers if he was allowed, so Geralt starts dragging him away. Before they disappear behind the corner, though, he turns back to Ciri and Dara, shooting them what he hopes is a withering look.

“Show’s over,” he growls out.

Ciri and Dara have the decency to look chastised.

Arriving in the bedroom successfully takes them a few more minutes. When they finally do, they go straight to the bed, not bothering to undress. Then, they’re kissing, messy and eager, but their bodies have a problem rising up to the challenge because of the copious amount of alcohol flowing through their veins. Jaskier breaks the kiss quickly anyway, saying that he’s about to be sick, and rushes to the bathroom.  

After Geralt is left alone, he tries to process all the holy fucks of the day, primarily the reveal that Eskel is going to be a father and by extension, Geralt’s going to be an uncle. Then there’s the very fact that he marries Jaskier in two months. Geralt also has a memory of seeing Yennefer and Triss kissing during the party, and that is a lot to unpack as well.

The world is spinning as he lays in bed. He registers Jaskier returning and laying down beside him before he falls asleep.

It feels like no time passed at all when Geralt and Jaskier are waken up by noise. The loud thumping bores down into his skull, causing awful, throbbing pain. He sits up, groaning, and Jaskier does the same with a whimper.

Then, they hear Jaskier’s voice sing the first verses of Her Sweet Kiss and, suffice it to say, Geralt has had enough of that gods-damned fucking song and its techno remix especially.

“CIRILLA!” Geralt bellows.

“DARA!” Jaskier yells.

After a torturous minute, the music is turned off, but there’s no blessed silence. Instead, bright laughter reaches their ears. Geralt huffs, irritated, and checks the time on his phone. The fact that it’s one in the afternoon and that there’s a glass of water placed on his bedside table redeems Ciri and Dara slightly.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier moans, messaging his temples, “I love my life.”

Strangely enough, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt turns to watch him closely, taking in his pale face, chapped lips and the grimace of pain twisting his features. “You do?” he asks.  

Jaskier looks at him, the blue of his eyes as beautiful as always. “I do,” he answers softly, “My life is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth explodes in his chest and Geralt moves closer, kissing Jaskier on the mouth, the cheek, the nose, hoping to convey what he finds himself unable to say. Jaskier responds to the affection with a happy hum, angling his face so get more kisses. Geralt indulges him gladly, pecking him on his forehead, his brows, under his eyes, down his neck.

“So much better indeed,” Jaskier purrs.

Geralt chuckles. “That is thanks to Lambert.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jaskier’s grumble is so grumpy that Geralt can’t help but laugh. Jaskier carries on grouching about being better than Lambert, and it keeps making Geralt laugh.

He couldn’t be more glad that he’s stayed.

[beeyeah]

Jikook: Appeal to Logic

Title: Appeal to Logic

Summary: /Jikook/ Two-shot/ Canon/ Where Jimin tries to convince Yoongi why he was positive Jungkook likes him and Yoongi asks him, “What would you do with that information?”

Indeed, Jimin wonders what the point was to all this.

Notes: I wanted to post on Valentine’s but I guess my calendar is ten days late hhhhh Anyway, I lurk a lot in Jikook tags (like I’m here everyday) and I’ve read long discourses regarding the legitimacy of their relationship. I thought it’d be interesting if one of them begins to share his proofs too and joins the hot pot of convo his own way. TLDR; enter this fic lol I promise it won’t be 20 chapters this time. 

Chapter 1 under cut or you can read at Ao3

Chapter 1: Points Were Made

It was an on and off thing.

Like a passion project that you know you just would figure how to complete someday but needed time because life would get in the way.

Today though marked the moment Park Jimin was ready to lay out his cards and tell someone that definitely… maybe… with a little more sprinkle of confidence that --

“Hyung, I think Jungkook likes me.”

There was silence in Min Yoongi’s room when the statement was pronounced. It made Jimin squirm on his seat as he tried to understand the non-committal stare directed at him, right behind the bond paper that held Jimin’s scribbled notes for lyrics.

Ah, that was right.

His initial purpose was to hear Yoongi’s feedback on a thing he'd been working on. Somewhere along the way, his thoughts drifted to another which inevitably led to his bold declaration of Jungkook’s far from familial, alleged infatuation for him.

Yoongi reached out to his left where his mug of coffee sat.

“I don't know what you want me to say. Of course, Jungkook likes you.”

Jimin frowned, wrapping his head around how he should explain himself. “No, hyung. I mean Jungkook likes me.”

Yoongi’s mouth was slightly gaped and his eyes were blank. His hyung looked lost while he attempted to blink his confusion away.

Well, his observations go way way back, two years worth of evidence. Right in the hallway of their home, an evening in October.

“Jungkook treats me differently,” he told Yoongi, legs crossed and under him as he put up a finger and discussed his first point.

It wasn't as if it was only him who questioned it. Jungkook only gave Jimin a birthday present in the span of the past years, no one else and that got to mean something.

They were all tired from shoot that most of them were tempted not to shower. Hoseok was pushing him around and urging him to a quick bath before lying on his bed because that was what Hoseok was. He liked things clean and perfect and that same rule applied for his roommate. But then Jeon Jungkook, his beloved dongsaeng, appeared out of nowhere and blocked him from his merry way to the bathroom. A little awkwardly might he add because he stood there, hand fiddling with his fringes and eyes searching the floor in trepidation. At that point, both Jimin and Hoseok unlatched themselves from each other's grip to attend to the youngest who seemed to need some attention.

