#show is almost a decade old lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

a lover's pinch | six

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel and rachel have dinner. a confession is made. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, JOEL POV, sexting/nudes, joel has bad restaurant etiquette lmao, descriptions of arousal, references to past smut, the guilt and shame that sometimes go so neatly hand in hand with wanting, miller daughter cameo, mild angst, discussion of a car accident. word count: 4.8k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: just a reminder that this is set within ALP5, when joel goes to have dinner w rachel. just a short little peek into my beloved professor’s mind, and some context between j & r. hope you like it x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part six of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five.

Sunday.

“Nina thinks it’ll rain tomorrow. Overcast too, probably.”

There’s a faint hum through the phone as she speaks. A vague buzz that crackles and pops in almost every beat of silence. Not for the first time, Joel wishes she would let him buy her a new phone.

A gust of wind whips against his face and he cringes, turning his back against the draft.

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s fine,” she grumbles. “Wanted to take you to this bar, though. They do these tacos we love. Nina says it’s the best Mexican place in New York.”

“Now how many times do I have to tell you there’s no good Mexican food in New York?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He chuckles.

“What time are you coming ‘round?” Ellie asks. “I’ll be in the studio for most of the day, but we normally get home around five. Could do dinner around eight?”

Joel hesitates, and then raises his voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “I was actually thinkin’ I’d come see your studio.”

A moment of humming, crackling silence.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he continues, peering in through the window of the restaurant. He thinks he can see Rachel through the frosted glass – her mess of dark curls vaguely visible, tucked away somewhere in the corner of the space. He hears Ellie breathing through the phone as he looks. “And s’been too long since you showed your old man any of your paintings.”

“Joel,” she huffs, and it’s that smartass, pained tone that has him grinning wider than anything she’s said up until this point.

It’s few and far between lately – hearing that name coming from her mouth. Joel. Something that’s been intermittent for almost a decade, and has been steadily decreasing since she moved to New York five years ago.

Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad.

Joel for years, and then one day—Dad.

It was Summer; Ellie was eighteen and he was thirty-nine, and this word that he’d grown so accustomed to hearing suddenly felt like a fist squeezing around his heart. It became something new, something different. Because Joel knew that, for her, family had always meant mistrust. Had always meant loneliness. Knew that sometimes her childhood felt like a knife stuck in her throat, and on those days, she had to decide whether to leave it in and stem the blood flow, or pluck out the blade and watch everything turn red.

And then one day, years on, it seemed that she’d drawn that dagger enough times. The blood stopped, the mistrust fell away, and—Dad.

Dad to Sarah and now, finally, Dad to Ellie.

“Ellie,” he imitates her tone, well-versed in mirroring her attitude after so many years of practice.

A voice rears up directly behind him and Joel stiffens, glancing over his shoulder to watch a couple exit the restaurant. Coat collars dragged up to protect their necks, arms linked as they smile and start down the street. He imagines Rachel sitting inside, alone, and his smile falters. He knows he should go back in soon, but can’t quite bring himself to cut this short.

“Yeah, okay,” Ellie answers finally, and he can feel the weight that rests in those words.

The admission, but also everything that goes unsaid alongside it. A silent acknowledgement of years spent reading between the lines, trying to know each other; years of her locking her bedroom door, hiding her journals, her artbooks, her pencils. Anything to keep someone else from seeing the way she expresses herself – from understanding that she feels anything. And this yeah, okay – well, it’s as close to I love you as the two of them ever get.

Joel says, “I’ve been missin’ you, kiddo.”

And she says, “I know.”

More silence. More contemplation of how to respond, how to keep emotions level when he is not Joel in this moment, but Dad.

Plucking out the blade.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address,” Ellie says after a while. “Don’t be late or I’m not showing you shit, old man.”

Heat blasts his face when he steps back inside the restaurant. He tugs his jacket off as he wanders his way toward their little corner table inside San Vecchio—old saint. A small Italian place that Rachel likes to visit whenever she’s the city, and has slowly but surely grown on him.

When he gets close enough to see the table his stomach drops, face twisting into something apologetic as he lowers himself into his chair.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, staring at their food. Brought out while he was on the phone, sitting untouched; she didn’t even pick up her fork in his absence. A shameful heat rises in his face. “I’m sorry, Rach.”

“Hon,” she just laughs him off. “It’s okay, it only just came out.”

He nods, grateful, and lets her pour him a generous glass of wine. Red. A bottle of the Carignan, please, he remembers her telling the waiter. Although, when he takes a sip, he can’t tell the difference between this and the twenty-dollar cabernet he buys once a fortnight from the grocer.

They press the lips of their glasses together and murmur soft calls of cheers and another conference done, the words all but swallowed up by the raucous sounds around them.

“How is she then?” she prompts, never able to tame her curiosity.

“Ellie?” Joel’s eyebrows jut up, and he sets his wine glass down. “Good, yeah, good. It was nice to hear her voice, I, uh, I’ve missed too many of that kid’s calls over the past few months.”

Rachel nods, and when she smiles his chest feels a little lighter, because it’s the type of smile that says it’s okay, everything is okay, you’re a good dad, you took the call. And she has always had that kind of soothing effect on him, since the day he met her all those years ago. There’s this compassion to her character; a warmth akin to that of a sister. Smarter than hell and kinder than she’s ever been given credit for.

“Are you seeing her while you’re in town?”

“Mhm, tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be lovely,” she beams and takes a sip of her wine. Carignan stains her mouth. “Is she still with Nina?”

“She is.”

“God, that must be, what, four years they’ve been together now? That’s great, Joel.”

“I’m happy for her,” he smiles, gripping his fork. “They’re renting out this art studio together at the moment – Nina’s an artist too, did I—?”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Yeah, they’ve been using the space to work on some new stuff. Ellie was tellin’ me ‘bout this gallery downtown, how they’ve offered her some exhibit space. Gonna have a show down there in March.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Rachel’s eyebrows raise, top lip quirking into a soft smirk as she twirls her fork through a mess of red pasta. “Do you think they’ll get married? Follow in Sarah and Tim’s footsteps?”

Joel can’t help but laugh at the idea. He tries to imagine Ellie and Nina in a chapel, or on a beach, or anywhere, professing their love for one another with friends and family watching on. Tries to imagine Ellie, all tattoos, messy hair, and gangly arms, tucked into a suit or a dress. The image doesn’t come easily.

“I don’t really think they’re the type,” he admits, and Rachel laughs too then.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.”

She asks more questions about the girls, the way she always does. Asks about Sarah’s job at the primary school, if teaching is all she thought it would be.

And something like halfway through their meal, around a mouthful of food, Rachel says, “You know I’m glad we’re here, because I need to ask you something.”

Joel’s hands still, face going slack as he meets her eye. There’s something conniving in them. Something sly in the way she smiles, baring her teeth at him. It makes his stomach twist into a tight, burning knot. What does she know?

“Okay,” he says slowly, lowering his knife.

“So,” she hums. “At the conference yesterday…”

“Yeah?” he rasps, blunt nails digging into his thigh beneath the table.

“I couldn’t ask you about it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, but… did you see what Professor Neilson was wearing? That blazer?”

“Jesus,” he deflates.

“Oh, come on,” she sputters, and there’s lipstick stained on her front teeth and he finds himself smiling too, relaxing.

“You’re a filthy gossip, you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

She grins back at him. Winks and says, “Don’t act like you don’t love it, Miller.”

So, for an hour they eat, and talk, and drink. Don’t stop until their cheeks are sore from smiling and their ribs are tight and aching from laughter.

With full bellies and rosy cheeks, they scrape their plates clean. Lips purse and pucker around final sips of wine, and then… and then Rachel reaches across the table and places her hand atop his.

And Joel has never noticed that she has sunspots across her knuckles. Never noticed that she wears a ring on her pinkie finger, one with a dark emerald stone in the middle. Never noticed the thin white scar beside the nail on her index. She squeezes his hand, the pad of a finger skimming his wrist, and he remembers how he held someone else’s wrist only hours before this. Felt her skin beneath his fingers – the frailty of the tendons and veins beneath it, swimming with life as his thumb pressed down.

Joel feels his eye twitch. Works to keep his face relaxed, calm. And when she leaves her hand there, he laughs a little. A choked, wary sound. Turns his hand over so his knuckles are against the table and his palm is against her palm and squeezes once in return. Rachel isn’t smiling anymore.

“You okay, Rach?”

“Do you…” she pauses, mouth twisting into a shy smile as she clears her throat. Joel feels something heavy settle in his stomach. A type of dread that curdles and burns like red sky at morning. “Do you remember when Sarah was in that car accident a few years back?”

Joel swallows. Her hand feels too warm against his, her palm tacky with sweat.

“We were… we were at work, and… and Tim called you and told you she was in the hospital—”

He almost cringes at the memory. Her husband’s name flashing across his phone screen during a lecture. Stomach churning and why is Tim calling me, heart racingand Tim never calls. Remembers hearing those panicky breaths down the line and thinking Texas and Maine had never felt further apart than in that moment.

“You drove me to the airport,” he nods. His knuckles feel tight – he wants to pull his hand back and crack them. Wants to feel the joints pop beneath his skin, let the tension slip away like a sigh.

“You were so distraught,” Rachel sighs. “I’d never seen you like that. So uncomposed, so… chaotic.”

Joel huffs out an awkward laugh and tries to pull his hand back, but she squeezes harder. Keeps it in place beneath her own.

“What’s this all about?” his eyebrows furrow, face pinching into a sort of scowl. He can feel it, he can always feel it when his face does this. So unpleasant, so unwelcoming, and he knows it. Just never figured out how to stop it from happening.

“We were in the car,” she continues, and her eyes are so earnest now. So wide, the whites shining, her lashes darkened and fanned out around them in a way he’s never seen before. She’s wearing makeup. “And you didn’t even have a bag packed, you just wanted to get to your girl. Needed to see her with your own eyes, make sure she was okay.”

His jaw feels tight inside his head; teeth clenched painfully, digging into the gums around his molars as the memory plays in his mind.

Tim’s voice wavering, crying, she was unconscious when they pulled her out.

His hand is numb beneath Rachel’s. She’s fine, he reminds himself. Sarah’s fine, that was years ago.

“I think I knew then,” she says quietly.

“Knew what?” Joel tries to keep his voice level. Ignoring the odd feeling that twists in his chest and has his heart racing faster, so much faster than normal, faster than it has ever raced for Rachel.

“That I loved you.”

It’s almost dreamlike, the way everything seems to blur and fade around them after she says it. Or perhaps nightmarish is the right word. A sharp pain sparks between his ribs and he feels his body stiffen and then loosen all at once. Face, shoulders, hand beneath hers – everything softens. Fuck. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, tongue resting fat and gravelly against the roof of it as she stares at him.

When he doesn’t say a word, she says, “I’d always known you were so kind, so generous to the people around you. But to see the way you love? It’s… shit, Joel, I just knew.”

He’s convinced his throat is tightening.

“And I held it in all of these years, and I’m sorry for that. I was just never sure of how you felt, and you never tried anything with me, never hinted at any feelings. But after the conference yesterday...”

“The conference?” he whispers. He pictures that bench outside NYU. Remembers the nasty wind, an empty champagne flute on the ground, the side of his body going hot where it pressed against hers.

“Walking around that hall together,” Rachel smiles. “You kept holding your arm out for me to hold, and I thought, god, maybe this is it. Maybe you actually feel the same.”

Joel imagines that this must be what people describe as critical velocity. Everything that once was smooth turns turbulent. Every second, every minute, that he’s allowed himself to careen forward, wanton and reckless, on the deliciously destructive course he’s set for himself – all of it just for someone close to him to step directly into his line of fire.

And his silence is so painfully telling. He knows immediately when it’s been too long, too much quiet, too many seconds of nothing said, of no reassurances offered. The muscle in her jaw ticks, and a vertical line appears between pinched eyebrows. Confusion, surprise, hurt. Her hand pulls back, and he tucks his in his lap quickly.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, shit.”

Joel is suddenly certain that he’s going to be sick. His hands shake beneath the table, a violent tap tap tap where they’re clasped against the inside of his thigh.

“Rachel—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t apol—”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Rachel,” Joel’s voice raises, just a little, just enough to make her pause, enough for conversation at the table beside them to halt for a second. “If anythin’, I should be the one apologisin’.”

She laughs; a sad, quiet thing. Shakes her head at him.

“I guess I… somewhere in my head, I thought you knew,” Rachel says quietly. “Thought you….” The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Thought you felt the same.

And it hurts. His skin prickles at the sound of her voice; laced with pain, with rejection. Your fault, he thinks. That pain is your fault.

“Is there someone else?” she asks then, and her voice is so feeble. So small, so un-Rachel that it makes his chest feel tight. Your fault.

Joel sighs, cringes, fumbles for the right words. The words to explain something that he himself doesn’t even fully understand. Words that will make her feel better, that will put her at ease. Put him at ease.

“It’s not….” he trails off, half-prepared to lie. But then he meets her gaze. Sees the tears that have settled on her waterline and knows he can’t. Wants to hate her for asking, wants to beg her to take back the question. But in the end he just admits quietly, “I suppose there is.”

She sniffles, and when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a question.

“You never mentioned anyone.”

“I know,” Joel nods. “I’m sorry, I think I just… it’s complicated, and it… it’s new.”

“New,” she repeats softly. “And you never… you never thought of me that way.” This time it isn’t posed like a question. There is nothing open ended about it. Instead it’s resigned; final.

The corners of her mouth are downturned, and her lower lip wobbles, a movement so miniscule that he could have missed it if his eyes weren’t trained on her face. Trying painfully to understand this situation that feels as if it has crept up on him in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Joel finds himself saying again, and he thinks his eyes must be wide, unblinking, because they’re dry, and he feels panicked.

