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moni-logues · 26 days

Note

Hi there, pretty Moni!

If it isn’t too much to ask, may I please request a professor Yoongi x female college student reader piece?

For the genre, hmmm. Surprise us, maybe? 🤭🥹

Thank you very much, eonni. ☺️

okkkkkkkkkkk

SO, I am not super comfortable with a professor/student dynamic so I have done a peer tutor type situation; hope that is ok! I really don't know if this is anything, tbh, but I'm really just trying to leave the tap on to get the rust out!! So thank you for this request; I hope it at least in some way satisfies!

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (gender neutral)

Genre: acquaintances-to-?? dating? maybe?? tbc lol; college/uni AU

Summary: Your university forces you to be tutored to bring up your grades; your tutor is the quiet loner from class whom you begin to realise you should have noticed long before now.

Word count: 1.2k

Content: none to warn for, unless you have traumatic memories of philosophy essays lmao

Kant or Won't?

You pushed through the heavy library door with a sigh. It was a beautiful day – one of the first of the year. The blossom was budding on the trees; the grass was dry enough to sit on; the sun was bright and warm overhead. You were heading into the dim, crowded world of studying on a Saturday.

You only had yourself to blame. You knew that. One too many parties and too few essays written. You knew you had to try harder. What you didn’t know was why your school was mandating tutoring. It wasn’t that you didn’t know things! You didn’t struggle with the material; it was the sitting down and focusing on it that was the problem. How a tutor was supposed to help with that, you didn’t know. You did, however, want to stay at university so you accepted your fate.

The peer tutor service had told you which private study room was booked for your session, but when you peered in through the door window, you assumed there must have been some sort of mistake.

“Uh, it’s Yoongi, right?” you asked, tentatively as you entered the room.

He looked up and nodded.

You knew Yoongi. Well, you knew of him. He was in your philosophy group. He contributed only when forced to and you had never seen him chatting to anyone either before or after seminars. You assumed he was just some kind of loner loser guy and that was really the first and last you ever thought of him. You didn’t notice him and no one else seemed to either.

It surprised you that he would volunteer to do this: meet with lazy, unfocused students to bring their grades up. It wasn’t exactly socialising, but it was social. It would involve talking to people. Strangers. Maybe even people he actively disliked.

You sat around the corner of the table from him and pulled out your notebook, full of half-finished sentences and scribbled notes from lectures. The edges were black with doodles and your first clean page was the one right next to where you had snapped and written ‘FUUUUUUUUCK’ in huge capital letters. You tucked that page to the back and readied your pen.

“Just so you know,” you started as Yoongi opened his textbook, “I’m not actually like, dumb. I’m fine with the material; I just hate doing the essays, y’know? I’m just too lazy to get around to it, so then, when it’s the night before deadline, I just have to write any old shit to get it done. You know how it is, right? Procrastination nation.”

Yoongi looked at you, thoughtfully, and it was the first time you’d ever really seen his face. It was nice. He was kind of good-looking actually. You wondered what sort of life he had off-campus. Maybe he just didn’t like the people at school. Maybe he had other friends. A partner? Not that you cared, but you thought, now that you were really looking at him, maybe he could have one. Not bad at all.

“Lazy?” he asked.

You nodded, expecting him to say something more. He didn’t.

“Ok, well...” You spoke for him. “I guess we’re supposed to get my essay on Kant done?”

You flicked through your notes to see if you’d taken any while Yoongi still just looked at you.

“What are you views on Kant?” you asked.

“What are your views on Kant?” he countered.

You wondered if it was a test. You’d told him you knew the material; it was only reasonable for him to ask for proof.

The directness of his gaze made you feel a little flustered; the focus of his attention unwavering in a way you found unsettling.

“Um, well, ok...”

* * *

“Guess what I’ve just done,” you demanded as you walked into the private study room two weeks later.

“What?”

“I’ve just submitted my Kant thing!”

Yoongi didn’t look surprised, but he did look pleased. You felt a genuine sense of pride, swiftly followed by an embarrassed guilt that you should feel so proud of something that thousands of other people did with ease every day.

“Wow,” he said. “And the deadline isn’t for three whole days.”

“I know!”

“How do you feel?”

You didn’t want to tell him how pleased with yourself you were. You knew he had submitted his last week. You didn’t want to let him know that you were pathetic enough to feel a genuine sense of achievement over what you’d done. It was minor. Embarrassingly minor.

“Good, I guess. Nice to have it out of the way.”

Yoongi nodded.

“That’s really great.”

He smiled at you and you smiled back. If you got a good grade for this essay, you wouldn’t have to come back for tutoring. That alone had almost made you not complete the essay. Yoongi’s presence was soothing and something about being here in this room with him made it easier to focus. You liked studying with him. He mostly kept to himself and let you ask questions when you needed to. It didn’t really feel like tutoring at all, to be honest. He was a study buddy, not a teacher.

You were surprised how much you enjoyed it, actually, when it really got down to it. Without the screaming panic of a deadline just hours away, you had more time to focus on the content, think about the topic, read about it, dig in. You remembered why you had chosen philosophy in the first place. And, when prompted, Yoongi would talk to you about it, too; your views were often the same, but not always. He was smarter than you, but not by much.

You met frequently, first in short bursts, then in longer and longer sessions that you often found yourself wishing would last longer. Yoongi was good at sticking to the topic, pulling you back around when your conversation veered into general chat or something irrelevant, which you did more and more each time, because he was nice to talk to, he was interesting; you wanted to know what he thought and what he had to say.

You also still didn’t know if he had a partner.

“Aha!”

You cornered Yoongi in the classroom before he could escape, thrusting your essay into his face. He took it from you and eyed the grade in the corner with a smirk.

“Well done, you.”

“Nailed it, mate!”

“You did.”

“This means you don’t have to tutor me anymore.”

He laughed softly.

“It’s not like I really ever did anything. You said so yourself: you know the material. You never really needed me.”

Something about that made you feel sad. You had needed him. You would not have been able to do it without him, if all your past experiences were to be relied upon.

“Well, actually...”

You had been working up to this. It was the perfect opportunity so you had just been waiting, waiting for your grade, waiting for this open target.

“I was kind of hoping you might have some time to talk over the next one with me... Not formally, as a tutor, but just... y’know... Like, as a classmate. Or friend.”

Yoongi blinked rapidly, his mouth slightly open.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah ok.”

“Cool. I’ll, um, text you or something and we can set up a time?”

He nodded. There was a tiny stretch of tension between you, held for just a moment, before he stood from his seat and you straightened up, readying to walk away.

“I’ll see you... soon, I guess.”

“Yeah, soon.”

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #min yoongi #suga x reader #suga fanfic #yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

Note

I have a request for your brain cleanse if you’re open to something a little more in the feels.

I’m currently moving houses but I’ve lived here for my entire life. 20 years of calling this place home and in a few days I’ll never be able to call it home again. Tonight is the last night I get to sleep in my bedroom. Long story short it’s been a very emotional few weeks.

I was wondering if you could write something with either echo or hunter or maybe all of the bad batch as a group comforting the reader as they process moving out of their house or the marauder? Or maybe as they say goodbye from something/someone from their childhood? Or whatever you come up with.

Your writing always brightens my day and I’m always excited when I see that you’ve updated and I look forward to seeing what you come up with. And if inspiration doesn’t strike you with this request or you don’t feel comfortable with it then please don’t strain yourself either. I’d be just as happy to see your favourite gifs of each of the batchers if you have some ;)

(Sorry for written an essay lol)

Oh, anon, I’m sending you so much love. I remember when I had to move out of my childhood home, too, and it broke my heart, so I was very much in the feels writing this. And please don't apologise for writing so much, it's lovely!

I added in a memory from my childhood home, and thank you for sharing some of yours with me so I could weave one in, too.

Hold on to the memories from that house, and don’t forget to make some incredible new ones in this next chapter of life <3

As One Door Closes

As the Empire’s grasp on the galaxy deepens, you have no choice but to move your parents to the safety of Pabu. While having them close once again is a blessing, it means closing the door on your childhood home one last time.

Pairing: All Batch x f!reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: leaving behind childhood home, bittersweet, comforting, happy memories, supportive and soft Batch, fraternal polyandry (aka the boys are all with reader).

“That’s the last crate, cyare.” Echo’s voice is soft as he stands beside you in the entrance hall of your childhood home. Footsteps behind you let you know that the rest of your boys had stepped inside, too.

You had them all back now. Utilising the network Rex had built, you’d hit Mount Tantiss hard, rescuing Omega and Crosshair and finding Tech clinging to life in a bacta tank. Every other clone shipped off to Hemlock had been saved, too, and you’d all returned to Pabu. Things had been almost normal until you’d received a transmission from your parents.

The Empire was closing in on your home planet, and they no longer felt safe staying there. During the war, your father – a prominent businessman – had been vocal and proactive in supporting the Republic, and your parents feared retribution if the Empire took hold of the planet. Options had been limited, and, in the end, the only solution had been to move them to Pabu. Having them closer would be a blessing, especially as they’d taken a shine to your boys and Omega, but it meant saying goodbye to where you’d grown up.

Head tilting to the side, you caught sight of the marks etched onto one of the doorframes. “They stopped measuring when I was ten.” You murmured, moving your fingers across the ridges carved into the surface, each denoting your height over childhood.

The next few steps took you up the stairs, and your ascent was silent as you missed every creaky piece of flooring. The boys followed behind you, albeit not as quietly. You grasped the railing on the landing, glancing down to the ground floor. “When I was six, my father bought home some wooden toys he’d found at the market. I remember him lifting me up so I could drop them over the edge of the railing.” You recall wistfully. A small laugh slides from your lips as you glance towards the five men crowded around the top of the stairs, their attention focused on you. “They were toy soldiers with tiny parachutes. Father would put me down, and I’d race to the bottom of the stairs to catch them so they’d never be hurt.”

“That explains a lot.” Crosshair quipped, leaning against the newel post.

More laughter leaves you as your gaze moves back to the ground floor, the memories washing over you. “Over the years, I lost them, one by one. The last one went missing about six months before the war broke out. I guess the galaxy figured I was about to get the real deal and wouldn’t need the toy ones.” You can’t help but tease, enjoying the varying chuckles that filled the air.

You sighed, your gaze lingering on the staircase as if trying to imprint every detail in your memory. Turning, the door to your childhood bedroom loomed ahead, and you pushed it open gently, the soft squeak of hinges echoing in the quiet house. You’d never seen the room so empty before.

The walls were still the exact colour you’d picked out when you’d been sixteen – so mature for your age, confident on your path in life. Funny how a galactic war, a handful of men, and a young girl had led you down a different way.

Stepping further into the room, your gaze lingers on the inbuilt desk near the window, where you’d often spent hours daydreaming and studying. You trace your fingers along the edge, feeling the grooves worn by years of creative exploration.

“Any stories from this room, darling?” You turned to find Tech leaning against the door frame, his eyes fixed on you with a softness that warmed your heart.

Memories flooded back like a tidal wave. “Oh, plenty. This room saw the birth of my first attempts at poetry. Terrible stuff, really. I used to think I would be a famous poet or something.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “Do you have any of those poems saved?”

You shot him a playful glare. “Absolutely not. Some things are best left in the past.”

The room echoed with laughter, the sound bouncing off the now-bare walls. “I remember leaving the window open just a crack once to pry it open after sneaking out to attend a party. Got caught, of course. My mother nearly had a heart attack.”

Wrecker grinned. “Always been a troublemaker, huh?”

“Just a bit.” You admitted with a smirk. “But it was all in good fun. This room was my sanctuary.”

You moved to the inbuilt closet, fingers tapping against the door. “On my fourteenth birthday, my parents went out for the night so my friends and I could have a girls' night. But one of them decided to tell some of the guys at school, so there were quite a few of us.” You recalled. Head tipping towards your boys, the corners of your lips curved into a smile. “Ever heard of seven minutes in heaven?”

The room filled with a chorus of amused groans and smirks. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t play that.” Crosshair teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You leaned against the closet door, crossing your arms with a playful grin. “Guilty. Of course, my parents’ bedroom was off-limits, but the closet here seemed like a fine alternative. It wasn’t exactly seven minutes, and heaven was debatable, but it was a memorable birthday, to say the least.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “And who, may I ask, was your lucky companion?”

You feigned innocence. “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

Wrecker scratched his head. “I don’t get it. What’s the point of being in a closet for seven minutes?”

Hunter chuckled, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. “It’s a game, big guy. You go into a dark closet with someone, and things happen.”

Wrecker’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh! Got it.”

You shared another round of laughter at Wrecker’s sudden understanding, the camaraderie between you and your boys filling the room with warmth. As the mirth settled, you couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet twinge. This room held countless memories; now, it was time to say goodbye.

Slowly, Tech offered out his hand, encouraging you across the room. Though hard, you slowly stepped back to him, fingers interlacing. It was poignant that while you were leaving this room behind – this house – you were going with them. That this had been home until they’d come along.

With the others having returned downstairs, you pause at the door for a second, looking back at the room you’d grown up in, where so many of your firsts had happened – your first steps when this had been your nursery, your first words, your first kiss, and your first heartbreak. Where you’d laughed until your sides had hurt and sobbed when the weight of the galaxy had felt too much. Where you’d gazed out of the window at the stars and dreamed about the future. “Thank you.” You silently acknowledge the part this little room had played in raising you before you step out of it for the last time, letting Tech guide you back down the stairs.

You circled into the living room, the furniture gone, and the final crates of belongings safely stowed on the Marauder, ready for their next life on Pabu. Indents marked the floor, reminders of where the furniture had once stood for years, and the colour of the walls was far more faded than it once had been, though bright patches still remained where family photos had once hung.

“We watched so many holofilms in here. As a family, we used to stay up as late as possible when I didn’t have school to see how many we could marathon – I used to love the ones about the wizard who went to magic school. But I’d always fall asleep before we could finish them all.” The memory made you smile. “Whenever I had friends over, father would make a blanket fort for us so we could watch the latest holodrama, and mother would bake a Jogan fruit pie and hide packets of sour berry sweets down the side of the couch for us to find.”

“Bet everyone was desperate for an invite.” Hunter watched as you looked around the room, more curious now about what you’d been like as a child.

Glancing over your shoulder towards him, you gave a small laugh. “I wasn’t a popular kid, unfortunately.”

“With how lovely you are, darling, I find that hard to believe.” Tech countered, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

Warmth seeps into your cheeks – regardless of how long you’d been with them, you’d never be able to gracefully accept their compliments. Hand sliding from Tech’s, your feet carry you to the large window at the back of the room, overlooking the garden. More memories come back – running across the grass with your parents during a game of tag, building snowmen when the weather turned bad, and, in your teens, learning how to shoot with your father’s old blaster.

Crosshair stands beside you, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm, a steadfast presence even after everything he’d been through. Those hawkish eyes take in the shrubs and flowers your mother had spent years cultivating, and then they find the scorch marks on the fences. “Hm, your aim hasn’t improved.” He teases, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glances down at you. Although he couldn’t understand being sentimental about a place, he knew how important this was to you.

“Rude.” You mutter in response, though there’s no bite to your words as your gaze shifts to look up at him, hand reaching out to give his arm a gentle shove.

Your boys' rich cacophony of chuckles follows you into the kitchen, and for a moment, you’re grateful they’re here with you. Doing this on your own would’ve broken your heart.

You lean back against one of the kitchen counters to take in the whole room. “Mother used to sit me on the counter as a child so I could watch her bake.” You share, lifting a hand to point across the room. “If there’s one thing I won’t miss, it’s that nanowave stove. Makes the most obnoxious noise when the timer runs down.