To his surprise, and perhaps his hyung’s too, Jungkook held out his hand and shoved Jimin a paper bag. Hoseok curiously peeked from his shoulder as Jimin tried to open it while muttering, “What's this?”

Jungkook answered with a shrug and he waited. He waited there and watched Jimin opened his present.

It wasn't even anything grand. In this stage of their career, they were just beginning to gain traction from their first win and as Namjoon had put it, at breakeven, to finally enjoy the fruits of their hard labor. Knowing how their earnings were distributed based on performance and royalty fees, Jimin was pretty sure Jungkook received the same profit he did. To be honest, it wasn't exactly much. The only difference was that Jimin was prone to lavish it on people while Jungkook would save it for practical and grander things.

The practical, grander things in Jungkook’s head was Jimin. Bought him a sweatshirt which costed around 44,000 krw. Jimin researched the price because he was curious how much the maknae was willing to spend on him.

No greeting cards. Not a high end brand. Just plain white paper bag from the department store where he bought his first gift for a Bangtan member.

Needless to say, Jimin was ecstatic and made sure to rub it on everyone's face.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi tried to interrupt him but he shushed the older with an afterthought.

“It wasn't the gift that's strange. Jungkook's face was really weird when I thanked him.”

Jimin knew Jungkook well enough to know when he was happy. Whatever gratefulness he saw on Jimin’s face translated on how satisfied Jungkook was on what he did. There was a sense of pride and innocent glee in Jungkook’s eyes similar to the way they would twinkle when he was offered cheesecake or lamb skewers. It was odd how he was comparing himself to food but Yoongi would probably understand the reference. He would bring Jungkook to lamb skewers so often that the maknae even vowed to stay with him forever if he would agree to become business partners.

That was beside the point.

Back then, Jimin thought he was onto something but the idea didn't linger because it was indeed a special occasion. Jungkook was a good dongsaeng and treated his hyung well even outside their birthdays so, on a second thought, it wasn't really much of an evidence.

The hand that held Jimin’s lyrics now dangled limply over the office chair’s armrest.

“Jimin-ah, just get to the point.”

Jimin pursed his lips. As far as he was concerned, he was straightforward from the get-go. He thought Jungkook likes him and he stated the fact right on, now presenting his evidence.

“Number two,” he said after lifting another finger. Perhaps Yoongi wanted him to speed things up and he should. He certainly didn't have all day with their comeback looming around the corner. “Jungkook thinks I'm beautiful.”

Yoongi’s confusion had more color to it this time. Beyond his blinking eyes that questioned where this conversation was headed, his brows met when he spoke, “Should this really be coming out of your own mouth?”

“It didn't come from me. Jungkook told me,” he replied, voice defensive.

“Jungkook thinks you're cute. But so do I. Might as well tell me that all members like you.”

“No,” Jimin answered, tucking his arm in and across his chest. His eyes narrowed, teeth worrying his lips, trying to recall the exact moment that prompted him to ask the youngest. “Ah, that's right,” he muttered when the epiphany came. He searched his pockets for his phone and scrolled through countless and countless of albums of selcas and videos of him with Bangtan.

It was somewhere in there.

“Hyung… this,” he finally said after almost five minutes of sifting through his files.

Yoongi’s back was facing him after he stopped talking to look for his proof. He really should've prepared it beforehand. Now his hyung seemed to have completely lost his interest. He was typically patient to listen, but Jimin interrupted him when he was in the midst of editing a melody submission.

Though Yoongi said it was fine. Jimin would be his breath of fresh air because the team would so rarely go out during crucial period right before their comeback. He knew better not to push the limit but it was tempting and he needed someone to listen to him.

He pulled the bean bag next to his hyung’s leg, lifted his phone so that Yoongi would be able to see what he was referencing to.

His hair was pink, the clip a mere six- seconder. He was staring at the camera, trying to appeal to ARMY. He needed it. There was this greedy part of him that wanted to know how they would react to his flirting. Tell people, ‘Hey, Jimin is right here and this is how he looks right now. His hair changed.’ That kind of drill right before their comeback and their response would in a way boost his confidence. A conscious tactic to keep his fans interested in him perhaps?

“What do you think?”

Yoongi made a face and pulled back to a cringe as he'd expected. Highly likely, he would've done the same thing if any other member showed him a video of themselves. So he merely nodded in agreement. Bangtan wasn't the audience for this video. ARMY was.

“Do you know how Jungkookie reacted when I showed this to him?”

Yoongi sighed. “Would I want to know?”

“He replayed it, hyung,” he said as a matter-of-factly. “He told me I should post it because our fans would love it. Which I did, if you remember.”

“I don't,” Yoongi admitted and turned his chair so that he was facing Jimin, a leg over the other while he waited for him to continue.

“I posted it on Twitter and do you know who posted afterwards?”

“Jungkook?”

It wasn't a wild guess.

“Yeah,” Jimin confirmed the obvious. “After 10 minutes, he posted something and you know what it said?”

No response.

“He posted a song.”

The title was right on the hashtag #ILYSB by Lany.

When it came to music that wasn't in their own language, Jimin would seldom take efforts to find translation. So long as he understood bits and pieces of what little English he knew, he could work around it. Namjoon said to be careful of listening to artists that might cause uproar by association, so he would still have to check it out if he'd want to share it with the fans. But for as much as he believed that lyricism was a key ingredient to any good music, Jimin preferred to feel rather than completely understand and analyze. That job was for their leader.