In his mind all he can think of is every cup of coffee in her office, every borrowed book, every sly joke in the corridor at work. Comforting smiles offered at conferences, snarky notes passed back and forth during faculty meetings. His friend. One of the truest, longest, most persevering ones in his life. One so dear to his heart. The idea of all of that being no more seems almost too painful to contemplate in the middle of a restaurant, with your fault thundering in his chest.

Rachel waves a hand. Feigns nonchalance and offers a watery smile.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” she says. He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, nor the harsh splash of crimson humiliation that stains the skin of her face. “I am. Really.”

Except he doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what there is to be happy for. Can only watch her face. Can only sit, and stare like a fool at the way the skin beneath her eyes tightens as she draws back tears.

“I’m—” Rachel swallows. Sucks in a huge breath and flattens her palms against the table. Her napkin, stained with soft blots of red and brown, is pressed beneath the fingers of her left hand. The one with the sunspots and the ring and the scar. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to use the restroom—”

“Rach,” he tries, hand reaching across the table for—for what? Joel isn’t sure. What is there to do? To say? “What can I do?”

“It’s okay,” she stands, holds a hand out to silence him. Steps out from the behind table and squeezes past him. Her fingers brush against his arm as she goes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just need a second to freshen up.”

Joel watches her weave through the restaurant, shifting around tables, until her back disappears through a door at the far end of the room.

There’s a minute of painful quiet. A sort of buzzing in his ears that won’t go away. For a moment all he’s aware of is the look of disdain coming from the woman on the table to his left, and the sharp pain in his chest, and then the sounds of the restaurant come rushing back in. Cutlery scraping against plates, conversation, laughter, the sound of a bell ringing. And something buzzing, really truly buzzing this time. Something against his leg.

Joel pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries not to wince when he sees her name on the screen.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

The glance he spares over his shoulder is short, searching, looking to see if she’s coming back yet. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

Something tightens in his stomach, and he knows what she’s doing, knows this game so well. The way she always manages to creep beneath his skin. Knows exactly what to say, to do, to have him hanging on her every word.

His fingers hover over the screen, contemplating a response.

Is that right? he types out, and then grimaces, backspacing quickly.

Want some company? he types next.

“Christ,” Joel mutters under his breath, erasing that too.

Embarrassment itches across his body. And then guilt, like a tidal wave chaser rushing to cool his inflamed skin, as he notices Rachel walking back toward him. You fucking asshole.

He straightens in his seat, tucking his phone out of sight as she hovers beside the table, eyes darting between him and her empty chair. She doesn’t sit down again.

“I think,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I should probably go. Early flight to catch, you know? I need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, ridiculous, as his brain scavenges for something to say. Never the right words, never when he needs them. Not for her, and not for Rachel.

Rachel reaches for her purse, and he holds out a hand. “Hey, let me… I’ll cover this.”

She pauses, nods. “Thanks.”

“Course,” he says gruffly. She pulls her coat from the back of her chair, wraps it around herself and does the buttons up slowly. Her mascara is smudged. “Hey, Rach, can we… should we talk about this some more? I don’t want to—”

“Not tonight,” she interrupts sharply. “Please, Joel, I’m sorry, just…. not tonight.”

—lose you.

“Sure, okay.” His throat is tight, your fault lodged heavy against his Adam’s apple. “You need help to get a taxi?”

“I’m fine,” she places a hand lightly on his shoulder, and presses her thumb against the skin beneath his collarbone. “Get home safe, okay? We can talk in Maine.”

“In Maine,” he repeats, and the words split and sour inside his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t watch her leave. Doesn’t want to have to see her retreating from him. Doesn’t want to think about if this will be the last time they get to do this.

The waiter returns and he pays the bill, hastily jotting down a generous tip, and offers the women at the table on his left a tight-lipped smile before standing up.

When he finally makes his way outside, he finds a tax idling by the curb, lights on. The driver notices Joel staring; rolls down the window and raises his eyebrows. Where to?

Joel only shakes his head a little, leans his back against the dank, cold brick wall behind him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his phone, and sends two words.

Show me.

And then, when she doesn’t respond for a moment, he sends another message. Insistent now. Desperate, and even more desperate not to let it show.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

And when she does show him, it takes all of his might not to let this guilt consume him. Takes everything not to ruminate on how quickly he can shift from I’m sorry to Show me.

Because her skin.

So much skin.

Soft, smooth; shrouded in a robe that covers more than he’d like, and he knows how it tastes. Knows how it feels. Could press his fingers, his lips, his nose, to every part of it that he’s touched, in the exact same places, from memory alone.

It’s cold outside – windy, the beginnings of tomorrow’s storm twisting through the air. He feels it snake across his neck, curl beneath the lip of his collar, as he takes in the curve of her breast, the stiff point of her nipple, peeking out from behind white fabric. His cock stiffens in his pants.

He gazes at the softest part of her stomach, the thatch of curls that cover her mound, and wants to press his palms against the plush of her thighs. Wants to lay himself atop her, feel that skin against his again, hear her whimper and moan beneath the broad weight of him as he slips inside her. Wants to snatch her finger from her mouth and glide it inside his own. With her slick and her skin against his tongue, he’d sink his teeth in and inhale that warmth, that beating, pulsating force that he’s found himself so intoxicated by.

And to think, only hours ago, he was doing just that. Lowering himself to the ground in a public bathroom and drinking her down. Feeling the muscles in her thighs pull tight and then loose against the sides of his head. Anything to satisfy the craving that only she seems to inspire in him.

Resolute, persistent – a probing, prodding thing that nips at his heels and thrusts him forward at a double time pace.

A hunger that follows him down the nights and down the days.

A hunger that can only ever be sated like the taking of a sacrament – on his knees, devotion in his eyes.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am.

Are you touching yourself?

Joel’s jaw tightens. He holds his breath and waits. Can’t quite tell what would be worse; knowing that she’s touching herself, alone, thinking about him, or that she isn’t, that she’s waiting for him. He can feel his cock leaking against his thigh.

No.

He exhales heavily, and the faintest hint of a groan slips out with it. Fuck, pull yourself together.

Joel’s fingers float over the keyboard, and for a moment he thinks of Rachel.

Thinks that if he could only bring himself to look up, to look away from her, he might be able to see Rachel still. The back of her coat, the dark scrawl of her hair, disappearing into the night. Joel thinks of the tears in her eyes, taunting him, threatening to spill spill spill, to streak down rosy cheeks and wet the hollow of her throat. Feels something throb and crack in his chest – a painful, resounding ache that hurts so much like fear, like loss.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

And wouldn’t that be so much easier? If he were to look away, to chase his friend down the street and tell her that he was wrong, that he wants her, that it makes sense for them to be together. Wouldn’t it be easier if that were true?

But he doesn’t stop looking at her. He thinks of Pothos, of Himeros, and stares at the soft curve of her stomach, the indent of her belly button. Looks at the way her lower lip rests below her finger and pictures it swollen, slick with a medley of her spit and his. Even notices a small mark, nestled in the crevice between her hip and the top of her thigh. A fading remnant of where his teeth had once pinched – like a tangible little footprint, whispering that he was there.

Longing and desire flame between the cracks of his ribs; a bright white heat that curls itself around your fault until he manages to shake the thought.

What was it that Kaminsky said? There was no mythology: Odysseus hanged himself. Homer drank to death and stank of mud.

And perhaps he was right; for there is no witness to this. No being over his shoulder, God or mortal, to lay their eyes upon this moment and understand that all he has ever known of love is deprivation. That fondest, blindest, weakest part of his being that has always yearned for, or perhaps grieved over, this love that once seemed so intangible and now, at last, maybe he has been deemed worthy of.

Alone so long, living in a body grown accustomed to such quiet. Familiar with no touch other than that of his own rough palms. And now… the intensity of it shakes within him. The urge to sink his teeth in like a bad dog and hold, hold, hold, to consume and be consumed, and never yield to anyone who wants to take this away from him.

No, there is no looking away from that, from her. Joel feels the noose tighten around his neck the longer he stares – a dog on the leash of its own longing, that need only sharpening with every second that dares to pass.

And Joel knows that nothing has ever been easy. Considers the idea that maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for him. And perhaps he doesn’t want easy, doesn’t want simple. No – Joel was always drawn to the flame.

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

And that flame welcomes him now in kind. The arms of a lover spread open for embrace; the address of her hotel sent directly to his phone.

Joel looks up and makes eye contact with the taxi driver again. Light still on.

Where to?

**the Kaminsky mentioned in this is Ilya Kaminsky, and the quote is from Dancing in Odessa.

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

891 notes · View notes

socra-time · 2 months ago

Text

Socra’s Naruto liveblog, Ep. 61-70

Ep 61:

-I genuinely could not be less impressed by Kabuto as a villain

-lmao I like that Kiba is fully a Naruto fan now

-yeah I have no idea what the FUCK Naruto is gonna do to win this match because Neji is clobbering him like there’s no tomorrow

-ah yes, Naruto just “willpower”s his way through Neji’s supermove

-okay so I don’t agree with Neji trying to kill Hinata but I really wouldn’t mind if he killed Hinata's dad

-yeah uh FUCK the Hyuga clan and FUCK Hinata’s dad

-so obviously Neji’s story taking up such a big chunk of the episode makes sense narratively but within the context of the show itself, he’s just monologuing to Naruto for like 10 minutes lol

-wow Neji’s father’s death was some fucked-up shit

Ep 62:

-ohohoho really feeling the irony of this fight

-okay Hinata definitely doesn’t have a happy relationship with her dad, but Naruto saying she’s probably suffering as much as Neji is uh… incorrect

-Neji honey I’m so sorry, if you were fighting literally any of the less-important characters you would’ve won this fight

-Naruto is going APESHIT

-but also yes so true Naruto, please change the Hyuga clan and also beat up Hinata’s dad after becoming Hokage

-DAMN Naruto coming through with the uppercut

-between this fight and Naruto’s fight with Kiba, I’m really not sure how intelligent I’m supposed to think Naruto is because he’s supposed to be kinda stupid but he also is good at deceiving his enemies in fights????

-honestly for some reason I don’t feel super good about Naruto’s victory and I’m trying to figure out why. I think it’s because I’m not a fan of the “insane superpower MC has because they’re the Chosen One” trope that came into play with the Nine Tails chakra. Also I feel bad for Neji… but I guess in a philosophical sense he needed to lose this one to disprove his whole “fate” thing

Ep 63:

-awwww Naruto getting appreciation from the crowd was nice

-why didn’t Hinata’s dad give Neji the letter earlier???????

-nah it’s still FUCK the Hyuga clan

-also I still don’t like Hinata’s dad. I don’t care that he apologized to Neji and that Neji’s dad chose to die; he still talks about Hinata like she’s worthless and he just kinda let Neji suffer after his father’s death for almost a decade. Also he doesn’t seem to have done anything about how fucked-up his clan is

-god, knowing that Neji dies is making this episode HEARTBREAKING

-I know Kankuro withdraws for strategic reasons but also if I were him I would’ve withdrawn anyways because I am NOT fighting motherfucking Shino

Ep 64:

-the implication that Temari was just gonna clobber Shikamaru with her fan like a baseball bat if he hadn’t dodged her attack is pretty funny

-Shikamaru I like you but also I am side-eyeing you very hard right now. Gonna need Temari to beat the sexism out of you

-I love Ino she’s so silly

-why didn’t Temari just blast Shikamaru while he was thinking

-also why didn’t she just knock Shikamaru’s parachute out of the sky

-anyways good for Shikamaru but also I’m gonna need him to learn how to not be sexist

Ep 65:

-I don’t think I like Asuma’s voice

-I missed Lee so much, I’m glad he’s (kinda) back on his feet

-I love how some of the spectators are fully just betting on 12 year olds beating each other up

-also why is Naruto just allowed to be down on the field

-I don’t like Sasuke’s new outfit. Leave the onesies to Gai and Lee, Sasuke.

-Lee is really selling himself short, my poor son:(

-aaand Gaara’s kill count increases once again

Ep 66:

-time for the ultimate edgelord-off

-I feel bad for Sakura, Kakashi’s kinda been neglecting her

-I fear Lee is better than me because if Sasuke just copied the techniques I worked for literal years to develop I would be PISSED

-noooo Kiba you were so close to figuring it out-

-god the sharingan is so broken

-Gaara used “Harden”! It was super effective!

Ep 67:

-oh boy shit’s gonna go down this episode

-well damn Sasuke can lightningbend now I guess

-okay so Kakashi says he taught Sasuke the chidori because “he’s like me”. The question is how? Just because he’s really good at fighting and has a lot of chakra? Like yeah they both have the sharingan but that doesn’t seem to be related to the chidori????

-Gai and Kakashi need to stop throwing shade at each other and kiss already

-sometimes the animators draw Sasuke’s side bangs really thick and long and it looks so weird

-geez so I know I said it was off-putting to see Gaara look shaken when Lee took his weights off but hearing him screaming is a whole other level

-the sound design seriously popped off this episode

-aaaaaand shit’s going down

Ep 68:

-goddammit I think I finally have to admit that I was wrong about the Hokage being sus

-geez Gaara is really going through it

-anyways I totally called the Kazekage being Orochimaru in disguise. It took me a couple episodes but I figured it out. Also what happened to the real Kazekage?????

-god Orochimaru’s theme goes so hard

-I love how Kakashi tells Sakura to wake up Naruto and Shikamaru but doesn’t say anything about Choji or Ino

Ep 69:

-I kinda love Pakkun

-yes go Shino, go get your screentime

-I have seen WAY too much of Orochimaru’s tongue already

-so Orochimaru can just casually do necromancy???????????????????????