“Think your mother will bake in her new kitchen?” Wrecker asks, already imagining all the delicious new food he’ll get to try. He was looking forward to branching out.

“Oh, I hope so. If there’s one thing I’ve missed over the last four years, it’s been her Roonan lemon cakes.” Your mouth waters at the thought. At the start of the war, you’d signed up as a liaison officer, and you hadn’t really had the time after that to return home. When shore leave had come around, you’d wanted to spend it with your boys.

A few weeks ago, after receiving your parents’ transmission, you returned here with them and Omega to talk through a plan. Your parents had fawned over the young girl, and the impressed look your mother had given you when she’d realised that you had all five men wrapped around your little finger would forever be seared into your mind. Ushering your parents onto the Marauder, you’d introduced them to Pabu, and they’d immediately fallen in love with the sunshiny island. Your childhood home had gone up for sale quickly after, and someone had snatched it up. The credits had paid for a gorgeous little villa on Pabu for them, and they’d invested the rest.

One night, when you’d stopped by to see how they were getting on, you’d caught the tail end of one of your father’s calls, where he’d been discussing setting aside some credits in case Omega, or any other grandchildren, wanted to go to college in the future.

You’d cried like a baby at the sweetness of it once you’d made it home and told the boys. Children weren’t something you had thought about – too busy fighting a war and escaping the Empire – but they’d exchanged a few glances as you’d been drying your tears.

The last room you ventured into was the dining room. The large dining table had already been transported back to Pabu, but the marks from where it had been shoved against the wall still lingered. So many family meals, so much laughter, and many late nights spent doing your homework had happened in this room.

As Hunter watched your gaze move to the marks on the wall, he knew what you were thinking. “It’s in their new home, cyar’ika. You won’t have to stop making memories around it – think of it that way.” He comforted.

“I know.” You concede, offering him a thankful smile. “And now you all get to sit around it too.” Your mother had already insisted on hosting a family dinner once a week.

“Sap.” Crosshair teases in his typical fashion.

Snorting, you shake your head fondly. “You love it.” You counter.

“I love you.” He corrects, shooting you a playful wink.

Laughter fills the air again, and as a group, you slowly return to the entrance hall. One by one, your boys file out of the house. Echo stops to kiss your forehead before joining his brothers outside, giving you a moment.

Alone in the entrance hall, you look around, fingers ghosting along the familiar walls. The memories embedded in the house's very foundation flood your mind, and Echo’s kiss lingers. The final moments you’ve experienced here – of laughter and love with the men you’re building a new life with – offer you comfort.

With a deep breath, you step out onto the porch, closing the door behind you for the last time. The cool breeze coils around you, and as you descend the steps, you cast a final glance at the house that helped shape you.

“Goodbye, old friend.” You whisper, letting go of the home that cradled your history. The embrace of your blood family and the family you’ve found awaits. And while you're excited to make new memories with them all on Pabu, you’ll always treasure the ones you made here.

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bluehoodiewoozi · 5 months

Text

DRABBLE MARATHON #13:

LEE CHAN + Library

Though quiet on most days, the library always came bustling to life sometime in the second half of the semester. Empty desks and beanbags became occupied by students who looked like they hadn’t slept in days – messy hair, bags under their eyes, and wearing hoodies that should’ve found their way into the washing machine ages ago already.

Frankly, you were no exception. Head heavy but heart racing as an after effect of too much caffeine, you too sat in the library with your laptop and a textbook you might as well have picked up for the first time in your life.

You were halfway done with your essay when you heard a familiar theatrical sigh.

When you glanced up, you found yourself smiling at Chan. He, on the other hand, looked almost annoyed to see your smile.

He slumped into the seat across from you, all but throwing his book bag on the floor, before glaring at you. His voice went up a pitch from his usual tone as he imitated you: “‘He won’t ask that on the exam~”’

His voice dropped to its normal range or even lower, “You little liar.”

You stared at him quizzically. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically before resting his cheek on the desk. “I took my biochem exam today.”

“Oh.” You struggled to find the words. “That was today?”

“You literally helped me make a study guide yesterday,” he whined, straightening up again. “Do you have a doppelganger or something? Was it a different (Y/n) in my dorm yesterday, with the highlighters and the kisses for the right answers?”

“No–” You took a moment to think about it, tilting your head. “No, I’m pretty sure that was me.”

He snorted. “I hope your essay’s going better than my exam.”

You could only sigh – it was all he needed to know exactly how it was going. His gaze softened, concern taking over.

“It’s not going, is it?” he gently asked, reaching across the table to hold your hand. “How long have you been writing?”

“I’ve been here since 11,” you responded and ran a hand over your face, resisting the urge to tug on your hair. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

He pouted. “Have you taken any breaks?”

“No time.”

“There’s always time for breaks,” he protested and got up to move his seat next to you instead, his hand never leaving yours. “How about we close your laptop and you lean on my shoulder and you take a quick nap?”

“You think that’ll help?” you wondered, eyes widening as you considered the possibility. He hummed and nodded confidently, already patting his shoulder to invite you to lean against it. Begrudgingly (not really, but you had to justify this procrastination episode somehow), you placed your cheek on his shoulder and closed your eyes. “Promise to wake me up in 15 minutes?”

“20,” he argued.

“15.”

“25.” You leaned your head up to glare at him but he only chuckled. “You look like a panda with those eye bags, sweetheart. Just sleep.”

You bit the inside of your mouth in thought, eyes narrowing before you leaned back into the previous position. “17 minutes.”

“Deal.” He smiled, victorious, and caressed your cheek with the bank of his hand. “Sleep well.”

#dino scenarios #dino x reader #lee chan scenarios #svt dino #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios

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txtmetonight · 2 months

Text

Second Chances?

call summary ⋆ ★ Maybe he's too good for you or maybe your just an asshole

"reader accidentally cheats on member while drunk when he's overseas and he comes back and finds out even though reader tried to hide it from him. but reader truly doesn't want to break up and with a heavy heart tells him to do the same so that they would be even."

caller ID *. * Anonymous

pairing ⋆ ★ OT5 x Fem! Reader

genre *. * Angst, Fluff

warnings ⋆ ★ Cheating, erm toxic behavior, crying, bad grammar bc I was too lazy to check it lol, alcohol

call duration⋆ ★ 4.2k (Headcannons + a little story)

a/n*. * omg sorry this is so late 😭 I work with kids and no one tells you that working with small children gives you the immune system of a Victorian child 💀 and 3 of my classes had assigned me several essays to write. Hopefully this satisfies you bc i changed some of the stuff around so it didn't seem repeated for each member and may have taken your request and just ran with it lololol. Also if you see an uncanny similarities between one of my enhypen headcannons...no you don't zbzbzbz.

Soobin ˚ · • . ° .

✭ The first night that Soobin has ever cried to you, his lips trembled as he tucked his head into the crook of your shoulder, he had asked you not to leave him–to stay with him thick and thin for he couldn’t live a life without you

✭ Pressing soft kisses to his head, you lifted his head to leave a long-lasting kiss on his lips, melting into him before you pulled apart, love swirling on the pads of your fingers as you wiped away his tears

✭ “I will never ever leave you. I promise.”

✭ And you don’t, you really don’t, but now your lips are bruised with guilt that you can’t get rid of as many times as you wash your face, and your eyes are rimmed with tears that can’t seem to stop falling even each time you think that you’re leaked them all

✭ The bathroom mirror reflects a version of yourself that you wished to never see yourself–a lying cheater when your poor hardworking boyfriend was overseas

✭ You really suppose that you didn’t mean to, but you’ve been missing the touch of someone or maybe you were missing the feeling of exhilaration thriving underneath the skin so that’s why...

✭ That’s why you let Hyunjin let you kiss you so soft underneath the club’s lights while your brain fell into a drunken haze that you couldn’t escape

✭ You don’t dare to tell anyone though and for days on end you’re ridiculed with endless guilt and insecurity as you wait for your lover to come back home–which even them brings you more despair

✭ You love Soobin and your heart aches for him and so with much mulling over a despicable thought you had decided that you would hide the sinful kiss and continue with him normally even though your stomach churned in guilty displeasure

✭ And when your boyfriend came back with a flourish of his love, you kiss him hard against his lips trying to erase the pain that stirred deep inside you

“Are you alright babe?” He chuckles, pulling away from you to scan your face, cradling you in his arms. “I... I just missed you a lot” You whisper and pull him back into a kiss again, tears threatening to flood down your cheeks, a promise to yourself that you’d never ever let him find out–even as much as guilt as you felt.

✭ Too bad you weren’t as careful as you thought you were–because, after nights of unrestful slumbers and gut-wrenching pain, you find yourself in the hands of your own karma, hands that choke you slowly when Soobin pulls out a piece of paper that you didn’t even know existed

✭ That sinful night when you committed an act of immorality, it seems so that Hyunjin has slipped his number and rather disgusting words down the pocket of your jeans

“Soobin...” Your head hangs low as you chew on the bottom of your lip, swaying side to side as you watch your boyfriend unfold the slip with a tremble in his hands. “I had fun with you. Hit me up again? XOXO Jinnie.” His eyes are rimmed with red and you your guts swoop and tumble up your throat where they threaten to spill out of your tongue.

“I didn’t mean to,” you cry, walking a step closer to him, but stop when he flinches. “How am I–how am I supposed to trust you.” His words are vile like poison and send you spiraling and before you know it, you’re on you’ve buckled down onto your knees and Soobin’s right by your side in a worry. “(Y/n)–”

“I’m so sorry Soobin! I really–really didn’t mean to, I dunno what happened and all of a sudden, I–no he kissed me and I just–” You’re breaking down and your lover is wiping away your tears and kissing your cheeks. You feel worse than you felt before. You’re not sure why he was doing this but your heart aches for him. It’s about to burst.

“Calm down.” He sighs, pushing back your hair, gently turning your jaw to look at him with pity lacing his eyes. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You whimper, eyes widening and jaw going slack when he doesn’t answer. “Soobin?” You’re gasping for air by now and your brain makes you pant when you clutch his hands against you.

“Soobin–you can–you can cheat on me if you want to! I really–please don’t leave me!”

His eyes widen in shock before he shakes his head and pulls you closer to him, letting you curl against his frame while you shake. “(Y/n), sweetheart, I–no. I’m not going to do that.” He reassures but those aren’t the words you’re looking for, searching the expanse of his tearing eyes for them instead. Soobin notices and kisses you softly on the forehead.

“And I’m not going to leave you either.”

Yeonjun ˚ · • . ° .

✭ Yeonjun is truly one of a kind–a man that you couldn’t even start to explain even as much as your tongue twisted and turned with words that tried to describe him

✭ Yeonjun who is your boyfriend, Yeonjun who you love very much that your heart feels like it would explode in adoration, Yeonjun who you’re sure makes out with half of the girls he meets because, he is just so pretty and handsome, and he just can’t help it

✭ Perhaps you are really stupid, too blind in love to notice his tousled hair every other night, or the bright red lips that plaster his neck–a color that you don’t even own!

✭ And maybe you’re tired of it, you really are, but every time you have your body aches to leave him, you always find yourself back at step 1, kissing him fondly as he whispers sweet nonsensical words to you, having you drink it in like ambrosia

✭ You suppose you miss true love once more–and crave it in ways that you couldn’t imagine

✭ So, when you let a childhood friend that you’ve known has liked you for years, back into the space of your living room, just because you were starting to feel the shadows of Yeonjun’s absence on you...

✭ You let him tap his finger on your jaw and pull you in to softly kiss you, raw emotion bursting in your gut when Changbin pulls away, his fingers wiping away the tears that you cast

When Changbin places another kiss right on the corner of your lips, your heart melts and you sob, tucking into his chest for a chance to escape. “(Y/n), I don’t know why you’re still with him, but I promise I can treat you better.” You nod, closing your eyes as crimson paints your mouth, and after much thought, you say what you believe you deserve. “I–I’ll break up with him.”

✭ Yeonjun is more caring than ever when he comes back, and you wonder what happened in the span of a few months

✭ He stays behind more, helps you with the chores and you wake up every morning with his head snuggling the crook of your neck, placing kisses of love that you couldn’t find before

✭ He blamed it on the homesickness because you’re his home and he loves you very much

✭ And you blame it on the guilt and the bullshit

✭ But you can’t help getting the words out of your mouth and it scratches your throat as you stand next to him, in his embrace, where you find a bruise on his neck

✭ But you suppose fate was giving you one more chance when Yeonjun found Changbin’s sweater in your shared room

“(Y/n) whose is this? This definitely isn’t mine.” Yeonjun spits, throwing a bright blue sweater at your feet when you enter the room. Your eyes widen and you shake your head, mouth trembling when you pick it up. “It’s–it’s...” Looking at his furrowed brows you falter and take a step back. “I don’t know.” Yeonjun sneers, ‘Really? Is it not Changbin's? Do you really think I’m that dumb?!”

Tears leak down your cheeks when you realize that this is your chance. But you’re too afraid–you think. Too scared to imagine your life without Yeonjun. And so, you shake your head at his words, saliva slowly sticking your teeth close. “You’re such a fucking–” He bites his lips to stop his words and messes up his hair in frustration.

“Yeonjun...” You cry.

“What!” He barks.

“You can cheat on me back if you want to.”

Yeonjun’s lips quiver into a smile before it diminishes into a tight lip, slowly walking towards you to back you into the wall. “What kind of boyfriend would I be to do that? Cheat on my girlfriend? I’m not you, am I?” He chuckles, pulling back your hair when you look at his feet. “No, you’re not,” You say, softly pushing at his arm. “It’s whatever, sweetheart. I’m such a good boyfriend, not leaving you.”

You nod and clench your fists. “I’m so sorry Junnie. You’re an amazing boyfriend.”

✭ You don’t meet Changbin’s awaiting eyes when you and Yeonjun walk past him, figure trembling when Yeonjun flips him off

Beomgyu ˚ · • . ° .

✭ You and Beomgyu were complicated, but he doesn’t think so

✭ “He liked you” he would say, but he always seemed to ignore you in the eyes of the public, lips always tearing into a sneer when he found you staring at him with a rather pitiful look

✭ But why did he kiss you so softly every night, holding you in his arms when you cried to him about it

✭ You don’t understand him at times–he gives you severe whiplash and you’re not sure if it was intentional or not

✭ He gives and takes, and you’re exhausted when you watch him flirt with another girl in front of you but then drag you to the nearest alley because he missed your lips

✭ You’re not official in the eyes of his friends but you’re official in his heart–and it stabs you in the heart every single time when he acts like he cares

“You’re so pretty” He softly says, kissing the spot right below your ear when you turn around and face him. You have more to say, and he notices so he shuts you up with his lips. “Beomgyu I...” You pull apart and fiddle with his shirt, but he ignores your saddening mood, instead grabbing his phone. His eyes light up when someone texts him and you try to melt into the couch, shying away your gaze to the window. “Hey (Y/n), I have to go. I’ll text you later, kay?” He doesn’t even wait for your response and leaves the door shut in his wake.