However, he decided that he wanted to fathom the youngest’s thoughts that night.

The noob part of him thought the title was some secret internet code popular in the west so he searched naver only to be greeted by a simple yet telling I love you so bad. His mouth formed an ‘oh’ when he realized that it might've been an intense confession. It invariably piqued his curious mind so that later he would be listening on loop to… and you need to know that I'm hella obsessed with your face.

“You're reading into it too much,” Yoongi told him with a shake of his head as he reached again for his coffee. “I'm not one to judge who you want to date, but think how this appears to other people.” Yoongi paused, seemingly debating what he should and shouldn't say next. “Jimin-ah, a lot could happen in ten minutes. Like you, Jungkook might be sending that message to the fans. Namjoon recommends a lot of songs. It wouldn't be about us.”

“I know, so I asked him directly.”

Yoongi almost spat his drink on him. He tapped his chest as he drowned out his cough to reaffirm. “Ya, you what?”

“I asked him if the lyrics were about me.”

“And?”

“He laughed,” Jimin confessed.

Truth be told, his ego was slightly hurt to see Jungkook’s initial response to his question. He was serious about it because he was just about more than a quarter sure about his theory. It didn't feel good to have this kid finding amusement to something he pored over. He could've just said ‘no’ outrightly and Jimin wouldn't have minded.

Jungkook’s laughter died down when he saw Jimin’s expression transform and he was reaching out for his hand in apology before he knew it.

Jimin let him hold him.

“It was…” he almost sounded uncertain. “Hyung, why are you being like this?” Sounded almost helpless and then relenting, “Yeah, it was about you. I was nervous so I laughed.” Instinctively, his free hand reached for his fringes like the night of Jimin’s birthday.

When he saw the younger fidget, Jimin felt relieved. Ah, he still knew Jungkook better than anyone. Mindful to see every little shift in the air, Jimin wasn't wrong in reading the situation.

He ruffled Jungkook's head and returned the wide staring with his own curled eyes in amusement. “I knew it,” mumbled to himself and turned once he got the confirmation that he wanted.

“You just left?” Yoongi asked him, tone surprised that it nudged some bafflement at the back of Jimin’s head.

He bobbed his head yes because, well, what else was he supposed to do? He already proved he was right. Yoongi hadn't even heard the rest of his evidences yet.

“Three,” he said to share what was left in his folder.

“Stop,” Yoongi said, planting a foot on Jimin's thigh to emphasize the urgency of his demand.

Jimin slapped the foot away and dusted off his pants.

“Do you even like Jungkook?”

He tilted his head sideways. “Of course,” Jimin answered simply, wondering why it was even a question in the first place. He liked Jungkook. Jungkook was and still is his favorite dongsaeng and BTS member. He'd take care of him even if he grew his muscles and grew taller than him.

Yoongi shook his head. “I don't think we're talking about the same thing.”

“For the third one… ” Jimin took in the opportunity of minute lag on Yoongi’s response to divert the conversation back to the task at hand. He really didn't understand what Yoongi meant but better to finish this off before his momentum dried and faltered.

He picked up his phone again and browsed through his apps. It was quite a long memory lane down Vapp’s timeline until he found the correct reference. He slid the video right on the important moment, him in his bathrobe with Taehyung’s voice singing in the background. The camera was on with Jungkook in his white shirt’s glory, sitting for all ARMY to see.

“That's right… Jimin-hyung is bad at playing games,” Jungkook said to echo his claim.

Back then, the staff berated them silently to turn off vapp. Jungkook was too loud. Jimin wasn't kidding when he said he was hearing him across the hallway. They were only given five hours to eat, take a bath, and nap before they reconvene for post-con review and plan out the adjustments in their set list but this kid chose to do an hour of live for the fans.

Jimin was out his room because Sungdeuk wanted to talk to Hoseok. They needed to work on spacing for Not Today. Their hyung thought they didn't maximize the stage well enough and he was also keen to give feedback on blockings for medley so they could properly execute group choreography for Bultaoreune.

Hoseok was too tired to get up his bed so he texted Jimin if he could get the notes in his place. Which Jimin was happy to do. He loved the fact that Hoseok trusted him and it gave him a sense of pride.

He and Sungdeuk were just about done talking when the older guy stopped him from his tracks by grabbing his arm.

“Can you tell Jungkook to tone it down a little? I heard he opened vapp but everyone's tired.”

Jimin honestly didn't want to deal with it. He was wearing his bathrobe without any make-up and only rushed out in the middle of his evening skin care routine because he wanted to be a useful dongsaeng to Hosoek and let him have an early rest. If he so much as spoke, audible for fans to hear, people were going to ask and he'd have to show himself on camera. Jeon Jungkook, really this kid should know when to stop.

“You know Jungkook listens to you well.”

Jimin jutted out his lower lip, “He doesn't.”

He could already imagine the maknae turning the volume up further for the sake of raising his hackles. Sungdeuk knew this but he was asking Jimin to do it because he knew Jimin couldn't say no when it came to Jungkook.

“Alright, alright,” he said, bobbing his head weakly and dragging his feet towards Jungkook’s room.

Across the end of the floor, he saw Taehyung towing right behind their leader who whispered him something. It made his friend glance at his direction and the next thing he knew, Namjoon was off his room and Taehyung was walking the opposite direction.

Taehyung got hold up by Sungdeuk who was midway his own room and right then, Jimin pressed on Jungkook’s room’s bell and twisted the knob open.