-so I’m guessing the third person Orochimaru summoned would have been the Fourth Hokage then

Ep 70:

-the animation of everyone jumping through the trees is so funny

-why didn’t the squad just have Naruto send out a bunch of clones to throw their pursuers off their trail

-I like the derpy-looking face on the back of Pakkun’s vest

-oh shit Asuma to the rescue! It’s nice to see one of the other senseis kicking some ass

-(for a moment I was excited at the potential for seeing Kurenai also kick some ass but then I remembered that she’s a woman and therefore is not allowed)

#socra’s naruto liveblog #naruto

43 notes · View notes

phoenixyfriend · 7 months ago

Text

New Fic: Follow Me Out of the Black

AO3 Link

Written for @sourfacedlemon in the 2024 Anakin-Clone Appreciation Exchange.

Fox/Anakin, Time-Travel fix-it, Kidnapping

Also I sent this discord message to a server I'm in

And was confirmed correct because reveals had sourfacedlemon tagging 'called it' lmao.

---------

Fox is not the most… personable of his brothers.

He’s not actively antisocial, or one of those clones who’s more comfortable with massifs than men, even fellow clones. He doesn’t have trouble meeting peoples’ eyes, or get nervous to hold a conversation. He’s not the best at people, but he’s not impeded by anything. He’s not incapable, just unwilling. A grump. Tired and a bit short-tempered.

That was before he spent the better part of a decade with his entire personhood filtered through the control chip that ARC trooperhad tried to warn them all about.

And, of course, before Darth Vader threw him out a window to his not entirely untimely death.

That, dying at Vader’s hand for a stupid reason that maybe would have been worth a demerit under a clone officer, is actually Fox’s last memory. In the moment, he’d thought it almost reasonable; his failure had led to the escape of a Jedi, at least momentarily, and then… who knows. Maybe Vader got her anyway.

He wakes up, and thinks wait, that’s a ridiculous reason to kill a high-ranking officer, and then promptly realizes he can think without something muddling him.

He stares at the ceiling, which does not contain several familiar scratches, and does contain some flimsi holopics taped where he can see them, which he distinctly remembers taking down after Order 66.

Which is an order that now does not make as much sense as it did at the time. Fox wasn’t close to any Jedi, but they were all unfailingly polite, and his brothers in high-ranking field battalions had largely had good things to say. Some of them loved their generals as much as a brother. They wouldn’t have turned as quickly as Fox himself had, and yet.

And yet.

Fox stares at the holopics, thinking about what he knows, about the Sith Lord that is the Emperor, about the Sith Lord that once was—is?—Anakin Skywalker, about how many of his brothers killed their Jedi despite Fox being quite certain they’d have rather died than do so. He thinks about the control chip he’s now fairly certain was an actual mind control device and not just an emotional regulator.

Fox stares, and thinks, and then gets out of bed.

Fox is not personable, and that’s okay.

He’s got other skills to rely on.

It takes Fox four hours of planning, six hours of setting traps for Sidious, three days of putting together backups, and two weeks of waiting for Skywalker to be on planet and visit the old bastard himself.

It then takes him thirty seconds to tell Thorn that he’s in charge for a bit, two hours to arrive at the Senate building, and about three minutes to let Skywalker say goodbye to the Chancellor and get out of the man’s sight. It then takes some forty-five seconds to approach him, ask for help with something, and lead the man into a dark service hallway.

Three hours later, Skywalker wakes up in the interrogation room cum holding cell that Fox has set up about thirty levels below CoCo town.

“What’s going on?” Skywalker mumbles. He notices the Force cuffs before he’s fully awake, and jerks a bit as he tugs on them. It pulls him awake faster. “Wh—fierfek, what have you done to me? You can’t be a clone, they—”

“Chancellor’s a Sith Lord.”

Skywalker stares at him. Fox takes off his helmet to show his face, just so Skywalker knows that he is, in fact, a clone.

“…what?” Skywalker manages. “You—”

“Chancellor’s a Sith Lord,” Fox repeats. “I don’t have real proof. You are going to help me get it.”

“The Chancellor,” Skywalker says, slowly, like he’s convinced Fox is the crazy one, “is not a Sith Lord. The Jedi would know.”

“Jedi are busy, and Sidious is a good liar,” Fox dismisses. “You, he likes you. He wants to make you his next apprentice, after he has Dooku taken out. He’ll call you Vader. The armor is going to be stupid.”

Skywalker just stares at him.

“I’m not crazy,” Fox says, even though that does in fact make him sound crazy. “I’m from the future.”

That probably makes him sound crazier.

“The Chancellor is a good man,” Skywalker says. “I am sure this is all just some… massive misunderstanding, and if you let me go, I’ll get you to the mind healers and we can figure out what put these ideas in your head.”

Fox smiles. The word ‘mirthlessly’ comes to mind. “Nobody put ideas in my head until a Sith Lord activated a mind control chip, and then the idea was ‘kill all Jedi.’”

Skywalker stares at him.

“Including the babies.”

Skywalker keeps staring.

“But you—Vader—did most of the baby-killing, or so I heard. I was busy keeping the better members of the Senate from trying to investigate. Organa was a hard sell.”

“I would not—why would I kill Jedi?”

Oh good, he’s responding. “I don’t know. You joined Sidious for power, or something. Amidala was pregnant when she died, that was all over the news. I wasn’t listening to gossip, because my brain was all work, all the time, because of the mind control, but I guess it could have been yours.”

Fox doesn’t know what Skywalker and Amidala’s relationship is. Could be a one-night stand, for all Fox knows, but he thinks they’re close friends, at least.

“She’s pregnant?” Skywalker asks. He sounds a little broken. Plaintive? Is that the word?

“No,” Fox says. “She’d have gotten pregnant… a few months from now? I don’t know exactly how far along she was, or how natborns progress. She looked pretty big, though.”

Skywalker stares at him some more. Man, the guy’s got eyes like a holostar, or one of those cherubs on the Corellian churches. Fox bets he’d look nice crying.

“All of this hit the fan about a year from now,” Fox tells him. “We have time, but not much. Also, Sidious has a million backup plans, so we need to act fast, and be unpredictable.”

“So you had to kidnap me?” Skywalker demands.

“Of course,” Fox says. “He’d be suspicious if I just started palling around with you, or whatever it is the shinies call it.”

“You are maybe two years older than them,” Skywalker points out.

“More like twelve,” Fox corrects. “But that’s not the point. I also had to get you somewhere I could make sure he wouldn’t be able to spy on us, and where you couldn’t storm out because you were mad that I was telling you you’re destined to be a baby-killer or that your precious Chancellor is a Sith.”

Fox is pretty sure the only reason Skywalker isn’t doing that already is because he’s convinced Fox lost his mind and just needs to come down from the drugs or whatever. Fox can understand; he’d be tossing anyone saying this banthakark into a drunk tank or to the medics, himself. He certainly hadn’t taken that ARC seriously.

“Why me?” Skywalker asks.

Fox shrugs. “It had to be you, obviously. All else aside, getting you in my corner instead of another Jedi gives me an edge, because you are the one Jedi that Palpatine might hesitate to kill. He’s put a lot of time into making Vader happen, even already, and he wants to get you to be his Sith apprentice. That means he wants you alive, and on side, and maybe he'll try to talk you into joining him before going for the kill.”

“I won’t join a Sith.”

“You will,” Fox says, simple as syrup, “given the right pressures, you will. Our goal here is to make it so those pressures don’t come to pass, and that means cutting the head off the snake and sweeping the legs out from under the devil.”

Fox has, perhaps, read a few too many Corellian novels recently. He likes the ones about this ‘hell’ place. Seems cozy.

“If I let you go, will you hear me out?” Fox asks. He’s not planning on actually letting Skywalker go, but he can let the man stand. The cuffs stay on. “I’m going to get this chip removed now, while you’re here, so I have at least some evidence for part of the story. That way you can check it yourself for whatever code dictates the orders.”

“The chip. In your head.”

“I wouldn’t have brain surgery on a whim,” Fox confirms, “so I think it makes for a good proof that I’m not just staging this somehow.”

Skywalker actually gapes this time.

Fox waits.

“Fine,” Skywalker finally says. “I’ll stick around long enough for the brain surgery, and to decode the chip, and then we can… reassess or what have you.”

“Great.”

“Can I at least call Obi-Wan to tell him I won’t be making it to dinner?”

Fox waves a hand. “No, no, I already took care of that.”

The look he gets is almost insulting. It’s almost like Skywalker forgot that Fox is a highly trained military police officer with top-level security codes and the legal right to invade peoples’ privacy.

(Continue on AO3)

#star wars #the clone wars #commander fox #anakin skywalker #foxakin #time travel #phoenix files #id in alt #kidnapping #I have a few tropes I like #and what I imagine is a pretty distinctive dialogue style (kinda... staccato?)

82 notes · View notes

arcanegifs · 5 months ago

Text

On Gifmaking:

So season 2's coming soon, and I wanna reflect on making gifs ever since I came back to Tumblr. I can't believe it's been 2 years of making gifs for this show!!!!! Look at how large my folder is lmao

And those are JUST gifs lol

Anyways, over time, my style has changed, especially how I color edit Arcane gifs. I kind of strayed away from a stylized filter color into just something that looks a lot more "natural" and works with the original scene.

Initially, I thought I'd save time, but I ended up not using my old arcane preset PSDs and resulted to coloring almost every scene manually. So in the end, it takes even longer to make them HAHAHA. It takes around an hour and a half for me to make a 10 gif set, basically. It also helps that I have a photography background, so coloring/editing is a lot simpler for me.

Here's a lil before and after of a dark scene (hiiiii viiiiiii <3)

Arcane is a REALLY dark show, but it goes for most of TV shows. Many of them are darker and harder to bring up the lights to make stuff look nice as gifs. Some people don't like to color their gifs, and that's okay. I personally just like color edited gifs more.

I've started learning how to upscale scenes myself, so that I have a better resolution and leeway to make things look "HD" more.

If you're wondering why my stuff look so "crisp", it's a combination of the scene's lighting, my sharpening settings on Photoshop and knowing how to upscale everything into 4k resolution. Of course, doing this needs an extremely beefy pc, which I am very lucky to own one.

Here's another before and after of a nicely lit scene. These are much, MUCH easier to do than all the darkly lit scenes because of shadows and lighting (caitlyn kiramman truly the rizzler <3)

I've been very lucky to be able to essentially take a nice, long break for like a month doing nothing after being so damn busy for the last year and a half, so it's nice that I was able to make a ton of gifs and be chronically online for a short while LMAO.

It's been so fun! But it's time to go back to reality lmao. I closed reqs for a bit because I was just so swamped with them the last few days, and I wanted to gif scenes that I like this time. I've done like 2 weeks worth of gifs. And you will see Vi a lot bc she's on my mind a lot heehee 🥰what can I say, she's such a babe <3

Here's a lil sneak peek, just look at herrrrrrr 🥰🥰🥰 and yeah, 4k upscaled resolution really helps making these tight crops, it's why i never went back to 1080p lol. It's how I’m able to make zoomed in gifs look decent (like the kirammountains gifset lol)

Thank you so much for all the support, likes, reblogs, and the nice tags you guys give. Yes, I can see and read all of them (both the nice and nasty ones lmao). If you have nothing good to say about the characters or my editing style, or anything related to the edit, please I beg you, just write a separate text post about it <3 If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it in my edits.

Lastly, thank you to the people who share my stuff outside the site and credit the blog and link them back here. I see you and appreciate you <3 You guys don't know how much I appreciate shoutouts and link backs, because people stealing my gifs is something that I've dealt with after making them for like a decade.

Tumblr is sadly not what it used to be in the 2013-2015 era. There’s definitely less activity as time goes by, so I appreciate all the people who credit and link back to this sideblog. Unfortunately, there’s more people who just repost them and it gets wayyy much more traction in other soc med sites. Yeah, ofc I get a lil jealous, but eh what can you do 😞 can’t really stop em.

I also don’t like putting watermarks because it personally looks tacky to me, but I understand why other people do it.