✭ When Beomgyu leaves for a while, you come to an area of realization that him leaving you for a few months feels the same when he uses you like a toy–you’re alone in all the ways possible

✭ And you’re moping–which gets your friends confused and annoyed, so they’ve convinced you to go out with them for drinks

✭ Which ultimately ends up with you in the arms of an old friend that you haven’t seen in years, bringing Jaeyun back home with your lips tangled with his and his hands in your hair

✭ Yet you feel some sort of hole in your heart– and it aches and burns when his fingers expanse over your stomach and your neck

✭ When he leaves small kisses against your cheeks and forehead, while you two settles against the couch–the same couch where Beomgyu called you his so lovingly

✭ And it feels so wrong when he cuddles into your side, watching a movie that you supposed you loved when it was actually Beomgyu’s favorite

✭ So, when Jake quietly apologizes and says that he needed to pick up Heeseung because he shit-faced over a few drinks, you feel as though the rock on your chest had been lifted and you can suddenly breathe again

✭ But it’s back again, heavier than ever when you find Beomgyu ringing your doorbell just moments after, with a suitcase in hand and an angry tremor on his lips–which you just find so absurd

“Beomie, what...what are you doing–”

“Who was that?” He sputters, letting himself into your apartment. “No one.” Your mouth is clenched when you close the door behind him, cursing at yourself underneath your breath. “Seriously? No one?” He mocks, crossing his arms over when you don’t respond, but how could you when anger rolls off you and your nails dig into your skin? “I don’t know why you even care!” You yell, throwing a pillow at him in frustration.

“Ow! I–what do you mean I don’t care, of course I care!” You shake your head and grab his suitcase to take it back outside. “You’re always acting like I don’t exist when you’re with your friends but then you come back to me like nothing’s wrong! Are you embarrassed of me or something?”

“No of course not.”

“Then why?!” You stare at him for an answer, but he just looks at the ground, shuffling around with his feet. You sigh and tap your feet against the floor. “Whatever Beomgyu, just get the fuck out of my house.”

“Wait, (Y/n), I’m so sorry, I don’t know why–" His hands clasp around yours, pulling you back into him. "Just leave me alone, find another girl to cheat on with or something, because I'm done with your bullshit." You crack and suddenly you're being hugged, quivering when you start to cry.

"I'm so sorry."

Taehyun ˚ · • . ° .

✭ The first time you’ve ever cried over a movie was actually a Disney movie–Rapunzel at that

✭ And you were just sobbing because Flynn Rider loved Rapunzel and not you...which you quickly found out in a few years was a really stupid thing to cry over and served your mom a lifetime camera roll of videos that exemplified pure embarrassment

✭ But here you are now, almost 15 years later and tearing up over a boy (Jay Park) that you’ve had your eyes on for so long but can’t attain in a relationship

✭ Taehyun is in the same situation too, lost in the eyes of another girl (Yu Karina) whom he can’t help but admire

✭ So, when you sob to Hyuka about it, he immediately consults you to Taehyun and proposes a rather idiotic but genius plan that leaves you and the pink-haired boy nodding along idiotic but a genius plan that left you and the pink-haired boy nodding along

“You two should totally fake date! You know, like making whoever you want jealous. I think it would work out!” Kai’s loud and his words seem to echo inside your head while the boy you’ve met just a few moments ago stares at his friend with a rather interested look on his face.

“That’s not...a bad idea, actually.” He then turns towards you as you shy away into where you were sitting, looking back at Kai for help who does nothing but shrug. So, you sigh and slowly nod your head, growing a grin on Taehyun’s face. “Sure, why not. Wouldn’t hurt to try, I think.”

✭ Everyone was certainly shocked and surprised; eyes widening and several gasps falling from your friend’s lips (except for Kai) when you came out to everyone that you and Taehyun were dating–after some very detailed rules that you both agreed upon

✭ And it was nice you suppose, especially when you find Jay staring at your interlocked hands with Taehyun, or when you pretend to kiss him

✭ Yet sometimes, when Taehyun tucks your hair back and hugs you to his chest, your chest thrums a little in warmth and you long to indulge a little more in him

✭ You think you’re about to go insane–in turmoil, as your stomach aches each time you look at Jay and Taehyun, lips quivering at night at your feelings of love

✭ And oh god, it didn’t help that Taehyun was so nice to you, all gentlemanly-like while he pretended to care, pretended to love you as your own tenderness seemed to fester underneath your beating heart

✭ You were confused and hurt about yourself, so when Taehyun goes off for a while and you’re stuck at home, your fingers scratch at your skin for answers that you craved, bleeding at the tip of your tongue as Jay finally took his chance to kiss you in the back of a parking lot

✭ For a kiss you thought would be joyous, it was stale and gross when you recount it back sadly to Hyuka, cheeks red with shame when you see Jay’s text following up

✭ You weren’t exactly dating Taehyun so you haven’t done anything necessarily wrong, but the remnants of sourness burn your stomach, as though you were caught doing something so immoral

✭ When Taehyun comes back, you wish to cut off your lips so you wouldn’t tell him what had happened–but you quickly find out that your mutual friend had called him the very morning

The air is warm and mellow but inside your throat, it rages a storm of guilt and despise as you stare at Taehyun at the door, swaying softly on the balls of your feet when you both exchange greetings filled with unease. You’re being eaten alive, you presume when you let him in, knees becoming Jello when he sighs.

“You and Jay, huh?” He finally teases but his words don’t have a joking tilt to them, and rather are dull and blunt when it hits you. You’re not sure what to say, because you have millions to spew out to the boy next to you, a whirlwind of emotions that you want to express, but you stay silent and stare at your newly bought red boots next to the front door.

“It would’ve been nice if you told me earlier.”

“I’m sorry.” You softly whisper, not flinching at the way that his fingers rub at your knuckles. “It’s fine...I was going to ask you to ‘break up’ anyways, I didn’t think that it was working.” Your head shoots up at his words when you suddenly dawn on the situation at hand, on why your gut was churning so much when you kissed Jay.

It meant that this whole ordeal with Taehyun was going to disappear like nothing ever happened between you two. You also realize that you’re really fucking dumb when you reach out to grab his wrist, stopping him from getting up. His eyebrows raise and you feel bile in your mouth, swishing around as you try to figure out what to say.

“I–I don’t want you to leave.”

“Huh?”

You quickly shake your head, playing with the tiny rip flannel as you try not to erupt in a multitude of emotions. “I really don’t want you to leave. Just please–I... you can cheat on me if you want to, but please don’t leave me.” Your brain hurts when you think about him kissing another girl, but you’d do anything for him to be by your side, just for a little longer.

Taehyun furrows his brows and lets himself sit back down, taking your hands into his when you look away. “What’s going on?”

And finally, you sob. “I’m just so fucking sorry. I know I promised that I wouldn’t like you or whatever and that Jay was who I liked, but I can’t help it! And I really regret kissing him, and I really regret telling you to kiss another woman, because I’m going to be really fucking jealous–”

You’re shut up when Taehyun kisses you so softly, his hands tucking back a stray piece of hair from your face. “Taehyun...” You sigh, trembling against him when he wipes away a stray tear. “I like you too, pretty girl. But you promise you don’t like Jay anymore...”

Yoru heart clenches and your teeth grin but when he pulls you back into his chest, you nod.

“I promise.”

Kai ˚ · • . ° .

✭ Kai was your first sweetheart–the one that you suppose you’ve loved for your entire life without even knowing

✭ And oh god he’s so sweet, with honey eyes that never left you or a smooth tongue that spewed out countless messages of his love towards you with his tender fingers brushing a strand piece of hair away while you sat in his lap

✭ But as of now, your heart throbs with trouble and agony when you catch his faltering smile and when his plastic lips kiss you tightly, and you think that you’re going to sob–hard

✭ You assume that this was natural, feeling as though you were slowly breaking apart with him, but you find yourself praying over that it wasn’t, that you still love him as much as you did before

✭ But all that ended up doing was leave sour blood in your mouth from the number of times you bit your cheeks, hands tainted with guilt when you stared too long into the distance–just past your lover

✭ Falling out of love was maybe the best but you can’t seem to reason why

✭ Your teeth are starting to fall out and your head hurts as you try to wrap around the explanation–the revelation that’s making you and Kai feel this way

Your eyes hold tears that refuse to fall. Kai doesn’t notice and it hurts even more, but you sit next to him, watching the clock tick. You wonder if a clock was an animated object–would it get tired of its clicking? Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

Your heart doesn’t beat faster anymore next to him, and you think that it got bored. When his fingers rub at your knees, rubbing in a scar, you do nothing but stare at the time. Time used to go fast but it’s dulled now into an inconsistent background noise of humming.

✭ Kai has never liked leaving you alone for so long nor did you, always whining on the phone for him to come back to you

✭ But now you find it almost melancholy when the house is empty and the thoughts of another don’t infiltrate the air–and so you breathe deeply

✭ You take fulfilling breaths that you couldn’t do, lips drawing into a smile when you eat breakfast or talk to your friends or when you start drinking bottles and bottles of Soju that leave you crying over lost love in the middle of the night

✭ It’s bad you know, but it’s the only way you know to cope, feeling alone in a maze that you were supposed to get through with Huening

✭You’ve never in your life thought about the prospect of cheating, not with Kai who was the world’s biggest lover

✭ But you think that you’ve just soiled your lips with the mouth of another, in a haze that you were slowly falling deeper and deeper into, desperately trying to climb yourself out before everything caved into itself

✭ You feel wrong and like throwing your guts back up when you realize what you had just done but you hadn’t drastically pale too much upon the thought even though you should have

✭ Your thoughts don’t run a million miles per hour, rather just a thousand but it’s still bad...

✭ Yet you come to a realization and a questionnaire after a cup tea and some crackers for your upset stomach–Would Kai even care?

✭ It shatters your heart though you know that the both of you are stringing the other on but can’t leave, like you’re addicted to a lasting bitter taste that resides just after a sugary smidge

✭ When he arrives back, you try your best not to slip up, though you really should

✭ An Instagram post spills your secret instead

You’re not crying, surprisingly. You really should be though when Kai sends you a screenshot of you in the background of Yeji’s picture kissing Sunghoon at a small dingy bar. You don’t respond to his text either, but walk solemnly back to your shared house, the smell of decaying love just on the tip of your nose.

And when you open the door, the smell wafts through the hall and the kitchen, where Kai sits at the dining table with a huge frown on his face. “I’m sorry.” That’s the first thing you utter when you walk inside. “You didn’t mean to, did you?” He asks and his words are like tiny daggers that prickle at your skin when you nod, pressing deeper and deeper as he stands up.

“(Y/n) I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I–I think I...” He trails off and tucks his lips under his teeth. Tears begin to well in his eyes and it hurts you to the point you can’t inhale. “I know. Me too” You whisper, pulling and teasing at a hangnail, sighing when you try to throw a watery smile at him.

“If you want to, you can...can cheat on me too. You know, kiss another girl, your choice.”

Kai chuckles. “That’s not healthy and you know that (Y/n). Maybe this was for the best.”

“So, are you just going to leave?” You ask, tonging at your raw cheeks.

He nods slowly and looks at you once more, straight in the eyes so you could flinch away from him. As though you’ve been slapped. “Yeah, I think so. For the best?”

“For the best.” The clock stops ticking.

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yourdyingwish · 9 months

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Hi! I saw your post about the blue curtain thing and I was wondering what was wrong with their interpretation. I haven't taken an english/lit class in years so a lot of it has slipped my mind, and the way they explained it seemed to make sense to me (especially because I tend to intentionally do something similar for imagery in my own writing).

I just posted a pretty long explainer a second ago about this because obviously I was being flippant when I posted the original screenshot, but basically: there's nothing inherently wrong with using an author's biographical details to inform an interpretation of a piece of literature. Death of the Author is something else entirely. Some people who have never read Barthes' original essay and have maybe only heard the phrase or concept seem to think that Death of the Author is a methodology in which you ignore the author's life in favor of your "own interpretation," which is somehow always right. This could not be more wrong. But to step back, let's talk about why that original post was limiting to the practice and art of criticism (I'm going to use this instead of 'wrong') because that was your question. At the core of that original post is, in fact, basically the same limited line of thinking present in the post I was talking about. (Btw no shade to OP–I care more about the 40k people who seem to agree with them, they might have changed their mind or not articulated themselves well, I've been there). Let's look at the original curtains are blue post and this post side by side.

Putting the rest of this under a cut because it gets long

The left is a version of the original idea in the "curtains are blue" post, and the right is the post I had an issue with which seems to basically be saying that real academic literary analysis doesn't actually try to match color symbolism to meaning, and instead focuses on autobiographical details of the author's life.

If this is true to OP's experience or the experience of those reblogging the post, I hope they high-tail it out of whatever program they're studying in. The issue with both of these posts, besides their general anti-intellectual undertone, is actually their emphasis on "correct" or "real" interpretation of a text, or one that is understood as "right" by some kind of invisible cabal of criticism-theory referees who all want to tell you "what the author really said." This is, among other things, a very juvenile approach to criticism. I think the reason that this type of sentiment is so popular on tumblr is that, frankly, a lot of people on this website are in high school or early college, and have an adversarial relationship to their English teacher/professor, who grades them on how well they can analyze a text based on sometimes arbitrary criteria. It makes sense that they would see themselves being graded on their criticism as "right" or "wrong" and interpret that there is such a thing as a single interpretation of a text that is "right" or "wrong."

However, that's not really what is or should be happening in upper-level/higher education. A high school English teacher trying to teach their students about color symbolism in the Great Gatsby is simply trying to impart one possible methodology of criticism to their students and enable them to repeat the same basic critical moves that one critic, at one time, has made, because grasping the basic ability to adopt a methodology and employ it is a foundational skill for analysis. However, public schools in America can't and don't take the time to explain that this is a methodology, so many students who are tumblr-aged walk away with this idea that their English teachers or even their professors have an extremely narrow view of what is "true" in a text. Often, exposure to one methodology will leave them with the idea that this is the correct methodology, when what they should have been taught first is that obsessing over what is "correct," especially related to truth from the author, is the one thing you shouldn't do. This is why the second post is just as bad: it says that actually, it's not symbolic interpretations from the author that matter (as in 'the author meant for the curtains to just be blue'), but an author's biography which, buried under psychoanalytic layers, can be revealed as a generator of meaning (as in 'the author's mother died in a room with blue curtains'). Both of these things are irrelevant because they, probably through the above process of intellectual alienation caused by grades I mentioned above, are focused on what the author intended as being a source of truth within a text.

This is what Death of the Author makes an attempt to deconstruct, and why I mentioned it in my original post. Barthes wrote his essay at a time when theory and criticism in general was undergoing seismic shifts following two major world wars & a huge variety of other cultural undercurrents in middle of the 20th century. Many things that had been taken for granted up to that point were suddenly being reconsidered, in particular the idea that texts, art, or even language itself has a central "truth" or meaning. Massively simplified, this is one of the core tenets of post-structuralism, and you can definitely say that Barthes was a post-structuralist thinker. When Barthes wrote that the death of the author is the birth of the reader, he was simply pointing out that the assumption many centuries of Western criticism is built on–that the author is the primary meaning-maker within a text, simply because they wrote it–is wrong. I believe this is true. Some people say death of the author is a "methodology" of criticism, but to me it's actually more like a door you have to walk through in order to do really good criticism. If you free yourself from the idea of a "correct" interpretation of a text driven by authorial intent, what you're left with is the really thrilling, life-giving work of criticism: drawing connections from within and without the text, and treating it as a living document whose meaning changes over time. What I think people don't realize is that poststructuralism, either formally or in practice, is the basis for most of the literary theory we embrace and consider valid. That is NOT to say that some French dude in the 1950s invented feminism or post-colonial theory, or even paved the way for it. Instead, you could easily say that marginalized people were already approaching critical analysis in a variety of ways based on their lived experiences, and it was the academy which had to catch up. There are a lot of more complicated theoretical thoughts people have had on this, which aren't relevant here really. But I think it's worth pointing out that Death of the Author is, by my measure at least, very good to do, and is VITAL to do if you've spent most of your adult life having weird, watered-down versions of symbolic, biographical, or psychoanalytic theories of interpretation pounded into your head by overworked English teachers. I feel like I should make it clear, BTW, that what I'm saying about why I think Death of the Author is a useful text or concept and what Barthes is saying about authorship in the essay itself are two slightly different things. Barthes' investment in overturning authorship at least within the confines of this brief essay is a lot more related to him proving out his theories of poststructuralism in general than it is to opening doors to totally new forms of interpretation. In the essay he is essentially saying that the nature of texts is the nature of language itself, which is that they are completely constructed, culturally determined, and therefore open to endless interpretation. This is a beautiful idea and one I embrace fully. A lot of Marxists, queer theorists, and others rail against this at least in part, because if you stop there, you're still functioning within a very limited paradigm. You've probably heard it before, the move is basically: "everything is a construct, so nothing matters" as opposed to the feminist, critical race theory, queer theory approach, which is to say "the things we consider to be true are constructs; what narratives or modes of being exist to disrupt those constructs?" or a more Marxist/materialist approach which is to say "this is a construct, and someone constructed it because it benefitted them to do so."