“I heard you from the neighboring room. Let me sleep,” he said, trying to keep his tone annoyed and nagging even when Jungkook was beaming at him so widely. “Stop singing in the middle of the night. Go to sleep.”

“You're losing me here, Jimin-ah. This is just you trying to discipline Jungkook. I would've scolded him the same.”

“Hyung,” Jimin replied sternly, eyes determined and a hand squeezing Yoongi’s thigh. “Did you watch it? Jungkook wanted my attention.”

Yoongi leaned back on his chair, challenging.

“Well, it wasn't even about that.”

His proof went beyond Jungkook's childish yet so endearing attempts to make Jimin come back and join his live. He slid the video right back to the moment and handed his phone in Yoongi’s hand.

When he crashed Jungkook's live that evening, Jimin had every intention to make an impression. After how people disregarded his precious, scant hours of work reprieve, he believed he deserved the screen time. It was tempting to test the waters to say the least. Not just with Jungkook. He wasn't dumb, well aware of his effect when he tried to appeal to someone.

“I don't know why you go to those lengths. They like you already,” Yoongi interrupted him mid-explanation, referencing to their fans. “What's more to prove?”

Jimin wondered to himself why but decided against it. “That's not the point, hyung,” he offered, not wanting to divert from the case at hand. They could ramble on about his insecurities later.

After confiscating the speaker that agitated Namjoon down to coordi noona who just finished fixing damaged buttons of their Blood, Sweat and Tears stage costumes, he went back in Jungkook’s room to greet their fans. A hand comb through his blond hair, cute sounds, zoom the bare face closer to the camera when he knew he just applied mask so he'd look good.

More important than that though was to stare at someone far longer than what was necessary that he’d be conscious to repay the attention. So he did what he knew would work, lure Jungkook's eyes to him and whisper. Mumble because that required someone to pay better heed and read his lips.

“That's not right, I was good at playing games a year ago.”

Then Jungkook would nod absentmindedly and whip his head towards his direction as Taehyung sang Chandelier in the background. Jimin wouldn't say it was the perfect song for the moment but it was good to have a song. Cause Jimin was aware they were recorded. He could go back to this, a song would help with epiphany and drama.

“What do you think?” he asked Yoongi who was squinting at his phone. Doubtful but probably a lot more convinced than he was five minutes ago. “I can be convincing if I want to.” He extended an arm to retrieve his phone.

He fell forward when his hyung suddenly pulled back to keep the small device out of reach. “I don't know if you're being serious about this.”

Jimin titled his head. “I am,” he said. “I am serious. Jungkook really likes me.”

He wasn't unreasonable. The kid had a habit of staring when someone would talk. He observed these things, sometimes obsessively, because it helped him understand the maknae better. So he knew why Jungkook would do it. He found it difficult to focus and physically directing his attention to someone would help him catch what they were trying to say better. It wouldn't be a deal then if Jimin was talking.

But when it was Namjoon who was put on spot to answer an English interview, their leader who still strove to speak a foreign language to represent the group, Jimin quite expected for Jungkook to listen… ogle.

“The korean teacher asked me a question, ‘What are the hardships of being a leader?’”

It wasn’t the first time Jungkook was caught. There was one at a fansign, then at the backstage of a music show, also during that one gayo episode and probably instances he wasn’t aware or the others he couldn’t remember. If Jimin wasn’t so busy overthinking things, he would have found it funny how Jungkook would play it cool and avert his gaze elsewhere. 

“There are hardships when we take positions, specifically being a leader...”

Namjoon continued his answer in the background while Jimin thought to himself what actually goes through the maknae’s head when he would look at him. Was the need so compelling that he’d do it or was Jimin really just that. Beautiful?

“Ya, do you hear yourself?”

Jimin giggled, his head falling back to comfortably rest on the loveseat. It was funny to call himself beautiful. Even he wouldn’t be that shameless.

The point still stands though. Jungkook would stare at him, and he would call him beautiful.

“It has to mean something right?”

He wanted to confirm the motivations behind the not-so-subtle attention. However, he didn’t want to do a repeat of the last time when he confronted Jungkook about the song. It made the air between them strained and the youngest would agonize in his presence. Jimin thought he was being shy so he’d hold back.

But then what about his own curiosity?

“You’re curious, that’s it,” Yoongi said plainly. “What would you do with that information?”

Jimin pursed his lips as he thought about it. 

Good point. Where was he leading with all these? He didn’t think that far enough. He wasn’t even done with his final proof.

“What do you think, hyung? What should I do about it?”

...To be continued

[missarcheron]

A Tale of Nymphs IV

Summary: Elain is a nymph of spring, spreading beauty and happiness wherever she goes. Lucien is the Lord of Death, whose realm is, well- dying. When he meets Elain, he knows he will need her to save his court- and perhaps for some other things as well…

Links: Chapter One, my writing

Note: Wow, this update took too long. I hope you still enjoy the next chapter! The title already says it all, actually :D

Chapter Four: Claiming

 “What was he thinking? What was he thinking?” Elain’s mother paces up and down in her library, rubbing her forehead. Elain has never seen her as unsettled. “Lucien knows the rules. He knows! I made sure his own mother was well aware of who she was dealing with! I can’t believe he would go that far- I can’t believe he would take you by force”-

“He was not about to take me by force”, Elain says for what feels like the twentieth time in the span of this conversation. She’s tired. Everyone is yelling (especially Nesta and her mother), everyone is angry at her, everyone apparently knows Lucien and nobody has told her anything.