Anyways, if you reached at the end of this lil rambling of mine, thank you! I sadly might be busy during November because that's usually busy season, but I'll try to make time for making gifs of Season 2! Thank you and enjoy your stay on this lil sideblog :)

#personal tag #arcane #long post #nothing i just have free time rn and i wanna spend time on it rambling and yes im tagging the public tag lol #goodbye leave hello real life again

113 notes · View notes

dsmp-lainey · 6 months ago

Text

thinking about how someday i WILL compile the resources (literally a life goal) to make a dsmp show and how it will inevitably piss off old fans because there’s no possible way to include everything, and inevitably some details will have to be changed because of what will play to wider audiences better.

i can already imagine the pickiness ill be greeted with trying to cast voice actors, and how ill inevitably be blamed for simplifying the story (because it is literally not possible to fit deep character studies of every person into a show and make it still have a plot) and how people will hate the design changes i make because i refuse to write a story about 30 cis white men

i’ll also almost definitely add the OCs of anyone who helps make the project possible so i’m sure that’ll receive backlash too lol

all in all i’m aware i will never be able to make everyone happy and that’s okay, but a dsmp show is truly my ultimate wish even if i have to learn to animate and do it frame by frame myself over the course of a decade lmao

#dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #dsmpblr #technoblade #tommyinnit #c!tommy

77 notes · View notes

pseudophan · 1 year ago

Text

some post wad weekend thoughts...

i just wrote all this on the plane and haven't read it through so apologies for any mistakes

first of all, this weekend was incredible. i usually just kinda sit at home doing not much of anything, and this was a much needed break to actually have some fun. london in general always lifts my spirits but i suppose that danisnotonfire guy contributed a little as well.

guys i think i've met more people the past few days than i otherwise have in years. like. holy shit. i started listing people but i'm petrified i'll forget someone so i chickened out, sorry about that. but you all know who you are. i've met friends i've had for years, people i used to know but haven't spoken to in what feels like a decade, newer friends, and a frankly baffling amount of people i didn't know yet but who told me they've followed me for ages. like holy fuck you guys lmao what the hell??? and i mean did the reaction ever get old no of course it didn't. bad for my ego i'm sure but totally worth it. there's something very amusing and incredibly surreal about being chronically lame in most aspects of life and then suddenly finding yourself in an environment where you're kinda cool???? SO fucking fun oh my god, but also i do kinda feel like i've tricked you all? but hey i'll happily let you keep believing i'm cool, that is more than fine with me.

most importantly though everyone was SO lovely. like i said i don't think i've spoken to this many people in such a short amount of time in years and every single person i talked to was awesome. guys did you know phannies are kind of great... don't tell anyone but, lowkey... everyone is so funny and cool and absolutely insane but in a good way (shoutout everyone left at the gates until the very end, we should probably get some help).

and then lastly of course, mr howell himself. i talk about this a lot i feel like but fuck me that man was born to perform. whether you think he's actually funny or not, nobody can argue he doesn't absolutely thrive on a stage. he plays off the audience so well and he's so very obviously having the time of his fucking life. i'd already seen the show twice before this, and i didn't think anything would top the previous london show but man... the first night he came back out after the show having clearly been tearing up backstage, apologising for being an inconsistent absent parent, and i can't lie the "i had daddy issues and THEN i subscribed to dan howell" got me cause yeah no literally dude, you nailed it, exactly, well done. i think something about doing this show again, his magnum opus as he considers it, now after the dapg return was very special to him. he seems genuinely surprised that so many of us were ready to just jump back in like nothing happened, i don't think he was expecting so many people to still be waiting and it's... man. he comes off so grateful for us all and it's so fucking sweet. and then on the last night, i think that was my favourite, when the show ended and he got the standing ovation and people throwing him flowers.. he was so HAPPY. and clearly overwhelmed with emotion which, i gotta say, there is something honestly kinda funny about daniel howell standing in front of you trying not to cry. like no by all means dude go ahead, please, you've made me cry an endless amount of times it's only fair.

ugh. i'm proud of him or whatever. dick. and i'm proud of our ridiculous fucking community. i'm not sure what 14 year old nora would say if you'd told me i'd still be kicking it in the phandom a decade on, but at almost 25 (fml) i'm so so happy to be here still. you know, we get a bad rep, but i genuinely think as far as fanbases go we're pretty solid. and i love you all so much.

i believe i will have to rob a bank or something because the next time dan and/or phil do a tour i think i'll have to just show up at every date like i'm sorry but this was too good of a high we need to do it again immediately

anyway. back to work 💪

(by which i mean giffing dan and phil. i am still very much unemployed. fr though i'm two whole videos behind this has never happened i feel weird. who am i)

115 notes · View notes

mnemosyne-nyx · 2 years ago

Text

✨ Bruce Wayne Headcanons that haunt me but I refuse to elaborate on even if they're utterly wrong Pt. 2✨

Going feral over this man

Hal and Bruce almost share a birthday and it fucking infuriates Bruce for no reason.

My guy was a rebellious teenager growing up, you know, trauma baby tings but also wanting to distance himself from the elite society (I mean rich Gotham really is a different cesspool of evilness lmao who can blame the poor guy.) Not to get deep but the beginning of his crusade was him wanting to seek a life and identity beyond the Wayne name right and witness Gotham from all angles. However, after realising he can both honour and build upon his legacy, Bruce destroyed any proof of this phase as he associates it with his turbulent and troubled coming of age. Little does he know there's a box filled with Polaroids within the 73288199 attics of Wayne Manor ready for his kids to find plus his detailed knowledge about the punk scene of Gotham makes them suspicious anyway.

Bruce learns a lot from his children. He may be their mentor but he's definitely learnt acrobatic tricks from Dick Grayson, combat and body language from Cass etc etc. Black Canary one day complimenting an acrobatic move of Bruce's only for him to have learnt it from one 11 year old Dick Grayson.

Bruce knows every nook and cranny of the watchtower. This guy designed, funded and helped build this fucking thing. Superman can hear him fuckin scurrying in the hundreds of boiler rooms, hidden corridors and storage rooms like a human rat. Flash doesn't understand how this man just teleports from one end of the tower to the other not knowing Bruce built trapdoors, hidden passageways, fake walls in this place. Bruce has a hiding spot in the upper levels of the watchtower where a small window gives view to Earth. J'onn is the only leaguer who can rival Batman in his watchtower knowledge.

He is the unofficial caretaker of the justice league. He makes sure all catering and quarters are fully equipped to people's needs. Overhears a leaguer saying there aren't enough vegetarian options? Bam, fully renewed menu. Barry complaining he can't sleep because his quarter is too cold? Bam, temperature risen. Small things like office supplies, medical equipment - he's always taking mental notes of. He knows what leaguer is allergic to what too. Lad keeps the watchtower STOCKED

The League never fails to wish a member a happy birthday. Somehow word always gets out and no one really knows how the date gets around. It's Bruce. He knows everyone's birthdays. Sometimes photogenic memory doesn't work in his favour. When it comes to respect, compassion and love - Bruce isn't the verbal type. He prefers to show it through action - I mean he crusades around Gotham to show his need to protect people for God's sake. Therefore, he sets like a reminder anonymously on the watchtower monitor for some random hero to find.

My guy HATES Asmr.

Bruce's hair is naturally thick and actually pretty darn curly. Superman is renowned for having the curls, but Bruce - with dirty, grown out hair - can give him a run for his money. His curls never show though as he keeps his hair very short and often has it sleeked back in public (as Thomas and Alfred always told him it was neater and more proper that way.)

He is a PERFECT mix between Thomas and Martha. Everyone who ever meets Brucie Wayne for the first time tells him he's the spitting image of both of them.

My man was a heartthrob in the 90s. Dick and Tim frequently Google "Bruce Wayne 90s" and bust a gut laughing at how their old man is like in every fuckin teenage magazine published in that decade.

#batfam #bruce wayne #batman #justice league #brucie wayne #jla #dc comics #dc headcanon #WHY IS THERE LITERALLY NO ADOLESCENT BRUCE LORE WTF??#Me pondering with my pipe as I reinvent the entirety of the DC universe in my cobwebbed study #Sometimes I like giving batman human emotions so I can imagine Andrew tate fans getting angry at it just to feel something

342 notes · View notes

mores0 · 1 year ago

Text

Okay, so, I have thoughts. Shawn is actually, very (and I’m not sure if this is the right word, but I don’t have anything else), anti-social. Like, for his entire life basically, his only real friend and connection was Gus. Besides that, we’ve never seen or heard of any other friends— and it’s not even because it’s a T.V show either, because we’ve seen Gus’s old college friends, his friend from his childhood summer camp, as well as his ex wife. Even Lassiter and Juliet got time with other people, Like Lassiter had his old police academy rivalry, (I’m not even going to get into his ex-wife) and And Juliet got an episode where she reunited with an old boyfriend. Even Henry got to reunite with his old cop buddies (okay, sure they were corrupt, but the point still stands). And there’s probably more that I’m forgetting, but that’s all I can remember from the top of my head. And Shawn’s literally the main character!! And he got nothing!! And, like, yes, Lassiter and Juliet are his friends, and I know that it’s just a TV show and I’m thinking wayy too much into it and projecting (I am) but they literally spend like, zero time together outside of work/cases (not counting Juliet and Shawn becoming a couple). And even then that took them like, almost a decade lmao. I think that he gets it from his mom, and I know that we know literally next to nothing about her, but from what we do know, she’s a lot like Shawn in the way that they both just.. Left. Parallels idk.

Anyways, this post was sort of based off of @grapebritain ‘s post about Shawn, because their post allowed me to take some thoughts that I already had and put them into ~words~ so, yeah! Go check that out too. 100%

#shawn spencer #psych #psych tv #🍍#carlton lassiter #juliet o'hara #madeline spencer #henry spencer

163 notes · View notes

silly-l1ttle-guy · 1 year ago

Note

drop every headcanon of the bucci gang NOW!

ON IT BOSS!!!

--- pookie bear bruno hcs first <3

BRUNO BUCCIARATI IS 100% GAY FOR LEONE ABBACCHIO

they just kinda live together

bruabba holds a special place in my heart

bruno's probably stressed out 24/7

VERY FEMININE GUY

hes got soft features yk?

probably spends like 3 hours doing his hair in the morning

ISTG HE PROBABLY SMELLS SO GOOD

I like to think that he legally adopted Fugo after fugso bugso joined that gang

SHUT UP IT MAKES ME HAPPY

poor guy overworks himself WAY too often

he also has the most gorgeous eyelashes you'll ever see

and they're natural, too

THIS MAN HAS EYEBAGS

he's tired af half the time, idk what you expected

he tries to help fugo control his anger (bc he's a loving mother) (giorno does it better tho)

i reckon bruno's pansexual tbh, he just seems like he wouldn't give a shit about his partner's gender

he likes going fishing

brought Abbacchio along one time

abba got seasick and threw up

he likes to accessorize his hair (hence the mitochondria hair clips)

sometimes he'll let the others accessorize his hair, too

trish makes it look really cute

abba makes it look stunning (bc it's his boyfriend)

narancia just puts random shit in his hair

Mista sings loudly (and badly) to be a little shit while he does Bruno's hair (it turns out surprisingly ok)

giorno deadass just puts a shit ton of stars in his hair

fugo gets mad and almost rips a chunk of Bruno's hair out

Bruno's guilty pleasure is midnight snacks

abbacchio caught him eating a whole ass tub of ice cream while watching il postino: the postman at like 2 in the morning

they watched it together and cuddled afterwards

hot goth

gay for bruno

he probably watches those make up youtube channels

if he didn't join passione he could be a make up artist

lets trish practice on him

HE SEES NARANCIA AS HIS SON AND YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

he's full on protective of nara too

i like to give abbacchio sharper features when i draw him tbh

also a larger nose

and while we're at it, let's hook that bad boy (the nose)

he and bruno go on wine testing dates

he has very frequent and reoccurring nightmares

(its why he sleeps with bruno)

his parents cut contact when they found out he was a dirty cop :(

this man saw narancia on his first day in the gang and accepted his fate as a father LMAO

he's a gay man and you can't tell he's not. Never felt attraction towards women

he feels like time moves by too fast. Everything happens so quickly and he wishes he could go back and just relive certain parts of his life over and over again because he feels like everything happens so quickly now that he's older and it overwhelms him (this definitely isn't me projecting what're you talking about)

moody blues is sort of the representation of this

SENTIENT MOODY BLUES SUPREMACY BY THE WAY

Moody blues is curvy and i won't accept anything else

make moody look goddamn feminine

not too feminine obviously but like

moody looks like a woman compared to abbacchio

tells people he can't dance but he definitely can

just play the right music and give him enough wine and he'll be dancing like he's never danced before (only in private tho)

YOOUU CAN DANCE, YOOUU CAN JIIVVEEEEE~~

EVERYTIME I LISTEN TO HALF-DECADE HANGOVER BY WILL WOOD I JUST THINK OF ABBACCHIO

and maybe euthanasia by will wood too

not even kidding, abbacchio has the same body type as a greek god

also the strongest guy in the team

the guy that has a dream

GIORNO. WHERE DO I FUCKING START.

I love this weird ass fucking guy

gay for fugo. that's all I'm gonna say.

I KNOW HE ACTED FRUITY W/ MISTA BUT IT'S BC HE'S A LITTLE SHIT WHO LIKES TO FLIRT WITH HIS FRIENDS AS A JOKE

not abba or bruno tho (they're too old for his taste)

remember that one seen where he and mista are up against cioccolata (fuck him btw) and they do that gay ass pose?

prime example of giorno being a little shit

putting his hand down mista's pants was an accident by the way, he just said "fuck it" and went with it

he probably showed the gang the thing he could do with his ear

they had very mixed reactions

one day (before the gang) he woke up and saw his roots were blond and he just went like "sigh, guess I have to grow my hair out and become barbie

THIS MAN RIGHT HERE IS THE TWINK

also bc his dad is dio I like to think that he sunburns easily

he can also see really well and the dark

"It's so dark in here, I can't see shit!" "I can, there's a light switch over there."

everyone was confused as hell bc it was pitch black in that room

this man is gay. he likes BOYS and BOYS ONLY

i like to think Giorno's a mischievous lil guy

he does something silly then giggles and runs away

it's to make up for the fact that he didn't have a proper childhood

ALSO CURLY HAIR GIORNO SUPREMACY

his hair is gorgeous and luxurious AND SO FUCKING CURLY

he uses about 20 hair products every day (21 if he's going on a date)

he can calm fugo down so easily too

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU NARANCIA-" "Hi fugo!" "Oh, hey Giorno."

it's really scary (according to narancia and mista)

this man loves gardening

born to be a gardener, forced to be a gangstar

autistic (it runs in the family)

the stink

Mista is the type of guy who showers once or twice a week

he only washes his clothes when they get too dirty

I like to make this man a little wider honestly

GIVE THIS MAN SOME CHUB PLEASE

he's muscular, but he's gotta have a little meat on there too

I like to think that Mista outright REFUSES to shave

the only place that he can grow barely any hair is his face

never shaved his face. He doesn't have much facial hair and he'll be damned if he ever has to get rid of the little that he has

bffs with trish btw

they make fun of each other all the time

in a friendly way

he honestly looks the least gay out of everyone

probably bi with a heavy preference towards girls (he had a boyfriend one time tho)

STINKS SO BAD IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY

sometimes he shoves Narancia's face in his armpit for fun

I'm not even kidding Narancia probably threw up one time bc Mista stank so bad

older brother figure to EVERYONE

Giorno? that's his baby brother. Narancia? his favourite brother. Trish? his little sister. Fugo? that's his angry little brother.