But I think the original essay really is beautiful. I'm going to quote from it here:

Once the Author is distanced, the claim to "decipher" a text becomes entirely futile. To assign an Author to a text is to impose a brake on it, to furnish it with a final signified, to close writing. This conception is quite suited to criticism, which then undertakes the important task of discovering the Author (or his hypostases: society, history, the psyche, freedom) beneath the work: once the Author is found, the text is "explained," the critic has won; hence, it is hardly surprising that historically the Author's empire has been the Critic's as well, and also that (even new) criticism is today unsettled at the same time as the Author. In multiple writing, in effect, everything is to be disentangled, but nothing deciphered, structure can be followed, "threaded" (as we say of a run in a stocking) in all its reprises, all its stages, but there is no end to it, no bottom; the space of writing is to be traversed, not pierced; writing constantly posits meaning, but always in order to evaporate it: writing seeks a systematic exemption of meaning. In summary: the reason I think we should engage with texts at all is not to find a single meaning. It's not to prove out what the author said or what they didn't say. Instead, when we engage with literary criticism, our goal should be to simply say something as clearly as we can, based on the methodologies available to us. To ask "What is this? What is it doing? How is it doing it, and why do we care?" is a fundamental, beautiful question and the source of pleasure to me as a reader. Art isn't autonomous, and exists in our lives criss-crossed with social and political forces which change over time. When we can untangle the knots around a work of art, we discover ways to articulate ideas that might be impossible in other contexts. To only untangle the knot of authorial intent does ourselves, and the text, a disservice.

#mouseiero

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shifuaang · 1 year

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Conglomerate thoughts about Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 3 under the cut. Please do not read if you don't want to be spoiled! TLDR: I loved it.

I suppose I should preface this by saying Guardians Vol. 2 is my favorite MCU movie and that I hold no real affinity towards installments outside of the Guardians in the Marvel Universe. I used to be a pretty active and engaged fan, but Endgame swiftly put a stopper on that. I was very worried about how this film was charged with the task of picking up the pieces of a fractured and, frankly, careless and poorly written conclusion to Phase 3.

Long story short, I should have never doubted Gunn.

Gunn did an expert job at navigating the perimeters that Endgame thrust on him, ensuring that the plot didn't linger on what happened without neglecting the catastrophic weight of Thanos's actions. Bringing alternate universe Gamora into the fold seemed like a monstrous and difficult task. I have expressed before how much I hated the idea of Quill chasing down someone who isn’t even ‘his’ Gamora and trying to win her back, but Gunn handled this with absolute grace, assuring that everyone stayed in-character in their reactions and interactions. There was no backpedaling or continuity with how the Guardians were written in Infinity War and Endgame as I feared there would be. Gunn picked up from where we left off in Vol. 2 while still allowing us space to mourn Gamora's loss. Rocket's trauma and character development was taken seriously again. Every member of the Guardians had a well crafted arc and was given the appropriate amount of time to explore said arc.

The animal and child abuse was hard to watch. It felt way more violent than anything we've ever seen in the MCU, but I'm almost glad that it was. I feel that loss and violence is almost glossed over in the superhero genre. We don't quite get the full scope of devastation and impact that villains have caused in their quest for domination, colonization, and perfection. We've been desensitized to death and torture to a degree. Even the snap™, which most would site as the most evidentiary form of brutality in the the MCU, did not hold nearly as much weight as the actions of the High Evolutionary. Thankfully the plot never seemed like a hit over the head with a message of EUGENICS BAD! It was more a tragic exploration in what eugenics can do to an individual, how it desecrates the environment, and how the quest for perfection is gratuitous and futile.

In spite of the heavy subject matter and darkness of the film, Gunn still maintained the thread of humor that we love from the Guardians. I laughed out loud more than a handful of times, and every laugh came at a point in the film where it was necessary. There were no quips or jabs there to deflect from the seriousness of what was occurring, just enough to give the audience time to breathe. I am so glad that Guardians Vol. 3 was the first MCU movie to get the green light in the 'fuck' department. I can think of no franchise more deserving, and the way it was used was perhaps the funniest joke in the whole film.

I could write an entire essay on Mantis's arc and her development and how much she means to me as a character, but maybe (probably) I will save that for another day. To keep things short, I appreciated her continued empathy and sense of humor in such a bleak situation and after such a hard life. I see so much of myself in her, and it's incredibly moving to have someone represent aspects of yourself that you thought would never be portrayed in the superhero genre because they are more difficult to express emotionally and cerebrally. She's so important and so brilliantly acted by Pom, and I adore how much agency and confidence she was allowed.

As for people who say they didn't like the ending because it 'destroyed' the found family aspect of the Guardians, I never got the impression that these characters weren't going to meet up again and that they stopped being family. There was no discussion on how they were 'bad' for each other or that they'd be better off individually, which is normally the consensus when groups split in media. Quill should spend the remaining time his grandfather has with him. Mantis should go explore herself and her independence after years of captivity and compliance. Drax and Nebula should rebuild, and create, and love on the new occupants of Knowhere, as they've been forced to spend most of their lives being destroyed and being destructive. Rocket and Groot should carry on the legacy of the Guardians, protectors of the universe. And Gamora has clearly established a loving family of her own with the Ravagers, which is what she deserves. Everyone's ending felt pertinent and cathartic, and we were left with a sense of hope and a twinkle of potential for what could come in the future.

Thank you, Gunn and the cast and crew of this film, for making me cry the hardest I have in a theater since Toy Story 3, and for ending my favorite MCU series so beautifully. I honestly couldn't have asked for a better conclusion.

We'll all fly away together, one last time, into the forever and beautiful sky. 🚀

#guardians of the galaxy #guardians vol 3 #james gunn #anti endgame #just in case lol #review #gotg #gotg spoilers #gotg vol 3

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leofrith · 1 year

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A Critique of ACV: The Last Chapter (SPOILERS!)

I wanted to hold off on sharing my thoughts about the new content until I’d given The Last Chapter time to breathe, because I was honestly hoping that maybe if I gave it some time, I wouldn’t dislike it so much. But the more I think about it, the more I find things to dislike about it. Which is why what started out as a quick write-up of my thoughts immediately after playing The Last Chapter has now spiraled into this very long critique that got so long I needed to add subheadings to break it up.

Sorryyyyy.

I’m basically spoiling everything from The Last Chapter here, along with Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla and parts of its expansions. I also briefly mention a few other Assassin’s Creed games, mainly Odyssey and one of its DLCs. My point being, if you don’t want to know anything then please look away now. Or don’t. But I know I would have appreciated a warning before diving into this mess. 💀

As a disclaimer: this essay is not meant to be an attack, nor is it meant to place blame squarely at the feet of Darby Mcdevitt, or any of the other writers or developers involved with the game. There are so many moving parts in a game as expansive and with as much add-on content as Valhalla, and I can only guess what happened behind the scenes that brought us to this point. I don’t know who wrote what, who made what creative decisions, and I therefore don’t feel comfortable placing blame on anyone in particular. I have never worked for Ubisoft and I can therefore only speculate about their internal culture based on what has been leaked from the company over the years. Furthermore, this is not an invitation to personally attack anyone involved in the development of this game on Twitter or wherever else. This is purely an attempt on my part to articulate why me and so many other fans of Valhalla and of Eivor feel so profoundly emotionally betrayed by this ending, as well as outline some factors that I believe contributed to the way the game was mishandled.

So. I think I had already accepted when the trailer released back in September that something like this was going to happen. I had already done my mourning for the fact that Eivor would never get the send-off she deserved, which is why I think I’m a lot less upset than I would have been otherwise… but that doesn't make this suck any less. The Last Chapter was completely underwhelming, it was emotionally unsatisfying, it completely butchered Eivor's character, it felt incomplete, and rushed, and it felt more like a teaser for Mirage than anything close to the conclusion Eivor’s story deserved.

The (Character) Assassination of Eivor Varinsdottir

When we first meet Eivor as an adult, she is overconfident, brash, and she has just gotten in over her head and gotten both herself and her crew captured by the enemy. She is in the 17th year of a quest for revenge she has been in pursuit of since she was nine years old. She has spent more than half of her life hunting Kjotve, the man who stole her parents, her clan, and her childhood from her, and is fully prepared to die if need be to kill him. She is an orphan who was taken in by the Raven Clan after the slaughter of her own people, and she considers these people to be her new family. Her love for her family and community are central to Eivor’s character right from the beginning. While she learns and grows past some of her flaws throughout the game, her love for her community and her loyalty to them is what sticks with her.

Eivor also starts the game carrying an immense amount of shame for how her father died, laying down his axe in the hope that the rest of his clan would be spared, only for he and most of his people to be slaughtered anyway. Through her time spent acting as a leader to the Raven Clan–first as a warrior and later as their Jarlskona–Eivor finally understands by the end of the game why Varin did what he did, because she realizes that she would make the exact same choice to protect her people. Eivor, too, would choose to die in “dishonor” if it offered even the smallest chance to save her loved ones.

Eivor is the reincarnation of Odin; she carries his memories and his thoughts, unbeknownst to her. She has visions and prophetic dreams and hears his voice in her head, but spends much of the game not understanding the meaning of it all. The part of her that is Odin pushes her toward chasing personal glory, toward the pursuit of knowledge, toward selfishness. But she chooses to abandon all that in favor of the people she loves, even as Odin rages and screams insults into her ear and calls her a coward–the one thing she has always been most fearful of becoming. Odin is a representation of everything she has been told to value in life, and she is (literally) pulled in the opposite direction by Sigurd, Randvi, Hytham, Valka, Gunnar, Soma… everything else.

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Eivor never truly seems to grasp the meaning of her connection to Odin, Sigurd’s connection to Tyr, Basim’s connection to Loki, or anything about the sages or the Isu at all. Not in the base game or in any of the DLCs. She never really acknowledges it explicitly until The Last Chapter.

Put a pin in that.

Family and community are central to Eivor’s character. Loyalty is central to Eivor’s character. Honor is central to Eivor’s character. That’s why it makes absolutely no sense for Eivor to drop everything, seemingly out of nowhere, to go back to Vinland alone and live out the rest of her days learning from Odin, the part of her that she explicitly rejected at the end of the main game. And it certainly doesn’t justify Eivor deciding to leave Ravensthorpe in the middle of the night without a farewell, regardless of who she supposedly said goodbye to offscreen. It doesn’t justify her completely sudden and out of character decision to walk away from her clan, her family without a true goodbye. Eivor spends the entire base game acting as Jarl in Sigurd’s stead in everything but title, because Sigurd has all but completely abandoned the clan in order to chase his own ambitions, only for Eivor to supposedly do the very same thing? No. It’s completely incongruent with her character and actively contradicts facts that were established in the main game.

There are so many other inconsistencies, including the fact that I highly doubt Valka–the same Valka who we saw warn Eivor against digging too deeply in her visions in the intro to The Forgotten Saga–would simply accept Eivor departing for another continent to delve deeper into her visions. But the way they miswrote Eivor’s character was particularly glaring. There could have been a version of the last chapter in which Eivor's motivations actually made sense, but that version needed so much more evidence for it to be believable. Reading between the lines is one thing, but expecting players to accept the conclusions you’re feeding them without planting any seeds beforehand is just lazy writing. [insert “HE WOULDN’T FUCKING SAY THAT” meme]

The RPG structure is the root of all evil (I know just… hear me out on this)

I think applying an RPG structure to Assassin’s Creed was a mistake, and have thought so for a while, but not really for the reason you’re probably thinking of. The “but we’re reliving another person’s memories in the animus, so how can it possibly make sense to allow us to make choices that affect the narrative?” reason. My criticism of the addition of choices is mainly this: I think that by trying to “expand” the story by adding RPG elements and dialogue options, they instead ended up severely limiting themselves. Because the problem with adding dialogue options to Assassin’s Creed is they can never take those choices to their conclusion. They can never truly have consequences.

Trying to tell a linear story with a non-linear structure like this doesn’t work, or at the very least, it hasn’t worked in Assassin’s Creed thus far. Odyssey came closer, I think, because it had multiple distinct outcomes and player choices actually had an affect on the trajectory of the plot (Mostly. Hi, Legacy of the First Blade. I’m coming for you in a minute.). Odyssey's multiple endings present a different problem entirely in the context of Assassin’s Creed because despite the input of choice, there is still a canon version of the story and a canon ending. It leaves those players that arrived at a different outcome feeling alienated, and like their choices were incorrect or simply didn't matter.

But in Valhalla, all roads lead to more or less the same destination and most decisions have no impact on the trajectory of the story. The problem that arises from this is that players will make their choices and expect some sort of payoff, as they should. But they won’t really get it. As per Darby McDevitt, for example, Sigurd always goes back to Norway at some point, regardless of whether a player ends up with the “good” or the “bad” ending. Sigurd returning to Norway is a fixed point and the timeline will always course correct, so to speak, to reach that end.

(Thank you @/vikingnerd793 for the screenshot!)

Everyone gets more or less the same version of The Last Chapter, with the siblings’ interactions only varying slightly after the “bad” ending to reflect the fact that Eivor and Sigurd haven’t seen each other in a while. But even with the tiny variations in dialogue that exist, a few changed lines in a scene that doesn't last any longer than two minutes still fail to make Eivor and Sigurd's supposed off-screen reconciliation feel even remotely earned. Ubisoft wanted to offer “choice” while not following through with emotional payoff for those choices because they only wanted a single ending. Even if a player ends the main game with Sigurd deciding to stay in Norway as a result of Eivor’s “betrayal,” the consequences of that to their relationship are never truly explored.

Having only one ending with no variations in an RPG means that they couldn’t address any of the plot points that could have been affected by player choices. Interpersonal conflicts are watered down or only vaguely referenced. They couldn’t truly address the state of Eivor and Sigurd’s relationship because that would depend on what endgame the player reached. They couldn’t give Randvi an actual goodbye because some people didn’t romance her and therefore it might feel “forced” to those people, despite her being a major character. Vili–despite apparently being Eivor’s best friend–can’t appear because for some people, he’s busy being the Jarl of Snotinghamscire. There is no true emotional follow through for any of the choices made throughout the game. The end result is a goodbye tour consisting of Aelfred, Guthrum, and Harald, three people who Eivor has little to no emotional attachment to, but whose roles in the game are fixed no matter what choices the player makes, which means they’re safe to use. To be clear, Hytham’s role in the narrative is also fixed, but the reason I separate him from the other three is because he is actually emotionally significant to Eivor. His goodbye, unlike the other three, feels earned.