“How would you know that?”, her mother asks. “Oh, he is his mother’s son, her very spitting image- and she would have simply taken you away to do only the cauldron knows what!”

Elain presses her lips together. She doesn’t understand anything that’s going on. Everything seems different out of the sudden. The only thing that she’s certain of is that Lucien would never, ever hurt her. She feels it in her heart.

“You know Lucien’s mother?”, Feyre asks, surprise in her voice. “You never talked about her before!”

“Just like you never said that you knew Lucien!”, Elain throws in. “Why would you not tell us that our border touches his realm? Why would you pretend that those were simply dead woods?”

Her mother buries her face in her hands. “They are dead woods, Elain”, she says. “And I never told you about them because I wanted to protect you.”

Nesta raises her brows. “Well. That worked out well.” She’s lounged on the couch at the very back of the small library, playing with her dagger. A faint flame dances around her fingertip.

“So, let me get this straight.” Elain turns to look at both her sisters. “You didn’t know about Lucien either?”

But even as she is asking the question, she sees the answer in their eyes: they know him. They know Lucien. They know that he is the Lord of Death. And nobody has told her. Elain feels the heat rise inside her. She’s so angry she wants to explode. “I’m High Lady of the Night Court”, Feyre explains quickly and has at least the decency to look guilty. “I am bound to know. Rhysand showed me all the courts and the human lands.”

Elain glares at Nesta, who swallows. “Mother told me about the realm of the dead years ago”, she says. “Because she knows I want to protect you as much as she does.”

“You all knew?” Elain throws her hands in the air. “Who do you think I am? Some small flower that needs to be protected from being stepped on? Some little girl that can’t handle the idea of a court that is dead? You!” She points at Feyre. “Who do you think you are? Something special, just because you’re mated to the Lord of Night? I was born to be the Lady of Spring one day! I was born to rule this court! How should I have done so without knowing about our neighbors? Without knowing that there are fairies of death?” Her voice is so loud now that they must hear it outside. “I am a grown woman! I have lived over two centuries, and you still keep me like locked up- like I am in a cage!”

“That’s never what I wanted, Elain”, her mother pleads. “All I wanted for you was to stay clear of that one court.”

“But why?”

“Because they are dangerous. They are vicious. They do not care about others, they only think of themselves.” Her mother has tears in her eyes. “They would take you, Elain, and do whatever they wanted with you!”

Elain stares at her mother. “How do you know that?”

Her mother turns away from her, towards the window behind which the gardens of their court are in full bloom. “I have already lost my best friend to that court”, she says, so quietly Elain barely hears her. “And they turned her into a monster. I will not lose a daughter as well.”

“Which friend?”, Nesta asks.

But their mother does not turn around. Roots are shooting out from under her dress; leaves suddenly weave themselves into her hair. Branches grow from her fingertips.

Feyre sighs. “She’s turning into a tree again. Very good conflict solving, mother.” That’s that, then. Not soon, and their mother will be a small oak. She does this from time to time, turning into plants or animals. She says it helps her connect to her center, to nature. She says it’s a natural thing for all spring fae. So why does Elain never feel the urge to do stuff like that? Why is her mother unable to answer the simplest questions?

Nesta jumps up, still juggling her dagger. “I can’t believe there’s a whole backstory to Lucien and his court. And about that friend of hers that went to the Court of the Dead. She could have told us.”

“Elain”, Feyre begins, but Elain brushes past her. “I don’t think I want to talk to you much more”, she says and pushes open the doors that lead to the corridor. “Since you never saw it necessary to talk to me about anything.” Nesta calls something after her, but Elain slams the door to the library shut.

-

Lucien wanders the human realms today, disguised as a beggar, as the Lord of Death often likes to do. He needs to do something, anything, to forget yesterday. But even when he walks among one of these busy cities, watching the humans go along their business, a small pulsing headache reminds him of what he’s held in his arms, and what he’s lost. His mate.

Elain.

He wants to shout her name out into the world. Elain, Elain. Lucien didn’t even know such a miracle was possible, didn’t know the Lord of Death could experience such a wonderful thing: his parents were not mated, as his mother has told him over and over again. His father was mated to some human woman who died long before he met Lucien’s mother. Lucien wonders sometimes if that is why their marriage was such an unhappy one. But then again- is that not a depressing thought? It is so rare to find a mate- what about all those poor souls that do not have one? Are they all doomed to live unhappy lives?

It does not matter, anyways- both his parents are dead, and there is nobody left to ask about their story.

Death calls to him, here in the human world. He can smell it in every corner, in every face: and like a moth to the light, he is drawn away from the busy street and into a small courtyard where a small girl-child lies in the arms of her mother. A crowd has gathered around them, and Lucien soon sees the reason for that: the girl is dying. A horse must have run her down, or she has fallen down a set of stairs: her back is bent in an unnatural way and she is coughing blood. Lucien steps closer. The mother is yelling frantically, “A doctor! Someone! Please, help me, help my little baby”-

She will soon die. Lucien can still see the flame of life dancing in her eyes, but it is a desperate dance, one last effort before it will extinguish. The little girl is lucky, still. When the Lord of Death is present in your last hour, he will be able to take away your fear. Sure enough, the child meets his eye- and Lucien tells her what he tells all the humans. Do not be afraid. Death is but another passage. You will go on in peace.

“NO!”, the girl screams suddenly, a high-pitched, gruesome sound. “NO! Mama! He is here to take me! Make him go away! He is here to take me with him!”