I have so many mista headcanons it's unreal

his hair is so fucking curly istg

and it's black too

very short tho. also super greasy

his love language is physical touch, but not in the usual physical touch way

he won't really hug people or hold hands or just do something normal, oh no

my guy likes to pick people up and throw them over his shoulder

it's definitely not to show off how strong he is

definitely

everything about him is so crusty

he literally gets along with anyone tho

you can't tell me this guy DOESN'T smoke weed

not very often but like

once every month or two he'll get high to relax

he stopped after Giorno took over as boss (bc yk, drugs are a no no)

he probably thinks France isn't real tbh (but as a joke to annoy fugo)

I HAVE MORE MISTA HEADCANONS BUT I HAVE TO CUT IT SHORT BECAUSE I NEED TO MOVE ON TO THE OTHERS

angry strawb (lots of angst in this one)

fugo is deeply in love with Giorno (FUGIO FOR LIFE)

a little bit of angst warning btw

bc of his past, fugo HATES physical touch

if someone touches him he will flinch

very uncomfortable in crowded places

Mista's love language is physical touch, but he refrains himself from touching Fugo

it's really sweet

"HEY FUGO! Lemme give you a high-five! Wait, no, you don't like that. Have this cool rock I found instead!"

he's trying

Fugo really appreciates it

after phf, he let Mista be one of the two people who can touch him (the other person is Giorno)

Fugo just randomly hugged him one day and that was that

he was really distraught when he found out Narancia, Bruno and abba died

especially Bruno

like I said before, Bruno adopted him after he joined the gang, so he genuinely saw Bruno as a father figure

definitely called Bruno "dad" in private

He genuinely cried when he realized he missed Bruno's funeral

MOVING ON TO THE NON ANGSTY STUFF BC IM GONNA CRY

when he's a bad mood, he listens to music with Abbacchio (his dad's cool boyfriend who he looks up to)

will correct any and all spelling or grammar mistakes

nerd supreme

i like to headcanon that Fugo's albino

(MANGA FUGO FOR LIFE)

he's really sensitive to sunlight because of it

his vision isn't that good, too

it's not bad enough to the point where he can't read and all that, but it definitely bothers him

since it wasn't too serious, he got some glasses that corrected his vision

he only really wears them when he's reading now, but he used to wear them all the time when he was younger

GOD I HAVE A LOT OF FUGO HEADCANONS

sometimes he wakes up and there's just a bouquet of flowers at the foot of his bed (I WONDER WHO THAT WAS HMMMM)

Narancia's like a little brother towards him

he doesn't care that nara's a year older than him, that's his brother

genuinely will forget to eat if he isn't reminded (me projecting)

i have more but i'm gonna have to end it here

BABY BOY <3

I LOVE NARANCIA I HAVE A NARANCIA PLUSHIE (and a giorno one but that's less important)

he originally had really good eyesight, but after his eye got infected his eyesight just kinda went bad

his eyes expired

but seriously though (woah no way, silly little guy can be serious?), he's almost blind in the eye that got infected

doesn't wanna wear glasses bc "they'll ruin his reputation"

he's also really short compared to everyone else in the team

he's really insecure about it

can and will fight anyone who says something even remotely teases him for his height

low iron for sure (me too bud, me too)

Abbacchio just took on the role as his father and makes sure he eats all his food

"But it tastes badddd" "Eat it or I'll shove it down your throat. Also, it has good iron."

he ate it, but was very pouty about it the whole time

mista will point at things made of iron and say shit like "that's what you need" or "you should eat that to get your iron levels up"

skinny but he's really strong

my guy has a six pack but looks scrawny as hell

Mista's jealous of him lmao

"Why do YOU get a six pack?!" "because you're fat"

Mista then forced Narancia to smell his armpits (they were rank)

he does a lot of shit with Mista lmao

partners in crime

he got high with mista one time and never did it again

oddly flexible

he's probably dyslexic

the girlboss

live laugh love Trish

lesbian fr

she practices makeup on Abbacchio

another one that sees abba as a father figure

they point each other's nails and go shopping together

Mista's bff fr

they do karaoke together

yk that one tiktok sound that was that like "OH SHIT IT'S IN KOREAN" and then starts singing it perfectly anyway

that's her and Mista

Mista's the one that sings it lmao

i don't have that many headcanons for trish tbh

she likes to try out new hairstyles a lot

they're always short tho

she doesn't like growing out her hair

says it's too much of hassle

we love trish in the household

she has freckles (from doppio)

yk those weird ass dots diavolo has in his hair? she has those but they're less noticeable

talks shit about people with abbacchio

she likes ranting about stuff to giorno bc he's a good listener

big fan of scented candles

gave mista soap for his birthday

she has frequent headaches (something she got from doppio, bc i hc that he has frequent headaches)

ANYWAY THAT'S IT FOR NOW

do you wanna hear about my la squadra headcanons? Doppio and Diavolo??? PLEASE I HAVE SO MANY GOOD HEADCANONS JUST LET ME RANT-

104 notes · View notes

oysters-aint-for-me · 1 year ago

Text

tbh it is funny to me that a lot of sunny fans are like “the gang should never use modern technology, the video should always be grainy and they should always use flip phones!” and i do agree with that in many ways (eg., aesthetically, spiritually) but the thing is that when the show started in 2005, grainy videos and flip phones WERE modern technology. so the show and the characters have always been using modern technology, that’s not a new thing. we just have trouble seeing it like that today because those episodes are almost 2 decades old now lmao

#iasip

176 notes · View notes

shentheauthor · 5 months ago

Text

Sick Wyrms (and Vessels)

Long post under the cut

What could possibly get a wyrm sick???

Well there’s a number of things: starvation, lack of sleep, basically most things that can fuck up a human. Wyrms are just VERY durable, so it’s hard to get them that way

There are natural pathogens, of course, but most can’t infect Wyrms. Their immune systems are crazy strong, since they consume countless parasites when they dig. They can fight off pretty much any disease

To truly get sick, Wyrms have to be very young, very old, or naturally weak

The Pale King is the third one lmao

His albinism gives him a lot of health problems, leaving him vulnerable to the few pathogens that CAN get Wyrms sick.

He sure isn’t going to get sick more than once every several decades, but he definitely can get sick

Fevers, delirium, aches, and since he has lungs, sneezing/coughing, are all on the table. So is vomiting, rip

PK will try to hide it as much as possible, shoving down all of his discomfort, or if he can’t, holing up in his study all day for “important business”

He’s the type to pretend everything is fine, even when he’s alone, because he’s a workaholic and he’s overcompensating for his natural weaknesses

Even after centuries away from other Wyrms, he still has this intense fear of being caught off guard by a competitor. He almost died several times when he was wandering, and it left him paranoid

He can be coaxed into resting by his wife, and her alone. She’s strong enough to protect him, even if her main power isn’t combat-related.

Now, what about the Vessels? (Note: my THK is named Vess, so I will be calling them that)

Vessels are an odd case, since many of them are incredibly weak for higher beings, too. It doesn’t help that most of them are already dead

Many vessels get sick easily. The void does a great job of getting rid of pathogens, but that doesn’t mean that chronic illnesses and pain won’t get them

It isn’t uncommon for vessels to spend days bedridden due to the pain and malaise caused by their semi-organic bodies trying to reject the void

Ghost was spared the pains and sickness, but they’re really fragile for a long time. They only gain strength because of items found in game, and eventually ascending to godhood, making them immune to all disease

Vess is not so lucky. They didn’t have chronic pain before, but they sure do now! The radiance fucked them up BAD.

Their immune system is practically nonexistent now, leaving them vulnerable to disease

They get sick a lot after the godhome ending. They’re not okay.

Another one who gets paranoid when they’re sick. If you even SAY the word sickness around them they start shaking, and don’t you dare sneak up on them unless you want your face to be speared by their horns

About Hornet:

Hornet is arguably the luckiest of PK’s children, because she’s pretty good at avoiding diseases

If she takes care of herself, that is

Which she doesn’t

She’s sick a lot too, but she can power through it. Herrah’s genes do a lot to help her immune system, so she can fight off the diseases that get her pretty quickly

She’s like PK, in that she refuses to show any vulnerability. If she’s sick, she gets super paranoid, and won’t even let her siblings touch her

She can actually get a wider range of diseases than most bugs, but her immune system can actually remember the pathogens, so she rarely gets the same bug (ha) twice

#hollow knight #hk hornet #hk the hollow knight #hk the knight #hk ghost #hk pale king #speculative biology #ish?#Shen’s rambles #Shen’s headcanons #long post

23 notes · View notes

monpalace · 1 year ago

Text

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, (linked universe) time/reader.

content .. it's only natural you search for your nephew after he enters the lost woods on a dare. you can't have a problem with the hand dealt to you when the beast who gives you shelter is so kind.

warnings .. no beta, we die like the promise i made to finish this before the summer after my junior year ended (i started this in april, it's august). i didn't know where i was going with this after a certain point and i think that's obvious. reader uses she/her pronouns. large, legal age gap (reader is in her 30's - 40's, time is a few hundred years old). less of a fic and more snippets, but it's almost 7.5k+ words. i don't think i explicitly say which link it is, so i guess it's ambiguous? nephew is named because this would be a pain to write otherwise.

notes .. prompted (not inspired!!) by beauty and the beast, but also the batb fanfic i found after my friend showed my an nsfw ao3 tag account on twitter. beelzebub / lord of the flies from fear and hunger was a huge inspo for link / time's physical description but there is leeway for how he can be envisioned. he's still large as shit though lmao. the layout of the manor was this, only because i wouldn't be able to write this without knowing.

supposedly there's gonna be a second part. supposedly.

idk. i might hate this enough to just. not.

The Lost Woods wasn't as intimidating as everyone talked it up to be.

Yes, it felt like the trees moved when you turned your back to them, and, granted, there were a few mobs of monsters that could get the jump on you if you weren't paying attention, but you had managed to get away with a few scrapes the few times it had happened.

The only thing to keep you company was the howling winds that grew in intensity and your own thoughts that were sprawling into whatever corners they could reach, but that was fine. You'd gratefully take decades-old gossip from the next town over instead of the creeping paranoia of what was behind you.

Of course, you would willingly go through this, that, and whatever else one thousand times over if it meant finding your nephew— and to keep yourself from reprimanding yourself from reprimanding the teens that had dared him out into the woods, but that was another thing.

Along your investigation, you'd found a broken trail of breadcrumbs that led to nothing when you followed them. They were torn pieces of fabric from his clothes, just big enough to be noticeable but small enough to keep himself protected from the elements.

(You'll forever be thankful that a younger your drilled the idea into his head.)

You'd long since discovered calling his name was useless. The only thing you've managed to do was draw the attention of a few wandering stalfos dressed in clothes from centuries ago.

The ones that had managed to find weapons were always the most painful to deal with.

If your determination weren't so established, you would've lost your sanity within the first day.

Food and water were no issue, you were smart enough to pack more than a week's worth of both. There were non-perishable options and several choices for your nephew when you found him; he'd no doubt have his fair share of cravings after being lost for so long.

(Three days was an eternity to you.)

Just before the sun had reached its crest in the sky, you'd realized that there were more empty clearings than trees. Wildlife had become scarce as well.

Where deers and wolves previously ran abundant, birds and squirrels that ran from the smallest of noises replaced them.

The wind had calmed, at least. It no longer wanted to push and shove you in whatever direction it pleased or steal the bag full of items you brought along. You didn't have to hug your sweater to your chest in fear of it being ripped from your arms either.

Instead, it was still.

Admittedly, the clearing gives you more paranoia than anything else.

When your mind starts to wander to places you'd rather it not reach, you begin to hum a quiet tune to yourself— your nephew's favorite— and allow it to ground you.

You were here for a reason. You wouldn't leave until you found him. You'll be fine until you find him, and you'll find some way to live in the forest that refuses to let its inhabitants go peacefully.

It's hours later when you hear the first sound of life (or suspended death) that doesn't feel like a threat— though, in hindsight, you should've been smarter and more suspicious of it when you first heard it.

A high-pitched instrument repeats each croon you let out, eventually taking over and silencing you. You follow the tune without much of a thought. If it were some sort of elaborate trap to lure you in, you couldn't be mad at yourself if you fell for it.

Clusters of trees become less and less as you follow the instrument and its recreation of your nephew's song. You call his name and are met with nothing but the music (from an ocarina, you quickly recognize) growing louder as time passes.

To say you're shocked when a large and, admittedly, well-kept manor enters your field of view would be an understatement. It's covered in vines, invasive arrowroots, and spreading flowers, but looks lived in if the smoldering smoke slowly dissipating in the afternoon air was anything to go by.

You couldn't begin to imagine who lived inside before the woods took it over (or what lived in it now). The architecture says it predates the Hero split in four, but you doubted the inhabitants of the floating sky built something so elaborate when they returned to the surface.

Your eyes jump past the crumbling pillars and dilapidated statues to the half-glass double doors that seemed to open on their own.

The music was coming from inside the manor now.

Steeling your nerves and squaring your shoulders, your hand grips tight on the strap of your satchel as you walk up the stone stairs covered in moss. You have to hold onto the guardrail installed next to it just as tight. Looking down, you find the carvings of it sorely separating it from the older antiquity of the manor.

Taking in smaller details (for future escapes or weapons against whatever lived inside, you'd figure out later), you find that the small pools of water that came from the sides of the manor and ran and fell alongside the stairs you climbed held small clumps of straw-colored fur. Some caused the surrounding water to turn into a pink hue that reminded you of fairies you've seen in childrens' books.