To be clear, I don’t place the blame entirely on the writers for this because, as I’ve said, they were given a franchise that revolves around linear stories, told to put dialogue options into it, and make sure all those choices still lead to the same conclusion. As an extension of that, they brought back people who worked on the base game two years after its release to tie up loose ends that should have been dealt with years ago. I wouldn't be surprised if those same creators have all since moved on from this story and its characters, both creatively and emotionally. It's been two years. Even longer than that since they actually worked on the game. I wouldn't fault them for not having the same enthusiasm they once did. But the end result is a last chapter that feels almost completely devoid of emotion, and ties up absolutely none of the loose ends that most people would expect from a permanent “goodbye.” It fails to reach the emotional highs and lows that a conclusion with two years of build up should have.

Which now brings me to Randvi.

Oh, Randvi, now and forever shackled to her map table.

I know this will be a hard pill to swallow for a lot of people, but I always suspected that they would never actually follow through on making Randvi and Eivor's relationship canon despite the fact that it is indisputably the most fleshed out romance in the game. They are hinted at right from the beginning, in the form of Randvi’s clear dissatisfaction with her marriage to Sigurd and in Eivor’s lingering gazes. It is the only romance option in the game that has any effect on one of Eivor’s core internal conflicts: remaining loyal to her brother. “The wind calls [her] back to Randvi” after almost every single regional arc, whether players choose to pursue a romance or not.

But Darby McDevitt Official Headcanon or no, I never thought Ubisoft would "force" another romance after the backlash from Odyssey's Legacy of the First Blade (I told you I’d come back to it). I truly believe the company will and has happily suffered criticism from the Queer community for forcing a relationship on gamers who played Kassandra as a lesbian. Kassandra who, prior to the DLC, also never shows any interest in starting a family, or becoming a mother, or “continuing the family line”, as would become Ubisoft’s flimsy correction to the storyline after the criticisms started rolling in. But I highly doubt they would be okay with alienating the bigots who seem to form the loudest portion of their player base. That would be too much of a risk to their bottom line.

To me, the romance plotline in Legacy of the First Blade was the inevitable result of Ubisoft wanting to tell a linear story with a non-linear structure. I think they did so without thinking through the implications of letting players choose their character's sexuality, only to then backtrack on it later because they needed Kassandra to have a baby. And what they seemed to take away from that was only that all forced romance is bad, without grasping the nuance of why that particular forced romance was so bad. This isn’t to say there should be any forced romance at all but that it should have served as a lesson of why one shouldn’t make a game with so much emphasis on player choice, only to take that choice away and even retroactively nullify those choices when it suits the needs of the plot. But that wasn't Ubisoft's takeaway. So in Valhalla, they pulled back. They made all player choices matter just a little bit less.

Eivor and Randvi’s relationship is inarguably handled with more care than any of the other romances in the game. It is inextricable from the narrative, whether it is a romantic relationship or a friendship. But despite any amount of blatantly obvious subtext that exists, Valhalla is still an RPG and the creators cannot confirm or deny any of the choices as correct or incorrect. And because they have to cater to all possible endings, they cannot address Eivor and Randvi’s relationship in any capacity because it might be misconstrued as being forced. Despite every overt piece of evidence that exists, Valhalla is still technically an RPG and at the end of the day, plenty of people did not choose Randvi. No amount of narrative director headcanons or heavy subtext will change the fact that Randvi is a seemingly meaningless choice in a sea of meaningless choices, and has now remained so permanently.

Ubisoft just really sucks as a company, actually

Everything that I am about to say in this section (and honestly, most of the next one as well) is conjecture because again, I don't know how certain creative decisions were reached behind the scenes. This isn't just about Randvi, or about Eivor's sexuality. It’s also about Ubisoft’s long and storied history of internal misconduct and suppression of marginalized voices. It's about Ubisoft's history of employee abuse in general. It's about the fact that Ubisoft suddenly decided to let players choose their gender, but only once they finally got around to making mainline titles starring women. Syndicate’s Jacob and Evie share the role of protagonist, and would have also shared equal screen time if Evie’s role hadn’t been significantly minimized throughout production in favour of her brother. Aya was originally meant to replace Bayek as the main playable character early on in Origins, but was later reduced to a side character who is only playable in a few missions throughout the game. Aya, the founder of the Hidden Ones. The order that would later evolve into the Assassins. The order that is the namesake of the entire franchise, just to be clear. Odyssey was originally conceived as Kassandra’s game, before the developers were made to allow players the choice to play as Alexios. Every female protagonist in the franchise thus far has been minimized in some way, and Eivor is unfortunately no different.

Assassin's Creed is a huge enough brand at this point that they could have easily released Odyssey with only Kassandra, and Valhalla with only Eivor. But instead of taking a "risk" and doing just that, they added the male options to cater to a small but vocal minority of misogynistic piss babies who don't want women to exist in their video games, period. At least, certainly not as fully realized characters with personalities and thoughts and feelings of their own. That would require acknowledging women as people, rather than as identical playthings that mostly exist as a social stealth mechanic for them to hide behind when they need a cover.

It’s especially funny because it was such a futile effort. That very same group of people was never not going to complain about Assassin’s Creed going “woke” for having female protagonists, even if they were optional. Those people were going to complain no matter what, and they absolutely have as evidenced by the fact that they've been having a conniption on Twitter for the past few months now that Eivor is suddenly getting even half of the attention from the marketing team that Havi has gotten for two years. The comments section on every official social media post featuring Eivor is a sea of people complaining about how “female” Eivor being canon makes no sense, how her voice sucks, how she is just the result of Ubisoft pandering to a “woke” demographic. The “fan” response could not be more blatantly misogynistic. What’s more, Ubisoft bases the trajectory of their games at least partially on fan responses. It’s a toxic feedback loop of them making creative decisions built on sexism and the fans responding in turn.

Ubisoft deciding to implement gender choice as a mechanic didn't happen because they suddenly had a change of heart after happily ignoring their female players for years. It happened because they got busted for the "women don't sell" comments and the company's history of burying sexual assault allegations, and because they finally caught on to the fact that catering to gamers that aren't cishet men might actually be profitable. And it wasn't for lack of trying from the devs within the company because again, Origins was originally conceived as being Aya's game, Evie and Jacob were at the very least supposed to have equal screen time when development on Syndicate was in the early stages, Elise's role in Unity was also reduced... you get the idea.

Letting people choose to play as a woman or letting people choose to play as a Queer person is great. But it's an obvious cop out when your company also has a history of suppressing those very same voices, has done next to nothing to remedy the toxic company culture that encourages that behaviour in the first place, and when you've been dragging your feet as a developer about making your games even just a bit more inclusive for years. It’s an empty gesture when those female characters need to be watered down just enough for their male counterparts to make some amount of sense in the story, and when the marketing for the game hides them away like some kind of shameful secret.

Suddenly making games starring female protagonists because you’ve realized that it might be profitable, while also making it optional anyway, isn’t exactly the win for representation they seem to think it is. Especially when the marketing favours the non-canon, male protagonists so totally that most people would assume Eivor and Kassandra are skins of their male counterparts. Because heaven forbid the poor baby boys have their escapist fantasy shaken if they have to play as a woman who’s better at getting girls than they are. Making your representation optional makes your representation look half-assed and while I absolutely adore Eivor and Kassandra, I mourn what they could have been if their stories were allowed to be fully theirs.

Perhaps I’m being overly harsh and Ubisoft simply decided to implement gender choice in Valhalla in good faith. I honestly wouldn’t care if I thought it had, or if AC games had always allowed players to choose their gender. But considering the company’s history, and considering the game’s marketing, I somehow doubt that. Especially when, in their first game featuring a canon male protagonist since before AC pivoted to RPGs, they are not giving players the option to choose their gender.

Hi Basim.

Now don’t get me wrong. I obviously understand why Mirage doesn’t allow players to choose their gender; Basim is a pre-existing character, and it really wouldn’t make sense. But it is so transparent that they are willing to jump through narrative hoops to explain why Alexios is playable as the Eagle Bearer, but the same thing can’t be done for Basim. I suppose the importance of coming up with convoluted reasons as to why your protagonist’s gender is so easily changeable fades away when you’re not trying to replace a woman.

But what’s this? By God it’s–it’s Mirage with a steel chair!

The final content update for Valhalla feels like a teaser for Mirage. Full stop. If you think I'm being too harsh or unfair, then that's your prerogative. But in The Last Chapter, in the long-awaited conclusion to Eivor’s story, we don't even get to play as Eivor. The entire questline (if it can even be considered that much) consists almost entirely of cutscenes, which we view through Basim's perspective while Eivor is relegated to a side character. It’s a collection of Eivor’s memories that are supposedly filtered by emotional intensity, as Basim puts it. Grief, longing, sadness: all emotions that I fail to see being presented in the memories they gave us, at least for the most part. For the first time in Valhalla, we are voyeurs to Eivor’s memories rather than experiencing her life through her own eyes. The role of the animus user in past Assassin’s Creed games has always been pretty unobtrusive, but The Last Chapter constantly reminds us that Basim is there and watching. "Animus magic," as Basim calls it, was less of a necessity to the plot and felt a lot more like Ubisoft's marketing department gone awry.

I'm thinking about what Basim says at the end of the base game, when he is in the modern day and speaking to Eivor's remains. When he says, "I can take from you anything I want... your memories, your skills, your secrets. They're all mine." It's so ironic because he really stole Eivor's ending right out from under her, and I would have to laugh if it didn’t suck so much. It's all I could think about while I was watching Basim flippantly scrub through some of Eivor's most "emotional" memories which for some reason include… saying goodbye to Guthrum, a character we spend very little time with in the grand scheme of things, and who Eivor has next to no emotional attachment to. I understand the desire to tie up loose ends in terms of the historical events that were happening around this time, and they absolutely should have done all that because Assassin’s Creed has always been, in part, an exploration of history. But it should not have happened at the cost of providing closure for characters who were such significant figures in Eivor’s life.

I thought the Roshan quest was fun and I loved her and Eivor’s dynamic, even if we only got a small glimpse of it. But it was development time that could have been spent on wrapping up Eivor’s narrative instead of making another timeline agnostic add-on stealth mission in a game that has always had notoriously janky stealth mechanics. I look forward to seeing more of Roshan in Mirage and can now rest easy knowing that she is going to survive to the end of that game (although I cannot fathom why they decided to spoil that so early on). But they used what was apparently very limited time to give us a quest, very clearly a nod to Mirage, that does more to promote their next AAA title than serve the narrative of Valhalla.

Using the ending of a game to lead into the next is fine and is to be expected. But that transition should not come at the cost of a resolution for the story you're leaving behind. And really, it seems there was far more thought put into Basim and William Miles' first meeting than how Eivor came to the decision to leave for Vinland.

I think Basim is an incredibly rich, complex character, and it will be interesting to see what direction they take his prequel. But as someone who has actually been really excited for Mirage, the way they've dealt with this transition between games has left me feeling so conflicted, not least of all because of how quickly Ubisoft dropped the ball on Valhalla as soon as Mirage was announced. I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at everything we will be gaining with Basim in the next game without also feeling bitter about everything we lost with Eivor. It’s not terribly surprising, since Ubisoft has never treated Eivor’s character with any amount of respect; not in the marketing, and not in most of the post-launch content that has come out in the past year.

The post-launch that launched absolutely nothing

Darby has now said that The Last Chapter is meant as more of a direct follow up to the epilogue of the main campaign, to be played right after Gunnar's wedding. This is why they didn't feel the need to show a goodbye between Eivor and her people; the wedding functions as a sufficient goodbye to the Raven Clan.

But even if that was even remotely satisfying, it doesn't explain when Eivor came to accept her role as a sage, a role that she has yet to understand by the end of the base game, even if she is perhaps beginning to question it at the very least. It doesn't explain why it was never truly addressed in any of the some 100 plus hours of content that have been released for this game since then. It doesn't explain why Eivor and Randvi might finally pursue a relationship, only for Eivor to suddenly pick up and leave for Vinland, alone and permanently. It doesn’t explain why Eivor would leave for distant shores without saying goodbye to Ljufvina, or Vili, or Stowe and Erke, or Broder, or Oswald and Valdis, or Swanburrow, or any of the many other people whose relationships Eivor cherishes throughout the game.

If anything, The Last Chapter being played immediately after Gunnar's wedding and the rest of the Hamtunscire epilogue makes it even more important for Eivor to say goodbye to her people, because that whole arc only cements Eivor’s devotion to her people, as well as how much her “encounters” with Odin have shaken her faith. Even then, that doesn't even touch on when or why she came to the decision to leave in the first place.

Due to a “play anytime” approach that Ubisoft–for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom–decided to take with all the post-launch content for this game, all DLCs for Valhalla are exactly that: they can be played at any time. They go to great pains to avoid spoiling story points from the base game, they rarely make references to events from the base game and, perhaps most critically here, they don’t build on any of the plotlines of the base game.

Remember that pin we stuck in Odin earlier? Hi. He's back.

None of the DLCs released in post-launch–from Wrath of the Druids to The Siege of Paris, to smaller, free additions such as the River Raids–touch on Eivor’s connection to Odin or her understanding of it, or any of the other potential threads left behind by the base game. Other more mythologically inclined entries like the Mastery Challenges, Dawn of Ragnarok, and The Forgotten Saga scratch the surface of it, but never dig deep enough for Eivor to put two and two together. Even in the Odyssey crossover with Kassandra, who has intimate knowledge of the Isu and their artifacts, Eivor remains completely clueless about her role as a sage despite it being the perfect opportunity for her to learn more.

At no point is Eivor shown to make any wild revelations about her Isu heritage that could justify her decision to leave. There is a gaping hole in the narrative where that development should be, and therefore the jump from “everything else” to “I’m older now, and I want to learn from the god who lives in my head,” is unearned and comes from completely out of nowhere. The DLCs could have remedied this easily by giving us deeper insight into how Eivor interprets her visions, specifically how she interprets her relationship to Odin. They could have dug into how and when she comes to terms with that connection, and the same could be said for how she comes to know about all the other sages, including Harald, who Eivor and Sigurd suddenly seem to know about being the reincarnation of Freyr despite not seeing him in more than a decade and never mentioning it before. But they can’t, because the DLCs are playable at any time, and therefore cannot discuss things the player may not yet understand.

The brevity of this DLC was especially jarring, even as someone who went into this with low expectations. Because after two years worth of updates, including some sizable free ones, I thought that surely Eivor’s conclusion would be considered important enough to receive the time and attention it deserved. After all, Kassandra got her own surprise ending in the form of the Crossover Stories, announced completely out of nowhere two years after the last DLC for Odyssey was released. After all the time and effort and love that clearly went into that crossover, it seemed reasonable enough that the ending for Valhalla, a game that was still being supported, would have the same amount of effort put into it, if not more. Instead we got a barely there wrap-up that lasts maybe 45 minutes at most, if you’re being generous, and fails spectacularly at offering the catharsis that should be a no-brainer in a story where the main character’s death has been a mystery to be unraveled, right from the beginning.

Eivor is dead. She has been dead for centuries, buried across an ocean from everyone and everything she knew in life. The how and why of Eivor’s burial site is a question that follows us through her entire journey and throughout the entire game. One that was never resolved… until now, with some vague notion about leaving everything she has worked for and everyone she holds dear behind in an attempt to find herself, all with the help of an entity with whom her relationship has been tenuous at best. Eivor decides to banish the part of her that is Odin because she doesn’t like that part of herself. That second soul, the part of her that values personal glory above all else. Even in The Last Chapter, she describes Odin’s memories as “malicious.” So why backtrack so completely?