The mother blindly looks up, tears streaming over her face. “HIM!”, the girl cries out and points at Lucien. “It’s him! It’s him! He’s here to take me!”

Lucien freezes. Such a thing has never happened before. He is there to give peace to the dying; here to take away their pain. But his presence seems to have the opposite effect.

Before anything else happens, he disappears into the shadows, flees back into the street. A small ping in the back of his mind tells him the girl has just died. And she’s died in fear of death, the worst way to go.

Lucien rushes back to his own realm, winnowing just to the border of his lands and then continues on foot from there, until he finds the long line of mortals dragging themselves through the snow towards the Lake of Dûren. They look as ghost-like and depressed as ever. And there, at the very end, the newest addition: the little girl, barely able to hold herself up, blood streaming out of her broken ribs and staining the snow.

“Girl”, Lucien says gently when he reaches her. “Do not tremble. Death is nothing to fear. It is a natural as life.”

The girl raises her face up to look at him. Her eyes are two dark holes of blackness. “Can you take away the pain?”, she croaks. “I am so cold…”

Lucien puts his hand on her shoulder, tries to push his magic into her small body as he has seen his mother do when she took away the pain of the Dead; but nothing happens. It is as it ever was. He has no powers anymore.

“Please!”, the little girl wails. “I cannot go on like this! You must help me!”

But Lucien is useless. He sinks into the snow, watches her disappear until she’s far gone. All the while, he hears her screaming in pain. He knows what will happen to her now: she will enter the Lake Dûren with fear in her heart, and her soul will never know peace. She’ll be screaming for all eternity.

Lucien lowers his head, presses his fists into the snow. He must do something. All those souls that die every day, all those humans that will never know peace- he must heal help them. Heal his own realm. What could have caused its demise? Why was everything fine when his mother and father ruled?

You need to find the Bride of Death.

Those last words, uttered by his mother, still haunt his memory. He was informed of her sudden, mysterious illness too late; when he rushed back to the palace to see her, she had almost been gone. Only these words could she rasp before her heart stopped. You need to find the Bride of Death.

The Bride of Death. It is the only clue Lucien has. The only thing that might help him now.

And it can’t be a coincidence that he has found his mate just yesterday…his true mate, a nymph of Spring. It must mean something. Could Elain be that bride? Could she be the thing that’s missing from his lands?

Lucien hardens his jaw. This is not about him anymore. This is about helping all those human souls; helping Tamlin, who’s wasting away each day; helping his realm and his people. He needs Elain here. He needs to test if she is that bride his mother told him to find.

And he will not stop at anything to get her.

He will travel to Spring. He’ll claim her. Whether her family wants it or not.

-

Alone in the rose-covered meadows of the Spring Palace, Elain sits down on the soft ground and lets her fingers wander over the grass. Everything is confusing. Those dead lands that somehow called out to her- her mother, keeping truths from her for whatever reason- and then that strange man, Lucien, the one she thinks she’s known since the beginning of time…

Elide sighs and falls back into the grass. The sky above her is ever-blue, only interrupted by a few puffy clouds. Spring Court is, as it has always been, a paradise.

But why do these lands not speak to her the same way? Why does she feel drawn to the land of the Dead, that foreign, frozen court? If she is to be the High Lady of Spring one day, should she not feel appalled and disgusted by the absence of little birds, flowers and blooming trees? And what about Lucien? Her mother made it out to be as if he was a horrible person…but Elain remembers how he caught her in his arms. How gentle his touch has been.

Perhaps Elain doesn’t want to live in eternal spring. Perhaps she is tired of pretty dresses, and pretty flowers, and pretty rooms. Perhaps she is tired of this court.

Something is missing from her.

She raises herself up again and looks down at her dress, as bright and beautiful as ever. Could she not change it, at least once, into something that actually mirrors her mood? Not that helpless, little nymph of spring, but something else. Her true self. Not spring. But…something else. Something alive.

Alive.

The word sweeps over her, removing an iron barrier in her mind. As if melting away, her dress sinks into the ground around her- a hundred pink petals spring from the grass where is had touched the earth- but Elain is not naked underneath it.

She’s grown a second skin instead. Not a skin, but rather a suit- black, made of little metal pieces, almost like the skin of a snake. She’s even wearing boots. Has she even ever worn shoes before? All nymphs of spring run barefoot through the trees.

Elain hastily stands up and looks down at herself. She’s wearing a warrior’s armor. As black as the night. And there- around her hips, a golden thread is spun. Elain gingerly touches the rope. It’s warm, pulsing with- life? It may sound crazy, but that is just what she is feeling under her fingertips: life in its purest form, life, tingling, growing, evolving. It’s the same sensation she feels when she calls flowers or animals into existence, when she heals the sick and wounded, the same feeling she had when she pushed her magic into the soil of Lucien’s court.

Life.

She has to tell her mother about this. Something is different. These are no spring powers and she’s never seen a suit like this.

Elain needs answers, and she needs them now.

-

Lucien breaks every rule by entering the Spring Court. He goes there alone: nobody else would be strong enough to endure the pain that comes with crossing the border.

But pain is nothing to Lucien right now. He’s here to claim his mate.

Winnowing is possible here, but it almost tears him apart, and when he finds himself standing in front of the Spring Palace, he has to catch his breath first. Then he sets out to find Elain. She is close; he can sense her. Somewhere inside the palace.

“Hey! You!” Two guards have noticed him. “Who are you? Nobody enters the realm of Spring without our High Lady’s permission”-

Lucien blasts his dark magic against them, twisting their hearts just the slightest bit- killing is easy, even here in Spring. It’s always easy to him.