(Your hand reaches into the satchel to make sure you brought all of your nephew's well-loved books as well as a novel or two for yourself.)

(You did, thankfully.)

There's a smell filled with musk that permeates the air the closer you get to the manor, thick with amber and ginger and it reminds you of the times you come across a pack of wolves during your childhood.

Upon entering the manor, you find it was strongest in the wing of the manor to your right. It took over almost the entirety of your senses, but it wasn't an unwelcome or overwhelming sensation. If you paid close enough attention, you could sense the homely feeling underneath the ferality of it.

You prayed you'd be able to tell when the beast returned; if it was gone in the first place.

You take close note of how the foyer wasn't truly a foyer with how it was filled with windows rather than walls that led to a courtyard and how the only way to enter the wings of the manor was the winded stairs that connected via the terrace.

You don't fail to notice how the wing coated in the musky scent is coated entirely in shadows despite all the sources of light.

You couldn't decide if you were thankful or filled with loathing at the idea of what roamed on that side of the manor.

It's a struggle to turn your eyes away from the darkened wing of the manor, but you do manage when the music picks up once more from the left wing. It's significantly brighter and doesn't fill you with a sense of dread as the right one does.

Trap be damned, your nephew was here, you knew it— you felt it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you find that you're inside a parlor room that leads to three other pathways. One was a library, another was a dining room, and the last was a small hallway.

In any other situation, you'd explore some more. The supposed beast that possibly lived in the manor kept everything in better shape than what you'd expect— or hopefully it was the forest spirits that lived throughout the forest.

Hopefully, those same spirits kept your nephew safe.

You have to close your eyes to better determine where the music is coming from, the only thing you can hear beside it and your own breathing being the manor settling. Your ears guide you inside the hall and you find it branches into a corridor, a bathroom, and two bedrooms.

Common sense seems to leave you when you spot the back of your nephew's head. Your breath quickens as you watch him clap along with the ocarina, you force your eyes to keep their clarity when you hear him hum each note just as you remember.

"''ire," you call in a weaker voice than you intended or thought you had. The nickname he claimed he hated so much tumbled from your lips so easily as you rushed inside the room, one arm rushing to remove your satchel while the other reached out to almost check if he was real.

The Lost Woods were known for their tricks, after all.

When he turns to face you, he's scrambling over himself in the bed. You're able to see how he limps on his right ankle and knee, how the entirety of his limbs were wrapped in bandage wrap as though done by a child. There was no blood, so you hold off on checking him over.

(The bandages were stained, thankfully not with blood. It was mostly dust and grime.)

(You'd have to sanitize whatever was wrong.)

You meet him more than halfway when you catch the way he winces and hisses with each movement.

"Auntie— Auntie— Titi!" His voice is airy as he speaks, emotion causing his words to come out as chokes. His arms reciprocated the tight hug you had on him, forcibly keeping his arms from trembling due to either nerves or injuries. "Titi, Titi, Titi!"

The way he says the word makes him sound like some chittering bug. If you listened hard enough, you could tell how his teeth clattered together, but you couldn't decipher if it was from a chill or emotion.

All you wanted to do was keep his head against the crook of your shoulder and neck while you pressed kisses to the crown of his head and kept him as close to you as you could, but you knew better.

Pulling away, you reach back for the satchel that you previously discarded. "What's wrong? What happened?" You force your voice to even out when you speak, hands already reaching for his arms after you sit the bag against your hip.

He shakes his head, but you've known him long enough to know there was something wrong. "They're from when I first went in the forest," he answers, voice quivering. "It's all healed. I think."

He doesn't push your hands away or pull his arms back when you skillfully unravel the bandages, carefully pulling and prodding the scars that littered the skin, and he was telling the truth despite the coloring.

"Did you forage like I taught you? Why are most of them green?"

"The spirits."

"The spirits?"

"And the soldier." He looks over your shoulder as though searching for their figures. "I haven't seen him yet, though."

Your eyes squint as one of your hands rubs over the strange texture of the scar, the other reaching for the antiseptic and clean fabric in your bag. "Are these spirits children or small trees with masks?"

You'd heard of both in legend. No one's ever seen them.

You're not sure which you'd rather watch over your nephew.

His eyes drift to his side before peering back over your shoulder once again. His brows furrow as he thinks of how to answer, head tilting as his pupils dilate.

"Both," he answers, "and ones that look like scarecrows. I asked them to bring you."

You force your gaze to keep itself on your nephew. You wouldn't let it wander to spirits you couldn't even see. "The ocarina?" You instead ask another question jumping around your mind, sucking your tongue in appreciation when he nods. "Smart boy."

An airy laugh leaves him, his face lighting up with a smile. "Learned from the best," he snorts.

You risk pressing kisses to the apples of his cheeks and forehead at his flattery, hands cupping themselves on the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

A younger him would push you away without a second thought, whining on about how you were embarrassing him in front of his friends.

He lets you do so now regardless of the spirits that surround you both.

"What've you been eating?" Your hands drop to his biceps when you pull away. They weren't thin like you'd expect them to be after three days in the forest; they were fatter than they had been before he left. "Who's been feeding you?"

His answer of "the Soldier," is quicker than you would've liked. "He goes out and hunts. He always brings back meat. I think it's deer.. it tastes.. bland."

"He.. cooks it, right?"

Another laugh wracks through your nephew's body. He knows you're only being cautious, but he can't help it.

"All the way through," he hums, flexing his arms when they start feeling stiff. "I think I don't like it because it's not your cooking."

He knows what your response is going to be before he finishes speaking, years of having lived under your guidance making him attuned to the smallest of your movements.

When your expression shifts from being relieved to disappointment with a twitch of your eye, he can tell you're not pleased with his statement.

Dousing the fabric in the antiseptic, you take his arm in your hand and begin wiping it down. "Don't be rude." Your voice takes on a less-than-pleased rasp, speaking lowly as if you knew the Soldier was near; but you still apologize when the sting sets in. "Have you thanked him?"

(You're sure you would continue to speak quietly regardless of the context of the conversation. You didn't want to risk "the Soldier," doing anything unfavorable.)

(Your nephew's words of praise did little to ease your stressed heart.)

"I never know when he's here. He drops the food off while I'm asleep. He brings books and carvings too." He watches as you wrap his arm in another roll of (cleaner) bandages, undoing the old one on his other arm while you prepare another piece of fabric. "The Spirits say I'm the most excitement he's had in a while, so he doesn't mind."

His voice was beginning to grow hoarse from speaking so quietly. You tap his throat to tell him to relax.

"They say he's nice," he continues, doing as told. Tapping the fingers of his now free hand against your shin, he tries to recall what all they've told him.

"I think they said he used to live in another part of the woods when he was a kid?—" His eyes glance back over your shoulder, suddenly becoming sure of himself. "— Ah. They did. They said he left and came back when he was older."

You raise a brow but don't speak your question.

Your nephew takes hold of your retreating hands in both of his.

A clatter and snippy huff outside the bedroom door rouses you from your light sleep.

Nearing a week into your stay at the manor, you'd think you'd be more accustomed to the noise, but you aren't.

You carefully remove your nephew's head from your arm, using even more caution when trying to remove the conjoined weight of several spirits from your legs as you slip out of the bed.

It's hard, but you manage to do so without waking any of them— you hope.

(You still couldn't see any of the Spirits, but over time you could feel when they crowded around you and when the wind moved as they rushed past you.)

The floorboards creak beneath your feet.

You hear the sound of claws scratching against the floor on the other side of the door.

Pressing the crown of your head against the door, you tap your fingers along the handle to give the Soldier a warning and wait a few moments.

If you listened hard enough, you swear you could hear him scurrying into one of the other rooms before he shut the door behind him.

It reminded you of a dog.

Smiling to yourself, you're careful opening the door, keeping your head to it and your eyes on the floor. You turn to the other side of it to close it, waiting for the click of the lockset to speak.

"Are you decent?"

His confused "huh," sounds more akin to a gasp than any other noise.

You rap your fingers against the handle again. "Can I look up?"

"Oh—" he sounds choked. "Yeah— Yes. Yes. You can. Sorry."

"Thank you," you hum, leaning down to pick up the tray of food. It consisted of almost entirely meat with a few vegetables you figure are exclusive to the woods. "For both the food and taking care of my nephew."

There was a thumping noise behind the door, the frequency of it was like a tail beating excitedly.

The Soldier lets out a croaking noise and you know his mouth started moving before his mind was able to catch up. "No, I should thank you for looking for him— and for telling him not to use his name."

You let out an airy laugh. "It's common knowledge where I'm from. I wouldn't be a good parental figure if I didn't."

Another noise leaves the Soldier as you fix yourself to open the door. You can't discern what this one means. "I don't know when they started calling me the Soldier, but it's not— uhm.. A favorite.. of mine."

"Oh?"

"Soldier," he sounds more confident in himself and you don't have the heart to tell him you heard him the first time, "it's a nickname. I don't know where the kids got it, but I don't like it."

Readjusting the tray to rest against your hip and forearm rather than in both your hands, you hum curiously. "So what should we be calling you?"

He pauses longer than you'd think it'd take to remember your own name, but you wait.

"Link."

"Link?"

"Yes."

"Like in a chain?"

".. Yes."

You nod even though you're sure he can't see you. "I'll be sure to tell 'ire."

"Thank you." There's more thumping from behind the door.

"And thank you."

There's another noise from Link you struggle to understand, but you figure it's because he starves for conversation. "I heard what your nephew said about the food, too. I'll try to find something to flavor it with next time I'm out."

"Thank you," you repeat. Your eyes curve with your smile. "He'll greatly appreciate it."

Link raps his fingers against the door in response, but he doesn't say anything. You take that as your queue to reenter the bedroom.

"How come your side of the house is always dark?"

You gently pinch your nephew's elbow and he swats your hand away, leaning impossibly close to the door that separates him and Link.

There are a few moments of silence from the man that 'ire filled with bated breath. Link takes an audible, steadying breath before knocking what you think is his nail against the door.

"I wouldn't want to scare you both off."

It was an answer you expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

"Boo," your nephew groans. You're sure Link could hear the pout in his voice if the quiet chuckle he lets out was anything to go by. "You can't be worse than what I've seen out there."

There's genuine intrigue in the noise Link lets out. "Oh? What exactly have you seen then?"

Pure excitement fills your nephew's expression when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder. His fingers tap against the floor restlessly, tongue already listing off whatever monsters he's encountered (read: come up with) in his twelve years of life.

"— but their teeth are the worst! They're poisonous and there isn't a cure for it!"

You have no clue as to what creature he was talking of now. There were at least fifteen of them who injected poison through their teeth, eight of which had no cure.

(You don't have to strain as hard to see the Spirits as you did two weeks ago. The shadows and light shift around then as they move to sit around your nephew, seemingly hooked on your nephew's every word.)

(You remember when he would crowd himself around you similarly whenever you would tell him a story.)

You close the book that sat in your lap more for decoration than entertainment at that point and place a hand over your heart.

"I drew a lot of them too! My aunt brought them with her!" He pushes himself through the motions of standing up before immediately stopping and returning to his seat in front of the door. "I'll show them to you if you eat dinner with us!"

There are a few stammering noises from the other side of the door and yet you can't bring yourself to apologize for your nephew's bargaining.

Your own curiosity was quickly starting to get the better of you against your wishes.

The noise he had made several nights before makes itself heard again. His claws (you discovered those a few nights ago) scratch against the wooden flooring as he moves to sit against the other wall rather than the door, his voice moving with him.

"I don't want to— I wouldn't want— want to disturb you— either of you." His words are muffled by the door and his growing quietness, a regretful lilt stuck in his throat. "But thank you for the offer."

If he truly didn't want to join you and your nephew (and the spirits) for dinner, he was terrible at showing it.

"I know I wouldn't mind," you hum, standing to put away the book. A loud thumping makes the floor vibrate and 'ire has to stifle a laugh. "I wouldn't mind picking up a pot and pan again either."

"No!" Link quickly apologizes for his tone after realizing his outburst. "You don't have to. I wouldn't be a good host if I made you do that."

"Are you scared I'll poison you?"

Your nephew's voice drops to a whisper he swears you won't be able to hear. "She can't. She's the best cook ever."

You're not sure how the two correlate, but you'd take thew compliment.

"She won't?" Link's voice drops to entertain your nephew despite his earlier convictions. It takes on a playful direction, fur rubbing against the wood-tiled floors in excitement (based on prior interactions). "You've never gotten sick? Not once?"

'ire begins to shake his head but quickly stops. "Only from eating too much— which you will do, by the way. Best cook around," he reiterates.

Link chuckles, tapping his fingers against the floor restlessly. It takes him a moment to come up with something to say and neither of you push him to hurry.

You were both too hooked on his every word to do so anyway.

"I'll.." He's shy for all the attention. You wonder when the last time he got so much focus on him outside of the spirits. ".. I'll be sure to think about your offer. Why don't you tell me about a few of your monsters so I have more of an incentive?"

Your nephew jumps on the opportunity while you think over the plethora of recipes in your mind.

It wasn't rare for one of the imps to accompany you outside when you went foraging.

You never strayed too far from the manor— the last time you had been dragged outside of the area you had designated for yourself (and your nephew) by the children, Link had to come and rescue to lot of you before the sun had gotten too low.

Suffice to say, it was a rather humbling experience.

Kneeling, squatting, or sitting on the ground had never been easy on your knees or back, but the grass below you had felt as though it were a pillow hailing from the Heavens itself.

Your body works on picking herbs from the ground before placing them in your bag repurposed for your (new) everyday tasks while your mind wanders elsewhere.

You're humming to yourself when a twig snapping breaks your focus.

It was a nice reminder that the imps hadn't, in fact, accompanied you that day.