I have no idea.

It’s possible the developers weren’t given enough time to give this final chapter the breathing room it needed to make sense. It’s possible they had lost enthusiasm, and just wanted to rip the band-aid off and get this thing over with. It’s possible Ubisoft wanted to cobble together the scraps of a potentially satisfying ending so they could say they did it, before turning all of their attention to their next title. As it stands, I wish they had just left Valhalla alone, with an open ending, instead of providing a non-answer that feels like an afterthought. An incomplete conclusion to a story and a cast of characters that many of us still care so much about, but Ubisoft seemingly gave up on long ago.

Eivor deserved better.

The Raven Clan deserved better.

Valhalla deserved better.

We, the fans, deserved better.

If you actually read this far then there is a good chance that you also need therapy

This whole affair really reminds me of the last time I felt this profoundly disappointed by a piece of media I loved. It reminds me of how I felt after watching the second season finale of The Mandalorian, when it hit me that the whole season had just been a series of various cameos and fan service moments that only made sense to the plot at a stretch. It hit me that I had just spent the previous eight weeks watching the show runners completely sideline their main characters–Din Djarin and Grogu–and lose the plot in favour of promoting future Star Wars projects. When it seemed like all the good writing in the show previously had been entirely accidental. But the major difference between The Mandalorian and the ending of Valhalla is that I knew there would be another season of The Mandalorian to potentially patch things up and pick up on some of the plot threads that were dropped. For Valhalla, this is it. There is no more content upcoming that will patch this up and, in hindsight, there are plenty of other things added to this game in post launch that I think would have also made me feel the same way I feel right now if I knew they were the last piece of content we’d ever see.

Am I overthinking this? Perhaps. Am I being melodramatic? Probably. But to me, this ending for Eivor feels like yet another perfect example of what happens when corporate interests are allowed to dictate creative decisions.

I say all this as someone who has and will continue to defend a lot of Valhalla’s faults, because if writing this whole thing has done anything, it has served to remind me how good the core narrative of the base game really is. It has depth, it has heart, and I hope that other people who enjoyed it as much as I did–and are as disappointed by The Last Chapter as I am–are able to reconcile the beauty of Eivor’s character arc in the main game with the way it was seemingly undone in The Last Chapter.

I’m trying my very best to not let this ending retroactively take away all the joy I’ve found in this game for the past year. And in spite of how negative this critique has been, writing it has actually really helped me do just that. Because in writing this critique, I was also looking back on Valhalla’s narrative, its highs and lows, its major plot points, and I was re-watching clips. A speed run of Eivor’s greatest hits, if you will.

I was reminded of why I connected so strongly with Eivor in the first place. I was reminded of her strength, her kindheartedness, her love of children, her wit, the poetry of her dialogue, her sense of duty. I was reminded of her rage, her single mindedness, her sense of loyalty that is often to her own detriment when she offers it to those who don’t deserve it. I was reminded of her character arc from someone who spends so much of her life on a single minded quest for revenge, to someone who becomes a beloved leader to her people.

I was reminded of the Valhalla sequence at the end of the game, a sequence that still makes me cry just as much now as it did the first time I played it, if not more. When Eivor, who has spent most of her life feeling nothing but resentment and shame toward her dead father, finally learns to understand why he did what he did. When she understands why he laid down his axe, the very same axe she holds now, in the futile hope that his daughter, his wife, and the rest of his people would be spared, only for most of his people to be slaughtered anyway. When Eivor has finally realized, through years of acting as a leader to her people, why Varin did what he did, even in opposition to everything she has ever been taught to value. When she has grown enough to realize that she too would make the exact same choice her father did, her cowardly father, because she too would die in dishonour if it offered even the slightest chance to save her loved ones. When Eivor, who has spent her life trying to justify her existence by being useful, finally accepts that her parents died because they loved her and not because she didn't do enough. When Eivor is holding the very same axe now that her father held then and the High One himself is offering her wisdom and glory and power and she, like her father before her, drops her axe and turns her back and chooses love instead.

That is the version of Eivor I will remember. Not the hastily cobbled together ghost of her that we saw in The Last Chapter.

#this ending and this review is the reason i start therapy next week #like i mean not actually. but the timing lined up pretty perfectly did it not?#the main problem with assassin's creed is that it has potential to explore some really interesting ideas and concepts #but it's also owned by one of the most shit for brains companies i have ever fucking seen #anyway now that i've purged this from my system i will not be thinking about tlc ever again #unless anyone specifically asks #and for shitposting #and writing fix-it #because as we all know my hubris knows no bounds and my track record for finishing things i start is stellarrrrrr /s #assassin's creed #ac valhalla #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor varinsdottir #eivor wolfkissed #ac spoilers #ky posts text #this is a writing tag #ac.txt

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 9 days

Note

I don't know if you're still doing the ask game, but how about 1, 22, and 25? For Jason, and Steph too if you're up for it :D

--Cologona

Because I could still find it: yes! Still doing this ask game :3 Sorry it took so long to answer!

1) Why do you like or dislike this character?

I spent like seventy years attempting to find the post with this meme on it so I could give credit lmao, but I could not for the life of me, so uh, just know that I'm remaking this thing from memory I guess???

Jason is the bee in my bonnet, the rock in my shoe, and I am chewing on him forever and ever - meanwhile I will enjoy pretty much any comic about Steph simply because I love watching her do her thing :3

But to go into more detail I really enjoy Steph's narration style and the way she navigates the world. She feels very refreshingly street level and hopeful. Also as someone who grew up as the only "girl" (trans man but egg) in my martial arts class which was taught by a detective with a very drill sargent/tough-love approach to teaching and got an extra helping of PTSD as a result... watching her struggle, get dismissed bc of her gender, and go on to become a great hero despite Batman and his bullshit feels really fucking good. Def love Batgirl 2009

Jason on the other hand is just so deliciously messy. He's hurt a lot of people, but at the same time his anger is super justified! He's intimately familiar with violence in a way that I think makes him unable to conceptualize trust and gauge what an 'appropriate' response is. There's been several times where he's expressed the idea that serious violence by him against others is just normal and forgivable and not a big deal. There's something so compelling to me about that bc I think he really does see it that way, and it comes from a place of him being extremely used to receiving violence and being expected to forgive and not hold it against them. That wall of text in the meme picture is a tiny fraction of one of my essays on him. He's got so many fascinating layers and I love peeling him apart and putting him back together like a robot performing surgery on a grape.

Sometime after I finish Chained, I really want to write Four and Twenty Blackbirds, which is a fic concept I've had for ages now that puts them together in a lesbian/gay man queer relationship. The premise is that somehow or other Steph comes back to Gotham secretly/early and Jason is the first one to find her and they end up building a weird organized crime/community support organization called The Blackbirds.

Not sure on the timeline. Maybe it'll start before Under the Red Hood? Maybe after a modified Hush plotline?? In any case: Jason offers to preform High Vengeance against Black Mask either for or with her. She does not want him killed! She would feel like that went completely against everything she died for. However, she does want that fucker taken down, and is touched that Jason clearly genuinely cares. Also I'm going to have Jason assume without question that she is fully competent and his equal. Unlike every other vigilante in town, she will never have to prove herself to him. So anyways she tells him that yeah, she wants her revenge, but it's gonna happen her way, and the plot moves on from there, as together they destroy and co-opt Black Mask's organization and establish a territory for themselves :3

22) If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

Unless given a reading suggestion by someone else, I exclusively read JayTim fanfiction, which heavily skews what I look for and see in fic. I'm also pretty damned picky lol I write much more fic than I read these days

Even the most basic, stripped down version of Stephanie's core concepts and background ought to be enough to conclude that she would have very complex feelings about both Jason and Tim and them dating each other. She had a supervillain father and a character arc about learning to value the lives of even her worst enemies. Now her ex is dating a guy who had a henchman father and the same character arc in reverse, a guy who specifically targeted her killer in order to get back at the mentor who bears some responsibility for both her death and his own. They are so uniquely poised to understand each other from across this fascinating chasm, both in terms of approaches to vigilantism and dating Tim. You could not ask for a more fertile storytelling ground, regardless of if you want her to be supportive or not.

So yeah, for Stephanie I like it when she has a personality outside of cheerleading Tim while being vaguely sweet and quirky.

The bar is in Hell here folks, and out of the hundreds of fanfics I've read I've only ever seen it cleared twice. And that's only if we include my own goddamned writing. This goes beyond normal fandom simplification, especially when you factor in that Cass, famously against all killing Cass, gets similarly denuded of all internal motives and qualities in favor of being (sometimes literally) wordlessly supportive for no apparent reason, while in those same fics the male characters get to have opinions and internal viewpoints. JayTim nation, I am praying for us to learn how to write women, truly.

Now on to Jason!

I think of Jason as someone who is intense in every facet of himself. He can be cruel and mistrustful or tender and romantic, but no matter what he is I want him to be a little unhinged with it, a little too deep, a little too incapable of not giving a fuck. I want this man lost in the sauce, whatever that sauce may be.

I dislike him being overly apologetic, which practically translates to me disliking most fics in which he is apologetic at all lol I do think he would come to regret some of his actions, but I tend to think those would be different actions than the ones he's usually depicted apologizing for. For instance, I can absolutely see him apologizing to a victim of the Joker for not killing him when he got the chance, but I don't really think he'd have the framework to consider his fights with Tim to have been all that far out of line.

25) What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Ohhhhhhh boy that was fuckin ages ago??? I'm not honestly sure I remember, though I do know that I read JayTim fanfics before anything else that involved these characters, so it had to have been based on that.

...Gah, I don't even remember how I found this ship lol! I mean I started with Boostle?? Maybe JayTim was in the background somewhere of one of those fics? idk

I suppose my first impressions were that Jason was a Big Mood deeply traumatized and lashing out bc of that, and Stephanie was gir waffles XD random rawr means I love you in dinosaur.

Anyhow, thank you very much for the ask @cologona! As per usual with these things I hope it was a fun read and you have a good day and all that jazz :3

#damian's tomfoolery #jason todd #stephanie brown #jaytim

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gogobootz1 · 2 years

Text

Friday I'm In Love

Steve Harrington x Reader

You grew up right next door to Steve Harrington, but when high school rolled around he ditched you to become a king. You wouldn’t let him live it down, despite his best efforts. In the early hours of every Friday, however, when you’re both taking out the trash, you can’t help but see the kid you used to know.

Warnings: kinda sad

6k words

August 1984

You sighed and leaned against the trash can. Your first week of senior year already gone, well almost. Not that you were excited for the Friday Welcome Back Pep Rally. That was just a chance for the basketball team to showboat and the cheerleaders to flounce around. Well, that wasn't quite fair- at least the cheerleaders had athletic talent. Most of what the basketball team had to show off lived right next to you, and you'd seen far more of him than preferable.

The thundering of a rolling garbage can came from your left. Upon catching a glimpse of its operator you cursed your luck. You didn't even have to speak of the devil- just thinking was enough to make him appear. Soon he stood parallel to you in his own driveway.

"So... beginning of the end huh?" Came Steve Harrington's horribly charming voice from a few feet away.

"Excuse me?" You replied. Was he really trying to make small talk? About your senior year?

"No, I just meant... this is our last year at Hawkins High." He tried to clarify.

"No, I know that, Harrington." He gave you a look.

"Then what was with the-?"

"Frankly, I'm appalled you're trying to carry a conversation with me." At this comment, Steve turns fully towards you.

"What do you mean?" He asked earnestly.

"You haven't talked to me in years. The closest you've come is slapping Tommy on the shoulder when he said my skirt would look better on his floor." Steve's jaw clenched at that comment, but you went on. "So why are you pretending like we're friends? Are the popular kids performing acts of service by donating their time to needy nerds?" Your question was drowning in sarcasm. He didn't seem to appreciate it.

"Am I not allowed to talk to you?" He asked tensely.

"I don't think you deserve to, honestly, not without good reason at least." You told him.

Steve nodded bitterly. "Fine." He said. "My mother's been going through some old boxes trying to make room for her home gym. One of them was old photos. She found one of you and me on the first day of first grade." You flinched a little. You hardly remembered the early grades, only broad strokes. You definitely don't remember having your photo taken with Steve that very first day, but it hurt to have no doubt it happened. That the two of you wore big matching grins and carried cartoon lunchboxes. "I guess I was just remembering what it was like to have a friend that liked me."

"Liked." You reminded him. "Past tense." The harsh words were warranted in your mind, and you didn't even blink when he winced at them. But you did wonder whether or not he kept that photo, and as you walked up your driveway you felt sad you'd never get to see it.

September 1984

The night air was warm, probably the last nice day you’d have for a while. But the feeling you had was crippling.

It was like your youth had come and gone. You’d started applying to colleges, writing essays, and asking for letters of recommendation. You couldn’t remember the last time you scraped your knee, or chased down an ice cream truck barefoot. The last time you went puddle jumping must have been a millennia ago. All you had was the hope that the maturity you’d displayed would be worth something. That your extra effort could be cashed in for scholarships. Like each time you shirked being a kid in favor of studying you’d shaved some cost off of tuition.

For so long you’d been living for a future outside of Hawkins. Everything you did was to secure your place in that future. To ensure your success there. But lately, you’d had a hard time seeing it. It was easier to look around at the life that had passed you by. To see that you’d pushed everyone away, whether accidentally or on purpose. It made you feel so old.

The sound of a trashcan rolling down a driveway pulled you out of your thoughts. Your head snapped up only to find your lovely neighbor, just as you did every week. It irritated you to no end that week after week he picked the same time as you to do this chore.

“What’s up?”

“The debilitating loneliness of existing.” You chose to answer honestly. You hoped that by oversharing (and using words longer than 5 letters), you'd cause Harrington to turn right back around. He’d picked up an awful habit of trying to chat with you on these garbage excursions.

Since your first encounter a few weeks back, you tried not to gratify him with responses. So clearly that was not the answer he was expecting. “Oh,” his shock was visible from a mile away.

“Yeah, well, ’night Harrington.” You chose to walk away before the conversation could go further.

“Wait!” Of their own accord, your feet stopped moving. “You’re… lonely?”

"Thank you for the gross oversimplification," you sigh, "but... yes." His face becomes sadder. “Go ahead- call me a loser, tell me how much better my life would be if I went to a party or two, maybe even did a keg stand.”

“Believe me those wouldn’t help." He said, bitterly. You were confused by this statement. Was King Steve, party legend, implying he'd tried such methods to cure his own case of loneliness? In a second he directed the conversation back to you. “What- what about your friends in the honors classes?”

“They like to compare study guide answers and test scores and that’s about it.” You kind of couldn’t believe you were telling him this, but at this point what did you have to lose?

“Aren’t you… like- President of the Band?”

“They don’t like me that much, Harrington.” Steve knew for a fact that wasn’t true but didn’t think he’d earn any favors in telling you as much. “I just figured holding an office would look good on my applications.” He did, however, know that to be true. If there was one thing you were known for around Hawkins High it was academics, and when asked why you bothered, your response was always the same. To get the hell out of here.

“Fair enough." Steve sighed. He looked a little lost for words at that point. “Anyways... I’m sorry,” his words were more gentle than anything you’d heard come out of his mouth in a while.