But he lets them live. Why bother with their death? These guards are just a nuisance on his way to a much more important thing. Lucien enters the palace through a great silver door adorned with petals and flowers and renders all those useless guards that throw themselves into his way incapable of walking by twisting their heart and minds and bones.

After ten minutes of hunting her down, he feels that Elain is close now. Behind that great wooden door at the end of the hallway, perhaps? Library, a golden sign above the entrance says. And true enough: Lucien sees her directly when he opens the door to the room. She is sitting on the floor and talking to a-

Talking to a tree?

Lucien rubs his eyes. But he is not dreaming. Elain kneels in front of a white oak that grows for some reason inside this library, one hand placed on its roots and speaks with the tree as if it were a living being.

“Mother, please”, she says. “I need to talk to you. I want to understand so many things and I have the feeling that you are telling me nothing. I just wish to know about Lucien, about his court, and there is no one but you that I could ask”-

Lucien clicks his tongue. “That’s not true, love. I’m always here to answer whatever you want to know.”

Elain whirls around.

So does the tree. The roots shrink into themselves and two hands suddenly tear open the tree’s stump from the inside- tearing it apart to create a hole. The High Lady of Spring steps out, naked, covered in dirt. She snaps her fingers and a dress appears out of nowhere to cling itself around her body; another snap, and she looks as beautiful and radiant as when Lucien last saw her.

Elain sits by her feet, entirely frozen.

“Lucien!”, the High Lady cries. “Now it is open war! There are too many lines you have crossed- and I will not rest until I have your body broken and burnt before me”-

“I’m not here for you”, Lucien answers. “I’m here for Elain.”

“Never!” The High Lady’s eyes are burning with hatred. “Spring has tethered its ties with Death for now and all eternity. I will punish you for this insolence in ways you can’t imagine- Spring has rules that have been in place for hundreds of years, and you won’t be the one to break them”-

“Mother!” Elain stands up. “Don’t talk to him like that!” She turns to Lucien. “Why are you here?”

Before he can think of anything else- an elaborate proposal, some great speech about bonds and love and the color of Elain’s eyes- Lucien growls: “I’m here to claim you as my mate. No treaty can trump that bond. No ancient rule is stronger than it. There is no possibility of revoking this.”

It’s suddenly so quiet in the room that Lucien hears the winds outside.

“Mate?”, Elain breathes. “You’re my mate?”

“Yes.” Lucien steps towards her. “And I’m here to bring you to my court and make you mine.”

[tricialucido-blog]

Kaufman and Kristoff’s “The Illuminae Files” pt. I

Hi there! This is my first attempt at blogging about books I’ve read for leisure. I was inspired greatly by the bookstagram and booktube communities in Instagram and YouTube, respectively, and while I enjoy seeing content from both platforms, I feel like there’s something else I want to see from book bloggers that’s currently not present in the content trend today. I’ve seen a few bloggers here and there whose content I really liked (a personal favorite is booktuber @LilyCReads), but I guess it’s high time I shared my personal sentiments and commentaries myself. I still don’t know where I want to take this, but starting somewhere is better than nothing amirite. Anyway, here goes.

Note: This is a spoiler-free review. Part II, which I will link here as soon as I’ve posted it, will most likely be full of spoilers because I will talk about the key themes and important quotes from the books. Beware and proceed with caution! :-) 

Title: The Illuminae Files (trilogy); Illuminae (Book 1), Gemina (Book 2), and Obsidio (Book 3)

Authors: Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff

Genre: science fiction, military space opera, epistolary

Rating: 5/5 stars

Story Time!  ✨

Before I dive right into the books, let me tell you guys a bit of a backstory. I’ve always enjoyed science fiction, especially space opera (a close contender is steampunk). Mind you, though, I wasn’t really part of the Star Wars crowd (I was more of a Harry Potter pre-teen) as I was growing up, so I can’t really point to the franchise as the origin of my interest. No, I’d say I started getting interested in the science part before I discovered that it could be fused with fiction. I loved encyclopedias and the annual almanacs when I was a kid, and up to this day it still baffles me a bit that I was that kind of kid before books and (eventually) the humanities dragged me into their fold. I was deeply fascinated by the heavenly bodies, and up until I realized I had acrophobia (fear of heights), I even wanted to be an astronaut. My venture into science fiction and its subgenres was a little less scholarly. I’m not ashamed to share that I fell in love with space opera through fan fiction, specifically an old X-Men fan fiction. That masterpiece really changed my reading experience.

It was my youngest sister, a bonafide bookstagram lurker, who introduced the Illuminae Files trilogy to me. All she said was, “It’s an epistolary. I think you’d like it,” and I was already purchasing the second book (she already bought the first one). This is where it gets kinda funny, because originally, I read Book 2 (Gemina) first before I picked up Book 1 again this summer. I read the words “...breaking up with her boyfriend” in the synopsis and I instantly got turned off haha! I easily dismissed Illuminae because I thought it was just another typical YA love story packaged differently (but ultimately still the same formula), and I was just so exhausted with the same old variations. For the record, I was wrong, okay. But anyway, my sister assured me that I wouldn’t miss much if I start withGemina (which, totally false) and that the spoilers were negligible (only because when I got “spoiled” in Gemina, I didn’t realize at the time the significance of what I found out ahead, and when I picked up Illuminae, I already forgot most of what happened in Gemina). [Story Time: End]

Now that story time is over, I just wanna point out that after typing this whole chunk of word vomit, I realized that I’m already so chatty and I haven’t even started on the books themselves! I swear, I’m only letting this run as long as this because it’s the first one, and I have a lot of behind-the-scenes anecdotes that I really want to share. I hope I don’t drive y’all away hahaha, so let’s just jump into the “review” part. 