Your head lifts to survey the surrounding woods. Your entire body was still, mimicking a deer caught on a hunting trip.

There was nothing immediately in your line of sight that could be seen as a threat, but you had lived a long enough life to know that wasn't enough reason to let your guard down.

You're slow to rise to your feet and your ears are strained as you listen for whatever had made the noise.

"I'm sorry!"

You can feel your body relax when you hear Link's voice call out from behind a tree. You sink back to your knees without much thought, clutching the fabric of your top to calm your battering heart.

You weren't sure what you were going to do if it were an actual danger anyway.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he continues. His arms move and you can see one drop against the side of a tree while the other tightens around the corpse of an animal. "You were so still, I wasn't sure if you were okay."

A quiet, breathless noise leaves you. You're not sure if he could hear it, but you can see his shoulders relax when you do. "You're— You're fine! I just.. didn't know that you'd be out and about at this time."

When the hand not occupied with that week's dinner (barely) lifts to grab ahold of a tree branch, you're shocked to just now find out how tall he is.

"It's not your fault. I didn't know you were out here," he grunts while gently tugging at the branch. "Are you alone?"

Your eyes drop to the flora that surrounds you to not feel so invasive. Your fingers rub against the blades of grass idly when a restless feeling overtakes you. "A few of the kids said they'd join me later, but I'm not too sure when that's supposed to be." A short, genuine laugh leaves you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they forgot."

Link lets out his own, quiet laughter that you can only clue together when you see the entire tree shake in your peripheral. "I wouldn't take it to heart. They say they'll join me in hunting all the time but never do."

"Have you ever given them a stern talking to? I've heard that usually works with spirits."

"They barely listen to me as is. I think you'd have more luck than me."

"Is that an offer?"

"Are you headed home now?"

A strange vice tightens around your heart at his wording while you look through your bag. "Mhm," you hum, standing now that your legs aren't like that of a newborn. "You'll have to remind me of the way, though."

"I can guide you," he hums in reply. "You just can't look back."

Turning your back to him, you're surprised you don't jump when a sharp claw gives a ghostly touch to the center of your back.

You're shocked that you disregard the urge to check over your shoulder every step back to the manor.

You were no stranger to 'ire's night terrors.

They'd gotten better over the past few years as he aged, but all that progress had been undone during the near month you'd been in the forest.

Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip out, you ignore the prickly and uncomfortable feeling that comes with keeping your lulling head up so you can watch him.

You'd done it a thousand times before and would do it one thousand and one more if it meant he felt better.

You don't miss how his grip on your arm tightens when you start humming his favorite song. Your hand trails up to his hairline, nails (claws?) tracing the paint on his face that refused to fade.

You'd spent so long trying to scrub them and the green marks off, you hadn't even realized his skin had started to pale into a sickly grey in patches while darkening into (what looked like) a necrotic black in others.

You didn't even want to think about the changes that had started coming to your body.

You were, however, thankful you weren't thinning into a stalfos.

"You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think."

"How'd you know?"

"I have a young nephew. You learn quickly."

A brief laugh leaves Link from behind the cracked door. Though you didn't face him, you could see the way his eyes illuminated the wall in front of you, even managed to catch on some of 'ire's face.

It was a pretty blue color.

You don't comment on it.

"What's wrong?" Your voice has a deep rasp to it, your hand continuing to stroke your nephew's face even after he begins to calm down.

He'd slowly begun dropping more and more barriers (physical and mental) when it came to communicating with you both, having taken up shadows in their stead. He had gotten more confident in conversation as well, stammering and stuttering less the longer your nephew forced him to talk.

It makes you wonder how long it'd take for him to finally make true on those dinner plans.

"I heard him," Link hums just as quietly, the glow of his eyes moving to instead look over the sleeping spirits that crowded themselves around the space not occupied on the bed. "I was worried. Do you want help with them?"

A soft laugh leaves you when one of the imps buries their head onto your calf as though it were a pillow. "They've been like this since we first got here. 'ire," you press a kiss to his forehead when he rouses, waiting for him to settle before speaking again, "says they like to cling."

"You don't mind?"

"He's not too far off from them nowadays."

"Does he miss anything?"

Laying on your back, you being 'ire's head to rest against your shoulder. Your gaze is finally able to see how he'd take up all of the doorway (and then some) through the crack of the door.

You'd be shocked he hadn't flinched away if it hadn't been for the way his hand reached out to clasp it.

The tips of his fingers reached well past the frame of the door, his claws further, and you could only imagine just how much space he was taking up in the small hallway.

You were confident he could fit five or six of you in his hand without trying.

Your eyes jump back to the three (possibly four?) eyes before he can become self-conscious.

"Almost everything," you answer after pulling yourself from your thoughts. "His clothes, his dolls.. He could go without his friends, though."

His eyes jump from your face to the window as he huffs out a nervous laugh. It makes you wonder if he knows something you don't, but you don't push. "And you?"

"Hmm?"

"And yourself," he clarifies, "what do you miss?"

You're silent.

What exactly did you miss?

The feeling of your village's grass between your toes after the rain, the baker's treats that no other could replicate, being a part of such a tight-knit community, the sun after a particularly muggy morning—

There wasn't any need to be a sap.

"I'm not sure," you finally say after a long period of silence. You hadn't realized your eyes had left Link, yet when you force your gaze back to him, he holds it without issue. "I struggled with becoming attached to things unlike 'ire."

"Hm."

"What?"

"I can't remember the last time someone said something like that."

"You have visitors like us often?"

"More than you'd think."

"And what's become of them?"

The glow of his eyes drops to the sleeping spirits that litter before looking to the window again and you quickly understand.

The hum that leaves your throat is more lackluster than you intended it to be, but given how quickly the topic had changed, you give yourself the grace.

"Well," you start after clearing your throat, "what's something that you miss?"

The manor creaks when Link leans against a wall and his confidence in the movement tells you more than you'd expected.

You don't think you'd ever have the same amount of trust he held in it.

There's a playful tone in his voice when he speaks, one of his hands raised to scratch against his chin. "You'd have to promise not to be dramatic when I say."

"Is it my fault you use such outdated terms thousands of years behind my time?"

Link turns away to stifle his laughter, shrouding the room in darkness and forcing your eyes to strain with it.

"I can't say I've had the easiest experience understanding you or your nephew's sayings," he hums, drowning you in the light of his eye when he turns back, "the kids have to keep filling me in."

"Shame, and here I thought you'd been closer to my age. Have you been leading me on this entire time?"

Link's claws knock against the wall, his tail wagging against the floor while he huffs his amusement. "Have I? When I don't even know your name?"

If the weight of 'ire wasn't on your shoulder, you're sure you would've had a physical reaction of some sort.

"It'd do you good to not forget it," he hums, the movement of his tail slowing until it stops entirely. "Titi and Auntie, as much as I hate to say it, won't do much good."

Another lackluster noise leaves you as the arm trapped underneath your nephew lifts to rub your thumb during his forehead. "How fun."

"The kids are too attached to do anything now." The door slowly creaks open before stopping. It shuts so there's only a crack instead. "You'll be fine to share your name now."

"You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"I haven't asked a lot," you huff before taking a softer tone, eyes rolling closed. "What is it that you miss?"

Link quietly snorts, muffling it by pressing his face to the door. He takes a steadying breath before saying a quiet, "a lot, I suppose. I can't name just a few things." A low noise leaves him, it's similar to a growl. "My friends? Playing music as well— my hands aren't good for much but skewering these days. My horse, Epona, too. She was the prettiest mare."

"Is she red with a white mane?"

"You saw the kids' drawings?"

"I've seen her before, I think— or maybe it was a hallucination?" The hand stroking 'ire's forehead stops as you scrounge your memories. "When I saw her outside the forest, I knew it was real. Another fated hero was mounting her."

You'd like to think yourself a master of figuring out what each noise he makes is meant to mean, but the one Link lets out once you finish speaking is short and of a higher pitch than normal.

When he begins to stammer over his words as he had when you first interacted with him, it feels like years' worth of progress has been undone.

"I— uhm— You— I don't— err— Thank—"

His tail thumps three times before he knocks his head against the door with a heavy groan. He lets out a quiet "Hylia, be damned," you couldn't help but think he hoped you wouldn't hear to go along with his frustration.

"It's been a long night," you finally prompt. "You'd best get some shut-eye before 'ire bombards you with more from his imagination, yeah?"

"Yeah," Link answers in a weak voice. "Yeah," he repeats to himself more than anything, "of course. Good night," he steps away from the door. "Sleep well."

"Same for you."

The night Link finally takes you and 'ire up on your offer for dinner, your nephew and the spirits had taken to floating around the east wing's dining room to prepare it for such a grand event.

"Titi, titi!" One of the Kokiri exclaims, tugging at the fabric of your skirt (that Link had made out of a spare bedsheet). Her voice had a strange echo to it— all of them, really— and had given you migraines up until you'd finally become accustomed to it. "'ire says that you'll make your world-famous pudding! Will you? Will you?"

You ignore her exaggeration in favor of forcing yourself to wrench your eyes away unless you wanted her puppy dog face to work on you. "Should I? I.. I can't say any of you have been acting well enough to deserve it.."

Even in your peripheral, it's not hard to miss the absolutely crushed look on her face. Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip wobbling like she was about to cry despite your joking tone.

"But why—y," she whines, dragging the last syllable on while hiccuping on her breath as she went on. You know the tears pooling in her eyes are just as fake as your rejection of her request— but you know just as well who'll win the battle at the end of the day.

"I—" hiccup. "Want—" hiccup. "Cake—" hiccup.

You raise a brow. "Pudding or cake, sweetheart? I can't make both."

The girl begins to climb your back while you return to sautéing the vegetables, arms wrapping around your neck so she can press her cheek against yours. "Cake! No, pudding! No! Cake! No—"

"I'll tell you what," you interrupt, taking the pan from over the open flame once the food is charred to your liking. Your skin thanks you when you step away and douse the fire, the arid air leaving through the open window. "Why don't you ask a few of the others which they want then we can try and get Link to bake it after dinner?"

The girl jumps off your back with stars practically filling her eyes. She cries out for several names while she runs off, hands clapping excitedly as she shouts out the change in plans.

You're left in peace until your nephew enters with his journals clutched between his arms, bouncing between his feet while he watches you finish plating each food item on dishes you could only dream of owning where you're from.

"D'you think he'll come?" 'ire's voice is low, almost as though scared Link will hear. You know he does if the night of his nightmares a few months ago were anything to go by— but he didn't need to know that.

"He'd better," you answer in an equally low tone. "I didn't spend so long slaving away at this just for him not to."

"Is that a threat?"

The plates in your hands aren't spared by the flinch that wracks through your body. Your reflexes are quick to catch them before any of the food can hit the floor.

'ire, on the other hand, has no issue with voicing his shock in the form of a scream, scurrying from the doorway while dropping his journals. He jumps behind you, hands clutching the fabric of your skirt while he hides himself behind your hip.

"Well?"

Placing a hand over your racing heart after putting the plates down, your other hand comes down to rest on 'ire's head. "It's rude to sneak up on people, you know."

The blond fur of his chest rustles with his laughter. It was difficult to see much else other than that, what with the way he hid himself behind the wall connecting the kitchen to the pantry.

You hadn't even heard his footsteps or creaking floorboards when he first approached. Had he been there the entire time and 'ire hadn't seen him, or had he only walked in after 'ire entered?

You wondered if he was naturally quiet or if he just learned which floorboards were loose.

"Is it sneaking when you were expecting me?" Link's voice is lighter than it usually is, a slight tremble could even be heard if you focused on it enough. He rocks on his feet and briefly leans forward, a less organic-looking side profile coming into view before leaving right after. "If I knew I would be this unwelcomed, I—"

"That's a joke, right?" 'ire stomps away from your side while he speaks, stepping over his discarded compilations of works to stare up at Link with wide eyes. Your nephew ignores the way Link's hands raise to cover his face and how he backs away as soon as he pivots in his foot to face him. "You're not actually gonna pansy out, right?"

Your feet lead you to the two before you can have much of a thought. "Zaire," you say in a terse voice, taking hold of his shoulder and bringing him against your front so you can stop him from interrogating the poor man. "Don't be rude."

Whatever argument he has dies on his tongue when he takes a good, long look at Link. His mouth gaped open like a fish, one of his fingers lifting so he could push it into the fur of his stomach, watching the skin beneath sink with the force of it as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Woah."

If you had any less sense of dignity, you'd let yourself have the same reaction.

"Don't be rude," you reiterate, pushing Zaire's hand down until it finally reaches its rightful place at his side.

"No," Link breathes into his palms, clearing his voice to try and rid it of the anxiety (and, possibly, humiliation). "He's— he's fine. This wouldn't be the first time someone responded like that. I'd be more concerned if he did any other way."

Zaire shrugs your hands from your shoulders, stepping until he is toe-to-claw with Link. "Then why are you hiding your face? It can't be that bad," he says, tugging at the fur of Link's elbows, rubbing them between his fingers so he could better be accustomed to the texture.

Spreading his fingers enough so you both could see the four holes in the inorganic material, Link lets out another heavy breath. "I'm self-conscious," he can tell the answer doesn't please Zaire and continues speaking, "It's been.. too long.. since I've shown anyone either of my faces."

"A mask is.." Your voice falters off when you finally find the words to speak, losing them again when you fail to find a proper way to articulate your thoughts.

"It's mostly you and the kids, no?" You try again when you figure out a way to better word it. "Is a mask not.. Is it.. necessary?"

When the blue light that emits from his eyes lifts to look at you, an unidentifiable emotion shoots through you. He holds your gaze for a few, silent moments before turning his head and dropping his hands.

"It's like a second skin," he simply offers.