You weren’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. Whether it was ending your friendship, putting you on the outskirts of the social scene, or just plain sympathy. You sighed. “It’s not your problem, Harrington.” The finality in your tone left no room for a reply. “You’ve made sure of that." Those words, accompanied by your abrupt exit, sent a swift stab of guilt straight through his stomach. He wondered what it would take to be back in your good graces. If anything in the world would be enough.

October 1984

You plucked the cat ears off of your head and threw them right in the garbage can. The cat costume you kept recycling was starting to bite you in the ass. You supposed your head wasn't the same size as it was in seventh grade. That would explain why the headband had dug into your skull all night. You were glad to be rid of it and even more glad the night was over. The neighborhood children were only tolerable in small doses. You'd had enough of them to last you a lifetime.

Wheeling the garbage down to the curb was the last thing you had to do, and it was supposed to be easy. Your black-heeled boots made it a little harder, but the crumpled figure in the grass between the road and the sidewalk was sure to be the biggest obstacle. Your brow furrowed, and soon you recognized the gangly limbs and giant hair. You winced and did your best to avert your eyes. But once you stopped at the end of the driveway it became difficult to ignore the shaky breathing coming from your left.

You sure did your damnedest, though, and made it nearly halfway up your driveway before your conscience stopped you in your tracks. You heaved a sigh. "What's wrong?" You asked, not bothering to turn around.

Steve snapped to attention, whipping his head around to look at your back. "Huh?" He wiped his nose quickly.

"Harrington you've either been huffing paint or muffling your cries, and you've got a solid year left before you start doing the former so just own up to your sadness." You threw your arms up in exasperation and turned towards him.

"What? I- look this isn't your problem. You'd just make fun of me anyways." He was probably right about that. Usually, his piddly little tears would serve as fodder for your teasing. But for whatever reason, you just weren't feeling up to it.

You huffed, “alright Harrington, I can’t believe I’m doing this- but, for one night, and one night only, I am granting you a reprieve.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“I will take a brief break from loathing you to help you in your time of need.”

He looked up from the curb with sad, confused eyes. “Why?” Steve asked after a moment.

You couldn’t give him the real answer, no matter how sad he looked. You'd just about die before letting him know you still cared about him. Even after everything he and his asshole friends had done to you. But you couldn't help it. Not when you could picture the fourth-grade version of him after he'd fallen off of the swing set. He'd been so confident, so assured, secure in the belief that he'd land in front of you safe and sound with a smile. He ended up on the ground in tears with a sprained ankle. You knew him, much to your chagrin, and you knew that whatever happened earlier had left him in a similar state. Only this time he wouldn't earn any sympathy pudding cups- and if he did he would decidedly not share them with you.

“Because your tears are gonna kill my lawn,” you said, with less heat than you'd intended. “Come on, get up.”

He looked at you, reluctant still. “Get up, let’s go.” You said, walking off to your mom’s sedan.

“Who's even open this late?”

“Well, Harrington, some of us have jobs, and sometimes at these jobs, we have to lock up.” He threw you a confused look as he buckled in. “I have the keys to the Diner”

“Oh,” he said in realization.

“Yup, nothing cheers up sad Tom Cruise wannabes like a milkshake.” You turned the keys and glanced in your mirrors before backing out.

“Okay, that was rude.”

“But was I wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be the kid from Risky Business”

“Joel”

“Who?”

“The-“ he started “never mind.” You knew what he was talking about, but you lived for the chance to give him grief.

Suddenly In The Air Tonight came on the radio. “Oh my god Joel, it’s your favorite song.” He gave you a look. “Train sex for the win.”

“Would you knock it off,” he said, frustrated.

“What? I’m only talking about your favorite movie. You know the one with the prostitutes, and the Porsche, and poor plot line.”

“It’s not MY favorite” he interrupted, angrily. His tone pulled your gaze from the road and to his devastated-looking face. By the time you looked back, you were nearly running a red. You slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a stop, seatbelts yanking you both back to your seats.

“What?” you said breathlessly, not quite understanding.

“It’s Nancy’s favorite.” He said. “Nancy who doesn’t fucking love me anymore. Who maybe never did” Your eyes were glued to his face. Of all the things to make him upset, that was one you were not expecting. After a minute he spoke again, “It’s green”

Your eyes flicked up to the light, “shit.” You whispered, cursing yourself for not paying more attention and at the pain he’d gone through tonight. All you’d done was sit in a black cat costume and pass out candy to the local kids. You started driving again and pulled into the parking lot soon enough.

You unbuckled and opened your door, but turned back around when you realized he wasn’t mirroring your actions. “Hey,” you snapped, pulling him out of his reverie, “you coming?” He nodded his head and was quick to follow you towards the front door.

You pulled out your keys and unlocked the building, turning on the lights. “Just grab a seat at the counter," you told him. Steve did as instructed, and you made your way around the counter to fix up two milkshakes.

He still seemed out of it, but woke up a bit when you used the blender. “I don’t get any say in what you’re making?” He asked, but it lacked any fire. You knew he didn’t really care, not after the night he’d had.

“You’ll just have to trust that I have better taste than you, Harrington,” your sharp quips were normal for him. After what’d happened (which you still didn’t fully understand) you could at least try to inject some normalcy into the rest of his night. Not that the two of you hanging out could be considered normal. Not anymore, at least. You banished that train of thought as you finished the milkshakes.

He looked up as you slammed a thick glass on the counter in front of him. “That’ll be $3.99,” you deadpanned, jokingly holding your hand out. His eyes grew and you saw him reach for a wallet that probably wasn't even there. "That was… a joke.” Jesus, he was worse off than you thought. “How about... in exchange for your on-the-house milkshake you tell me what the hell happened,” you said cautiously. He twirled his spoon around in his cup and plucked the maraschino cherry off the top.

“You forgot I don’t like these,” he said quietly. You hadn’t, actually. When the two of you were younger he gave you the cherries that came with his ice cream, and you gave him the pickles from your burgers.

“That’s what happens when you grow apart.” You snarked at him. It was a knee-jerk reaction, one that wasn’t helpful in the moment. You closed your eyes and sighed, “sorry-“

The sight of a maraschino cherry in front of your face cut you off. “You’re right,” he said. He hadn’t quite forgotten your days of sharing food either.

“Thanks,” you nearly whispered, plucking the offering from his hand. He nodded slightly.

The two of you sipped at your shakes for a bit. You weren’t going to push him anymore. If he wanted to tell you he would. If he didn’t you wouldn’t ask him to. It was enough just to be there with him.

“I think we broke up,” his words were almost like a question.

“You think?” you asked quietly.

“Well, she was drunk out of her gourd so I’m not exactly sure.”

"Well, what exactly did she say?" you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter.

"She called me bullshit, then she said she didn't love me." You let out a loud breath.

"That's-" you cut yourself off, struggling to find the words. "Wow."

He hummed in agreement, staring sadly into his milkshake as he stirred it. There was a period of quiet between you. The only sounds came from the dull hum of the heater and the slurping of milkshakes. Perhaps hot chocolate would have been more weather appropriate. Your second-guessing was interrupted by a light call of your name. Or rather your nickname, one reserved exclusively for your close family. You hadn't heard it from Steve in years.

"You make a mean shake." He said, looking up at you from his empty cup. He knew a real thank you would only garner some snarky comment and upset the delicate balance of the evening. That was the closest he dared get to expressing his gratitude. Luckily you knew exactly what he meant.

"I know," you shrugged, "not that you'll tip me." Snatching his glass, you turned to put both of your cups in the dishwasher. You stopped in the doorway and turned slowly back towards him, feeling the need to clarify. "You know that was another-"

"I got it," he nodded and smiled at you softly for the first time all night. You returned it gladly.

November 1984

The month had breezed by while you weren't looking. All of the bright leaves had turned the same shade of brown, growing crispy on the ground in the cool fall air. You'd seen Christmas decor on store shelves already too. Time really just wouldn't slow down for you.

Another Thanksgiving dinner had rolled around. They didn't always happen at your house though, that was new. Usually, you got to be ostracized and interrogated in someone else's home, so this year had been a real treat. Feeling alone in a crowded room wasn't uncommon for you, even amongst family. But experiencing it in your own home was somehow even less pleasant than you were expecting.

All the men had gathered in the living room to watch some sort of sporting event- you weren't really sure. Your younger cousins had gone upstairs to produce a play they'd be putting on soon. Of course, you'd grown too old to participate in that. They made sure to tell you they didn't want you bossing them around. They also told you if you weren't sitting in the audience there'd be hell to pay. The ladies in the house had all gathered in the dining room for some evening drinks. You had specifically volunteered for cleanup duty to avoid being dragged along to that.

Finally loading the last dish into the dishwasher, you heaved a sigh. Were holidays supposed to feel so taxing? Was spending time with your family supposed to be physically suffocating? You looked out of the kitchen window into the cool dark night. It looked impossibly more inviting than the warm light and noise coming from the rest of your house. Surely no one would miss you for a few minutes- they hadn't yet. You grabbed a container of leftovers from the fridge and a spoon, then slipped on a pair of shoes. Exiting through the garage, you stopped in front of the trash can. At least the outing could be productive. Upon reaching the end of your driveway, you firmly distanced yourself from the can. The last thing you needed was to spoil your snack with the stench.

Just as you'd settled down on the curb, you heard a noise from behind you. You sighed, as somehow you already knew who it was.

“Can a girl not wallow in her own misery privately?” You asked, not bothering to turn around.

"Oh, so that's what you're doing on the curb in the cold? Wallowing?" Came his jesting response. You rolled your eyes, and Steve took a seat next to you. His long brown jacket looked warm- you were jealous.

You took a big bite of mashed potatoes. "None of your business," you said with your mouth full.

"You can't just say things like that and expect me not to reply. That's how conversations work." Steve said exasperatedly. Your teeth chattered in the cold, but the food in your mouth masked the sound.

"Maybe I expect you to just not converse with me, you were doing a good job of that for a while." You bit back at him, waving your spoon dramatically. He nearly flinched.

"Maybe I want to..." he paused sort of awkwardly, "converse with you. At least enough to apologize." You gave him a mean look, which he huffed at. "Maybe I've realized what a dick I've been. Maybe this Thanksgiving I've realized that I don't really have anything to be thankful for anymore." Your face softened, but you'd never been one to let go of your anger easily.

"I'd say that's your own fault. Not to mention that that wasn't even an apology." Steve closed his eyes and sighed at your words.

"Look, I-"

"What do you want, Harrington?" You asked, pointedly.

"Huh?" His face twisted in confusion.

"What are you hoping to get out of this?" You demanded. "What? Do you think we're just gonna be best friends again? Hold hands? Blow bubbles? Frolic through flower fields?"

"No!" Steve insisted. He really never knew the best course of action with you, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. "I-" The look you gave him was harsh, but he persisted. "I'd like another night of reprise."

Your face twisted in confusion. "Reprieve?"

"Yeah! That!" He said excitedly. The glare on your face told him perhaps his idea was not so great.

"That was a one-time offer, asshole." You snapped, turning away from him. You looked at the house across the street as you took a big bite. The lights coming from the Johnson family's windows looked warm and glorious. Maybe everyone there actually liked each other. Enough that no one from their household was sitting on the curb eating leftovers.

"No, no, no, it'll be great," Steve insisted, "all you have to do is pretend to not hate me for an hour while I wheel you around town to get you out of your funk." Clearly, the events of Halloween had left an impression on him. Maybe even given him the wrong impression, but you were too tired to put up much of a fight. Not when he was being this resolute.

You sighed, “what’s even open on Thanksgiving night?” Steve had neglected to consider this.

His eyes widened as he struggled for an answer. "Uhhh..." his gaze shifted around, looking for inspiration, "this curb.” His answer was confident, but you raised a brow all the same.

“What? Is this not a good spot to eat your…" Steve trailed off when he finally looked into the Tupperware in your hands. "What the hell is that?” He demanded.

“Mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce.” You said quietly.

“Gross dude.” He pulled a face at your answer.

“Really Harrington, you’re cheering me up by passing judgment? First, the extended family asks about my college plans, then why I don't have a boyfriend, then if I've gained weight recently, and now I can’t even eat the best thanksgiving combination in peace.”

"They said all that to you?” Steve asked, aghast.

“Oh yeah, they then proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the evening. But that’s family for you, full of obligation and judgment.” You replied, taking another scoop from your snack.

“Jesus,” was all he could muster in reply.

"What about you, Harrington? Not a lot of cars in your driveway.” Suddenly you were desperate for a topic change. Clearly, he wasn't spending the holiday with his family or Nancy's. The widespread news of their breakup allowed you that much knowledge.

He turns to look over his shoulder, “no, no, not this year.” His words were tinged with melancholy. “Yeah, my parents went to some fancy restaurant in the city.”

“They didn’t even invite you?" You asked cautiously.

“No, they offered. I didn’t want to go.” He corrected. At your questioning look, he elaborated. “You know, obligation, judgment- all that.”

You huffed a laugh, “well then, I’m very glad you could join my pity party.” Your words were lighthearted, but a part of you was fully serious. Deep down, you were glad for his company.

“Oh me too, it’s a ball.” He said seriously, nodding.

“Isn't it just?" You said in a posh accent, "but you simply must try the h’orderves.”

“Ohhh I don’t know about that,” suddenly Steve became reluctant.

“What happened to my reprieve?” You asked, using his own words against him.

He rolled his eyes jokingly, “fine.”

You held out a big spoonful for him. He gave you a look that said 'are you really making me do this?' You pushed the spoon out further in insistence. He took a bite, eyes widening in surprise.

“Right?!” you asked him

“Okay I can admit when I’m wrong- that is pretty good.” You smiled at your victory, a shiver passing through you. It’s not like November in Hawkins was the most pleasant time to be outdoors.

“Geez,” he said, noticing how cold you were, “here.” Steve stood to take off the coat you'd been admiring.

“Steve, you don’t have to-” He cut you off when he draped the material over your shoulders.

“I want to, at least so I don’t have to hear your fucking teeth chattering” His words shut you up and you roll your eyes. A quiet moment passes. The kind of silence that can only pass between people comfortable with each other. “You haven’t used my first name in years.”

“I'm not sure I've recognized you in that long.” You couldn't help but be honest with him.

His chest ached at the words. “But… you do now?” He looked at you with a sad sort of hope. You shook your head, a fond smile growing.

“You’re getting there, Harrington.”

“Oh, don’t go back on it now!” Steve said insistently.

“Hey, don’t push it, or else you’re not getting another bite.” You taunted.

“God forbid.” He said sarcastically, smiling innocently at your glare.

“Just shut up and enjoy my company.” You spat, taking another bite of your mashed potatoes and adjusting under the warm weight of his jacket.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he said with a small smile.

December 1984

The Christmas season had come once again, as it always did. It was only mid-December, and the weather had already turned bitter. Grey skies, icy roads, and slushy sidewalks. None of the gorgeous, pillow-soft snow they talk about in the movies. Oh no, Hawkins, Indiana simply wouldn't allow it.

But perhaps, hopefully, you'd live to see yourself be proven wrong. Stranger things had happened. For example, King Steve's abdication from the throne of Hawkins High. As it was, it seemed your next-door neighbor had given up his old ways for good. Lately, he'd been quieter- less obtrusive. His friendliness was softer but more genuine. Of course, he was still popular, though it seemed like it was more for his kindness now than anything else. Steve had even attempted to greet you in the hallways (he was met with little response). But if Steve could do a 180, maybe the weather could too. You were still holding out hope.

That was hard to do, however, when you were trudging through the sleet on the ground. Seeing as the Harrington household was right next door, your mother had deemed the car trip unnecessary. So as your feet dragged through the cold, you were silently cursing her for bringing you along as her pack mule.