The Gist  ✨

The year is 2575, half a millenium ahead of what constitutes as “today”. Human civilization has moved past the uncertainty of space explorations, of the search for the “second” Earth. Distant corners of the universe? Not so distant anymore. Space travel that spans light years? Now simply one “jump” away. For all the fancy technological advancements that humankind has achieved, they still aren’t beyond mass murder for the sake of money and resources. At least that’s what I gathered when megacorporation BeiTech Industries brutally massacred the citizens of a small far-flung colony called Kerenza IV, where there was a ongoing illegal mining of hermium, a precious resource in this universe. The trilogy revolves around the protagonists, victims and survivors of BeiTech’s brutal invasion, and their search for justice while fighting for their lives in the yawning emptiness of space. There are all sorts of characters within each book, including a Skynet AI, and all sorts of trouble as well.

Reactions   💖

Stylistics. As I’ve mentioned above, all three books are hashed out through a collection of files, chat logs, and video transcriptions to name a few. And duuuuuuude. Kaufman and Kristoff really did an incredible job with the lay-out of Illuminae Files--hats off to their entire team, there is no denying the genius behind their concept of what an epistolary is. It was exciting to dig into the books to examine every detail and every Easter egg that they left in each well-planned page. Although, I’ll be honest here, there were a few times that I really got confused and lost in the story--not in the sense that I was intensely absorbed with what was happening but rather, because there were a lot of details and clues to take in. It was easy to be overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Add the fact that there were events happening simultaneously, and were described in completely different media (this will make much more sense once you pick up the first book). I don’t consider it an entirely negative thing because the confusion really helped in blindsiding me from most of the major plot twists; in fact, I’d say I enjoyed the story more when my theories were debunked by the more awesome plot twists.

World-building and plot. Speaking of plot twists: the plot had some really well-placed surprises and shocks. I love that the romantic scenes were not distastefully added. In fact, instead of stealing the limelight from the major conflict as well as the science-and-technology “vibe” of the story, the romance further heightened the stakes that the protagonists were risking with every decision and plan they concoct. 

The authors did not give us 600-pages of long-winding narratives (per book) and chunks of justified text divided into chapters--no. They gave their readers a feast of visual exercise and yet, using less words (than a standard 300-page novel) and hardly a clear-cut linear plot progression, they raised a lot of important questions that we could use some time to ponder on (more about these in Part II--beware of spoilers, though!). What I always look for in science fiction (and fantasy as well, for that matter) is a well-executed world-building. It doesn’t matter if the premise is unique if the author did not manage to back the novelty of their idea; sometimes, if the world-building is particularly lacking, it really puts me off from the plot itself. In the trilogy, it wasn’t a problem at all, which helped to make me more absorbed with all the adrenaline-infused twists upon twists in the story. 

I also have to commend how well the authors incited reactions from their readers--at least in my reading experience. One particular conflict in Illuminae really gave me goosebumps and sent a chill down my spine (won’t elaborate haha you’ll know if you’ve read it!!). Ugh, remembering it as I type this has me shivering involuntarily again. Those were some real creepy scenes, I tell you.

Characters. Most of the protagonists (but not all) paired up in different points of the story, so it’s easy to view them as such: couples. I don’t think I hated any off the them, even with my initial avoidance in reading Illuminae because of Kady and Ezra’s established relationship; in fact, the romance between all of them turned out to be not overbearing at all. Having said that, I think it’s a great disservice to each character, especially the couples, to view them only within the confines of their relationship dynamics. Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff both did a great job in adding layers upon layers of character development of the protagonists; furthermore, they were not stingy in adding characters and giving them actual personalities, and even though at certain times the sheer amount of characters got really confusing, in the end I consider it a plus on their genius and detail-oriented world-building. These two did not hold back in conceptualizing and planning. They were good at deliberately leaving out certain information, that’s true, and they got me to believe that nothing was amiss--only to exclaim “oh shit…” when things finally fall into place. 

On the other side of the spectrum, BeiTech’s foot soldiers were ruthless and machine-like, and performed well as villains; however, what I loved about Illuminae Files are the details that the authors added--seemingly inconsequential details that will make you pause for a bit and remember that these brutal murderers are just as human as the protagonists, that while it’s easy to view them as merely “BeiTech”, there are still individuals behind the uniforms and high-calibre assault weapons. These details will lead you to the thought that both villains and heroes experience the same spectrum of human emotions, and it is jarring and terrifying to be reminded that only a thin line divides the two “sides”.

Anyway, this is where I’ll end Part I.

Watch out for Part II soon, which I will link below as soon as I’ve posted it.

Wow. So that was a pretty intense word vomit. Apologies for being so chatty, and if you managed to read this until the very end, thank you so much! I’d love to know what your thoughts are, if you’ve read the trilogy or if you’re planning to), etc. Let me know if you liked this type of in-depth (read: intense and overboard) review or if you hated it haha! Leave a comment or hit my ask box and I’ll be happy to reply! Part II will be up soon. See you! <3

Photo credits:

Book covers | bumblebeerosee on Redbubble

Space | Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

Space (2) | Max McKinnon on Unsplash