"Sad," Zaire sighs, backing away and turning until he stood in the center of the kitchen. "Can you still eat with it? Like I said, Auntie is the best cook in all the realms and you have to taste it to believe it."

Curse your nephew's skill of lightening a mood.

Rather than let his insecurities keep him from looking at either of you for the duration of the night, Link looks down at Zaire with a playful jolt of his shoulders. "It's not fused with my face."

Zaire's eyes curl into crescents while he grabs two of the plates from the counter. "Good!" His tail (a terrifying new addition when he first started changing) wraps around the third dish, walking himself past the two of you in the pantry so he could place each one on the dining table. "You'll love this then! Auntie," you don't miss the way he adds your name causally, "always makes this on a big day!"

Link repeats your name under his breath before doing the same with Zaire's. He lets out a thoughtful nod as each one rolls off his tongue, one pair of eyes looking at you while the other continues to follow your nephew.

He wrings his hands together when he catches the way you examined him oh-so-carefully, arms crossed with your head tilted.

"It's nice," he gulps as though every inch of nervousness had reentered his body. "It's a nice name. I like it. It suits you."

You don't know if you were teasing him prior, but you decide to do so now.

"I'd hope so." You pat a hand against his arm as you walk into the kitchen, ignoring the oily feel of his fur. You ignore the feeling of him watching and instead focus on searching through the cupboards for the drink you had foraged around to make just days before. "I could say the exact same for you, thankfully."

"Now, why don't you have a seat so I can play host this time?"

133 notes · View notes

veerbles · 6 months ago

Text

thoughts about dream thieves (and some predictions!)

After probably almost a decade of thinking to myself, I’m an adult who’d like to read more and also enjoys YA, I should finally pick up TRC, I finally picked up TRC. I finished Raven Boys and immediately started Dream Thieves, so I didn’t pause to gather my thoughts on the first one, but here I am now. Ready to unleash several K’s of words by using my limited information to analyze characters and make some predictions that may or may not come true.

• I really enjoy the whole magical-realism, bordering-on-alternate-dimensions theme, but I’m SO SORRY Cabeswater gives me the creeps. I can read context clues and infer from the fact that Blue and Gansey both love it that it’s not meant to be sinister? Probably? But like, talking forests and time loops and magical possessions have, in the history of literature, revealed ulterior motives. I’m mostly side-eyeing the way Adam’s sacrifice to Cabeswater immediately derailed his life and mental stability. It might just be an Adam thing. It’s probably an Adam thing. But like, if I were these kids I’d be a biiiit more wary of the scary time-defying magical land I stumbled upon.

• The sudden emphasis on how time is circular kind of came out of nowhere. There was definitely a point made in the first book about how time doesn’t flow the same way inside Cabeswater, but mid-second book the nonlinearity of time was suddenly a huge thing and all the Sargent seers made a point of how every prophecy is something that both happened already and hasn’t happened yet. I’m totally down with some time-fuckery, but I would’ve liked some more build-up. Also, is this meant to play into Blue’s prophecy? Adam’s visions? Gansey’s fate? Glendower’s fate?

• I was preparing myself for a long, drawn-out love triangle B-plot, and I’m glad it didn’t happen. I couldn’t tell if I missed some subtext and Blue’s intense attraction to Adam faded before their fight at his room, or if it was a direct result of it, but I like that their thing (he called her his girlfriend and I was kind of like… is she? Who established that?) was short and not too well-developed. I think it mostly served as a lesson that Blue can influence her fate, but she can’t run from it (“Why couldn’t it be Adam?”).

• Also, I think the marketing of the first book did it a HUGE disservice. I have nothing against romance as a main plot and maybe I would have enjoyed that as well, but adventure and the found family trope have a much stronger pull. Was really glad the romantic relationships aren’t really the main focus (at least yet?).

• On the same note, these books are so far really good with show not tell. The numerous unspoken hints about the Blue/Gansey attraction did such a good job making me root for them. The slow progression from Gansey caring an inordinate amount about how Blue views him, to Blue dedicating large chunks of her time analyzing him and trying to figure out all of his layers, to Gansey definitely growing aware of his feelings but not doing anything explicit because of Adam… The boat scene with Orla was pure comedy, lmao. Tell me you’re 16/17 years old without telling me you’re 16/17 years old.

• The Blue/Adam “break up” scene was so good because it evoked true emotions in me. I think a reasonable percentage of teenage girls were once The One Girl in a group of guys, and Blue’s feelings of being treated differently because she’s a girl really hit right where it hurt. I think Adam’s inability to understand that she wants to be his friend first and a love interest later was so real. I also do think that this scene brought up multiple points and maybe Blue’s character would have benefitted from addressing each of them separately, even just in her own head. She feels left out because she’s a girl, and she feels he only views her as a Girl and not as a friend; she’s wary of his anger issues and feels she doesn’t know him; she has feelings for Gansey; she has an ominous prophecy hanging over her head. Ultimately, her saying he’s not “the one” is what hurt him most, because she hit him directly in the insecurities, but it wasn’t really the most interesting or impactful point. Who is Blue Sargent and what does she really want in a relationship (or in general?)

• I have a hot take, but don’t kill me for this. …Adam gives off real Peter Pettigrew vibes. I’M SO SORRY. I really hope he gets more character development later on, because right now he’s straight on the path to evil villain. Or, okay, maybe he veered off that path after his talk with Persephone and their quest to fix the ley line, but for a minute there I was like… My guy, I get where you’re coming from, but you’re slowly gnawing on the leg that you used to stand on. It’s okay to be mad at the world because you were handed a worse hand of cards, and it’s okay to want to climb your way up to prove your own worth. But a minute ago your whole point was that you HAD worth, and now you’re acting out because you feel worthless? Adam’s getting eaten away by his insecurities and thinking/saying/doing really uncool things to his friends, and it’s just Not It. At this point of time, I personally would not have made him Secret-Keeper of the house I’m hiding in.

• Direct follow up: Honestly? Gansey should punch someone. As a treat. Gansey certainly has flaws, but he’s also certainly the most self-aware of the whole bunch. He is continuously harder on himself than anyone else is hard on him, and trying to make things right, and he’s kind of getting stepped on by his best friends. Adam stole his most prized possession and sneaked away to do exactly what Gansey didn’t want to do on GANSEY’S search quest, and then took the offer of networking but spit it back in Gansey’s face, and admitted he’s going to fight Gansey for Glendower’s favor because he thinks he deserves it more. Ronan ALSO stole his most prized possession after letting Gansey clean up his messes, and didn’t even really apologize? Like, it’s somehow okay because after he stole it he wrecked it and then dreamed it back? Nah dude. It wasn’t okay you took it to begin with! Now, I definitely think it’s not a black-and-white situation; Adam brings up plenty of good points in his arguments, and Ronan, to the best of my recollection, never asked to be cleaned up after. They’re both super traumatized and Gansey chose to stick by their sides through that. But everybody else gets to lash out and make stupid decisions and I, personally, think Richard C. Gansey III should pull a teenage boy move and punch one of his best friends. Which one is up to him. The punch can be metaphorical.

• This book focused mainly on Ronan and Adam’s journeys, and I have to say I loved the night terrors as a symbol of self-loathing. But I remain unsure about Ronan himself. Unlike Adam I don’t think he’s doing villain-y things, but he’s definitely doing very normal teenaged self-destructive things. And that’s fine. It's expected. But it’s also not really productive to self-acceptance? Which he somehow reached at least partially by the end of this book anyway? My point being, Ronan kind of lost it when Gansey was gone and went on a weird dreamer-bender and took all kinds of suspicious drugs and made all kinds of bad decisions, and I expected that to have ramifications. He didn’t really face any of his self-hatred or made efforts to be a better friend. He did kind of face (literally) his grief over his father, which is obviously huge, but I would have liked him to take down some of those walls, be vulnerable, apologize? Face some of his obvious inner homophobia? Anything before that wholesome ending. I guess I just stay hopeful that it’d happen in the next two books.

• On that note, the whole goddamn Lynch family needs therapy. What the fuck. Hated Declan significantly less than the last book, but all three of them should get some professional help for their asses. Their mother is a dream? Ronan’s new friend’s mother is dating his father’s murderer?? Ronan’s dad kicked him out of his home on the heels of his tragic death to teach him some lesson about… dreaming??? So much shit happened in this book. However: loved the idea of Ronan having an actual parent and functioning sibling relationship now. Hopefully, that would do some good for everybody involved.

• Very happy at the subtle queer themes and foreshadowing that led up to Ronan’s very understated sexuality revelation. I could smell it coming from a mile away without it being spelled out for me, which is good: it means it was written into his character really well. I was both thrilled and kind of confused by some of the Adam/Ronan hints in this book, though. Ronan… slept on the floor by Adam’s bed…? ("Surely he would wake up soon and find himself [...] lying on the floor beside Adam’s bed at St. Agnes.") This was literally mentioned in one line and then never again. And he doesn’t spend too much time thinking of Adam, but somehow the epilogue still explicitly states that his secret is Adam and not his sexuality as a whole. I’m rooting for them, but I’ll need more convincing in later books that this apparent crush didn’t spring out of nowhere.

• On the subject of themes I didn’t see coming, the redemption arc for The Gray Man with the gray morality surprised me. It’s not that I’ve never read or enjoyed books where this subject was explored, I just didn’t expect it to happen in this book series. It seems to me like so far every character we’re supposed to root for is very clearly that, and evil characters give off hints in advance. Gray Man definitely did some dubious things in this book, even if you disregard the killing itself, so I expected his ending to line up with that. I guess it still might? Truthfully I find the subject of responses to trauma and how it affects your moral compass very interesting, and I’m definitely into characters’ redemption arcs, but I just don’t know if romantic entanglement with a known dissociative killer is a smart thing for a mother of a sixteen-year-old. If the Gray Man drove away at the end and started a new, less-violent life, I’d be far less conflicted. But he very clearly stated his attachment to Henrietta, which just… leaves me mostly confused.

• Speaking of, I love how a major theme of this odd little magical book is how different people handle childhood trauma (Adam, Ronan, Gray Man). No further notes, just love it.

• I also really like that adults are directly involved in this story, instead of being intentionally kept out of the loop like in most YA stories. In the majority of the YA books I’ve read I really felt like 70% of the problems could be solved by a whole ass grown up swooping in instead of letting a bunch of kids handle real life-endangering shit all by themselves. The 300 Fox Way women are certainly a specific breed of adults, but they are adults, and they do intervene when needed and are kept mostly informed. It’s a nice change of pace.

• Going to quickly mention my only real point of criticism and then move on. The dialogue in this book isn’t very realistic, and the clear preference for dramatic chapter endings is a little excessive. I can forgive the dialogue issue, because it does help create the atmosphere that this isn’t a real place in the real world but a magical and intriguing town in some mystery land, but I don’t know if this is what the author actually intended. In every other way, the kids are all pretty well fleshed-out and realistic depictions of teenagers. But every time they open their mouths I think: this is not how a natural conversation sounds. And the dramatic chapter cliffhangers isn’t terrible, because it does keep my interest, but I think it’s fine to have a few chapters not ending with a dramatic one-liner, lol.

Predictions!

Gansey is a reincarnation of Glendower’s. This is not a certain one, but if it’s not true I feel like it’s a missed opportunity. Gansey is constantly described as “both very old and very young”. He died, but mysteriously didn’t die. He has this connection to Glendower and for some reason connects his sense of self to him. It would tie in to the theme of nonlinear time. I think it could be a good ending for this journey, a la “the thing you were looking for was in yourself all along”.

Gansey answering with “That’s all there is” will have more meaning later on. It could be that dialogue thing again, but I found it to be a weird response in the context of that scene. Since I am of the firm belief that this is all heading to a Blue/Gansey kiss, Gansey dying and then undying, and Blue somehow walking him back down that corpse road, I feel like that quote could maybe tie in to that future scene.

Is Adam’s vision really “gone”? In the scene where Adam makes peace with his powers and returns to Cabeswater he remembers the vision from the dreaming tree and thinks: "That wasn’t going to happen now. He’d changed his future. He’d chosen a different way." And I simply can't help but think that that's just... too easy. Why mention the vision so many times if it's not going to happen now? On the one hand, it would be far more interesting if it did happen, but it had a whole different connotation to it than Adam can currently imagine (he specifically says Gansey is dying, not dead.) On the other hand, it does seem like that vision fits in the reality where Gansey dies back in the first book on Neeve's pentagon, if Adam hadn't rushed in and made the sacrifice. I just feel like it's going to make a comeback.

Noah should not be a ghost. There was not once a good explanation for why this happened. Because he died on the ley line? Presumably, if the ley line runs through the US, many people die on the ley line. Gansey’s backstory is that he came back to life from those hornet stings because someone else who should not have died has died. But Noah is like. Not exactly dead? I’m assuming this will need to be addressed later on and serve as some sort of plot resolution.

Persephone has a connection to Cabeswater. She essentially told Adam that she was in his place once (“They won’t understand,” Persephone said. “They didn’t when I came back.”). That lady has something weird going on with her and this tell me it will have some sort of connection to Cabeswater. She kind of gives off the vibes of someone who will get forever lost in a magical forest. Also I feel like maybe one of the psychics won’t make it out alive, and I dread it’d be her or Maura.

Artemus is definitely a Cabeswater creature. I think this was almost explicitly stated? He appeared suddenly and disappeared suddenly? Almost like the surges and outages the ley line causes? Also, I don't remember the specifics from the first book but I think Maura needed Neeve's help to find him because he was in that "place where they can't see", or something like that - presumably Cabeswater. Also, his story does not give human.

#the raven cycle #trc #the dream thieves #writing out my thoughts mid-series is a surefire way to make myself laugh later on #when I finish a series and see how uninformed and misguided I was #onwards and forwards to the third book!

14 notes · View notes