Of course, she'd been invited to the annual Harrington Family Christmas party. That was just your luck. Typically it was exclusively for Mr. Harrington's business associates and their wives, but your lovely mother had weaseled her way in through charm alone. Well... charm and your baked goods. She'd asked you to make cookies for the neighborhood book club, and apparently, Mrs. Harrington found them irresistible. When she found out she'd been enjoying your culinary talents all afternoon, the woman insisted her friend come to the party. "To show off your daughter and her talent" She'd said. Your mother would've been hard-pressed to refuse that. Thus, there you were. After spending all day in the kitchen, you were lugging a pie, a box of cookies, and a present for the white elephant gift exchange through the snow. In heels. The things you did for family.

You let out a huff as you finally made it to the porch, your mother's fist already rapping against the door. It swung open to reveal a very jolly-looking Mrs. Harrington. She looked so jolly, in fact, you were wondering if she'd been keeping the egg nog company.

"Hello!" The taller woman leaned forward to give your mother a hug as she stepped through the doorway. You were quick to follow, and the woman embraced you too. "I'm so glad you both could make it. It's been so long since I've seen you," she looked at you sincerely, "you've grown into such a beautiful young woman. And thank you for treating us with your wonderful baking."

The praise made you bashful, "oh it was no problem." It was more than no problem, but suddenly the hours spent in the kitchen seemed like just a blip. "Where can I put all this for you?"

"The kitchen is just fine, hun." Mrs. Harrington said warmly, already guiding your mother away towards the buzz of the rest of the party. Now you were stuck with both desserts, the present, and your coat was still on.

"Need some help?" Came a gentle chuckle from your right. You were glad to see Steve's familiar face.

"You might say that." You replied, relieved. He grabbed the desserts from your arms and set them on the hallway table. The present joined them soon after.

"You didn't even try to deny it." Steve joked with you lightly.

A fond, albeit irritated, smile grew on your face. "How could I when I was drowning under the weight of all the gifts I came bearing?" He huffed a laugh. After you took off your coat, he grabbed it and traveled down the hallway, entering a door to his left. When he stepped out he walked back to you and all the stuff you brought.

"What's in these anyways?" Steve asked.

"Well, the circular one is a pie." The look he gave you in return was highly amusing. A smile grew on your face. "Caramel apple pie, Chocolate Chip Pecan cookies, and you'll just have to wait until the gift exchange to find out about the last one."

"You made all that?" He asked, impressed. He grabbed both desserts and gestured for you to follow him down the hallway.

"I didn't make this." You said, holding up the wrapped present.

"That's too bad, you would've been a double threat," Steve said simply. He dodged tipsy businessmen to set the desserts in the middle of the kitchen counter.

You were hot on his heels. "Excuse me?" Steve didn't reply for a bit, removing the foil from the pie and untying the ribbon that secured the cookie box's lid.

"Yeah- baking and knitting." He clarified, finally turning to look at you.

"Knitting?" You asked, perplexed.

Steve said your name as if you were dumb. "Clearly that," his head nodded towards the present in your arms, "is a blanket." Your eyes practically popped out of their sockets.

"What?!" You demanded in a hushed whisper, "how did you-?"

He cut you off in an instant, "it's blanket shaped." He was dead serious. "Everyone always brings blankets."

You felt a little dumb now. "Really?" You asked, still whispering.

"Yes." He confirmed, nodding gingerly.

"Wait- you thought I hand knitted this blanket?" You asked him, skeptical.

"You made everything else. I wouldn't be surprised." He said simply. You nodded your head in acceptance. "Oh speaking of the present- we have to put it below the tree." Steve started walking out of the kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow. In his father's study, you were hit with the scent of fresh pine. The tree was smaller than the one in the living room but arguably more beautiful.

"This is where the gift exchange is," Steve told you, gesturing towards the rest of the gifts below the tree.

"How many of them do you think are blankets?" You asked as you placed yours to accompany the rest. Steve paused to think for a moment.

"I'm counting at least four right now." A loud laugh escaped you at his confident response.

"Well then let's hope the blanket my mom got outshines all the rest." You rejoined him as he began to walk out of the office.

"Hmmm, I don't know," Steve started. He stopped and looked around the hallway, then gestured for you to come closer. "I heard Mr. Milton talking about Peruvian Alpaca fur earlier." He whispered conspiratorially. Your eyes widened.

"Where does your dad find these people?" Came your hushed reply. Steve chuckled and started walking again. He opened up the basement door, starting down the stairs.

You followed him promptly, eager to escape meeting a bunch of business professionals. "Luring me away from the party, Harrington?" You joked. "How scandalous."

"Please," he scoffed, "you would've drowned yourself in the punch bowl if I'd left you up there with the vultures."

You hummed in agreement, "true." His basement hardly looked different from the last time you'd been there, "but what down here will keep me from that same fate?"

Steve shrugged and plopped down on the couch. "A Christmas movie?"

"Sounds good to me." You said, dropping yourself on the other end. "You had one in mind?"

He hesitated for a minute. "Gremlins?"

You let out a chuckle, "alright." He set it up while you grabbed the lights.

About halfway through the movie, the noise from upstairs died down. "Hey, do you think it's safe to go up and get a snack?" Steve turned to look at you, then towards his watch.

"Yeah, they should be doing the gift exchange right now." He paused the movie and hopped up. You followed his lead and started climbing the stairs. "We should be quiet though unless you want them to rope you in." You smiled and lightened your footsteps.

Entering the kitchen, you were quick to grab a plate and start loading it with desserts. "You want anything?" You whispered to him.

"Grab some of the cookies you made," he whispered back. He was filling up two cups with some punch. You gave him a thumbs up and continued adding to your plate.

All of a sudden you heard approaching steps. The two of you looked at each other with wide eyes, Steve quickly putting the cups down. He grabbed your hand and whisked you out of the kitchen while you tried to smother your snickering. He glared at you in the hallway as you were trying to contain your laughter. His mother was rifling through the kitchen very loudly. Your amusement was contagious, and he'd started to shake with laughter as well.

"Found them!" You heard her shout to the rest of the guests as she went to rejoin them. It took both you and Steve a few seconds to stop laughing.

"Do you think it's safe to go get our snacks now?" He whispered to you, closer than he had been in a while.

"Most likely." You whispered back, seriously.

"You know what?" He asked. "Maybe we should stay here a little longer, just to be safe." You felt a smile growing but rolled your eyes at him anyways. As you did you caught a glimpse of what you'd been standing under.

Steve promptly followed your gaze. "I swear I didn't do that." He rushed to explain the mistletoe, still speaking softly. "My mom hangs it up, I swear did not plan-"

"Steve," you interrupted, amused by his reaction, "I know." He practically did a double take.

"You do?" He whispered back.

"Yeah," you assured him. "I know you wouldn't do that" Steve gave you a confused look. You sighed and explained yourself, "ever since you came to school looking like you'd been used as a punching bag, you've seemed more like yourself than you have in a long time." You looked at him earnestly as you inched closer. "And that Steve, the sweet one- who tied my shoes for me before I knew how, he could've only ended up here by pure luck."

You put your hand on his cheek, "so Merry Christmas, Harrington." You said softly, leaning in and pressing a light kiss to his lips. He gently wrapped an arm around your waist, returning it. As you pulled back you put your hands on his chest. "I have to tell you though, I'm seriously doubting Gremlin's validity as a Christmas movie." A wide grin cracked his face, as he shook his head and pulled you back in for another kiss.

#steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington x fem #Steve Harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #Steve Harrington fluff

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angelosearch · 2 months

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Hooray Tumblr is letting me post this now!!

The following is a super intense, probably too personal essay about trying to process the overwhelmingly GOOD news that I got into grad school.

I wasn't sure about posting this, but ultimately, it is a story about never giving up, because you never know where you will be in a couple of years. So maybe this will help someone who is struggling with feelings of being trapped in their own lives.

It can get better, and it will.

I look at my life right now and I am so overwhelmed and grateful. I get to be creative every day. I am writing again. I am always learning new things about art and psychology. I have a lovely home and amazing husband and great dog that I cherish. I have met some incredible people that, now that they are in my life, I never want them to leave.

And now I have gotten into grad school.

It all seems impossibly fantastic and I wonder what I did to deserve this. There is also a part of me that is curious when I will mess it up, but in this big tangle of emotions I am feeling, I am trying not to dwell on those.

There is a cord of sentiment that is thicker and wrapped around the rest. Something that I can't put a name to, but it has a color the shade of something thankful. Every time I twirl it around my mind I start to tear up.

It is the feeling that I am living a life I never could have imagined in my darkest days and I am just... so so so happy I am still here for them.

In the winter of 2020, after a life-long battle with mental illness, I gave up. I didn't try to give up, I actually gave up. It is only by some kindness of the universe that I am still here to type this post.

Suicide is a permanent answer to a temporary question--but the problem is, when you spend a good portion of your life haunted by depression and trauma and a voice that tells you that you have nothing to offer the world, the question does not seem temporary. When I became unable to imagine an escape from a job that made me feel worthless, a chronic illness that put me in pain and left me in isolation, a blanket of guilt I could not shake, and a global tragedy with no end in sight, I took my own emergency exit. It was like jumping out of the window of a burning building on the 32 floor. I believed I would die either way, but the fall to the ground would require less suffering.

I was lucky enough to be caught on the way down - but I didn't feel lucky. They wanted to put me back in the building, and now the fire was hotter and had consumed my furniture.

I woke up in a very poorly run psych ward. So poorly run, my husband did not know where I had been taken for 18 hours after he called 911. I was given a roommate who was way too much like my mother, and I slowly became manic without the knowledge of the staff. They discharged me a few days before Christmas.

I had been hypomanic before, but I never had a word for it. When I was crying at the sunset that night and feeling so energetic and happy (and telling the funniest jokes I had ever told, from my skewed perspective), I just thought I was happy to be alive. But I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep. My pressured speech and grandiose ideas scared my husband and I ended up in psych ward #2 (a much nicer one). I had to spend one night in the ER screaming and hallucinating, believing my heart would give out before I'd fall asleep, before I got there, though.

They called it "manic psychosis." I called it "the darkest timeline."

On Christmas eve, I was given the gift of a new diagnosis: bipolar disorder. I was too unstable to know what that meant or to conceptualize that the burning building was crumbling in some parts.

On the day I was discharged, I slept very little and was extremely lethargic. I had trouble moving and my assigned counselor had to prop me up to help me to his office. I don't know why they discharged me when I had to be taken downstairs in a wheelchair, but they did.

I was in urgent care not 24 hours later when I could no longer walk or sit up, and I even had trouble speaking. A nice EMT, who I remember had a name that included two US presidents, though I don't recall which, took me to my third hospital in two weeks. By time I made it to my room, I had trouble swallowing and was put on a liquid diet.

It is hard to say what the worst part of this terrifying saga was. However, laying in that hospital bed with no ability to regulate my body temperature, stuck awake and unable to move with relentless, restless, manic energy, without so much as the relief of distraction from the picture on the tiny hospital TV because I didn't have my glasses, was excruciating in ways I still have trouble coming to terms with. I watched a lot of basketball, I think, by the squeaky sounds of the shoes.

After being assaulted by a frustrated nurse on New Year's Eve, I laid in my hospital bed wishing for the release of sleep while hospital staff hooted and hollered distantly for the ball drop. 2021 had begun and I was in the darkest place I had ever been.

When I could eat by myself again and manageably push around a walker, I was discharged on a rainy January day. No one could say for sure why my strange, temporary paralysis happened. Could have been the benzos I had taken too many of. Could have been the adjustment to the Lithium that would chase away the mania. Most likely, it was the sloppy transition off of Effexor at the first psych ward.

I was finally back in my burning building. I was fired from my job as soon as I had the strength to hold a phone. I had to explain and apologize to friends and family who were stunned and afraid of my actions. And then January 6th happened. In a few days, I would have to start physical therapy and a Partial Hospitalization Program (group therapy school).

I looked at my disintegrating surroundings and thought they expect me to fight for this? Why? I wished I had been successful in my attempt but I had only succeeded in making my life harder.

I guess those who cheered me on could see the possibility of my happiness and success, but I had a lot of trouble catching a glimpse. I went to another psych ward at the beginning of 2022 and ended up in a residential care facility for Halloween and Thanksgiving that year. I had two different jobs, both I ended up quitting for treatment. I tried group therapy and different therapists. I switched medications countless times and even tried Ketamine therapy for a while. Up until April of 2023 (when I started EMDR) or so, it really all felt hopeless, but for some reason, I fought for the unknowable just beyond the horizon. I kept asking for help.

And now I am here, and I can't believe all of this almost didn't happen.

I look around my office and see pieces of art I would have never created. I would have missed concerts and weddings and road trips. There is so much music I would have never listened to! I would have never rediscovered my childhood passions and learned how to be myself. I would never have met some very important people in my life.

It almost never happened, but I was given a second chance.

I have so many feelings right now, some good, some bad. I am excited. I am anxious. I wonder if I can handle the challenge and I fear my bragging or arrogance. But the biggest feeling is my desire to go back in time and hold a version of myself that couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel and kept walking anyway.

Now we get to chase our dreams, and teach other people to hold on like you did.

#personal #personal essay #Tw: suicide #tw: sucidal thoughts #writing #essay #gratefulness #bipolar disorder #bipolar mania

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my-deer-history · 3 months

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Francis Kinloch in the Müller-Bonstetten letters (and others): Part 5

More translations, taken from various sources (here, here, here and here). The letters are to Bonstetten unless otherwise noted. Biographical details sourced from Kinloch of South Carolina.

13 May 1780

Because of Mr Kinloch, I am filled with joy and dread. Dread, because his city has been besieged by 10,000 men with a great deal of artillery; joy, because he has married a very amiable and wealthy woman*. I receive regular letters from his brother; his own are often lost due to the perils of war.

*Kinloch’s first wife was Mildred Walker, though it seems they were only married on 22 Feb 1781. She died in Nov 1784.

9 Sept 1780

Kinloch, after having performed bravely in various engagements, was wounded in the arm, whereupon South Carolina unanimously elected him as a delegate to the Continental Congress; he sits with his colleagues in Philadelphia, not very peacefully, I think.

11 Aug 1781

I spent two days sorting more than 500 letters that came from Geneva along with my books. Memories of Kinloch, Nassau, Bonnet, Tronchin, Boone, Knight, Sandys, Abbot sweetened the work

7 Dec 1782, to his mother

I have largely been happy with my life up until now: but almost never on the path that I intended to take. Twelve years ago, I wished to marry*, and to live in Schaffhausen on a few professorships; I then had various plans for England and Flanders; at one point, the greatest and best thing seemed to me to witness the blossoming and progress of a new free country with Kinloch, and the serve a free people in war and peace;

*Original annotation: The desire lasted only a few days.

January 1784

It is neither my place to compare myself with such writers nor to scorn what God has given me: but after almost losing many years of my early youth, the 33rd [year] is finally here, but in an occupation to which I was not suited, the 24th and 25th I spent with Kinloch, leaving me little time for my own studies of friendship and duty

9 Aug 1786

Nothing else has changed in my household, except that Mr Boone, Kinloch’s former guardian and governor of South Carolina, has sent his son here, and he is living with me; he does not take up any of my time, as I only see him at mealtimes; he is an amiable officer, who was also very popular at Aschaffenburg.*

*A town in Bavaria.

20 Feb 1801

In my letter writing, I had to ensure that there was also a reply to Kinloch in South Carolina. Do you remember the noble youth? Now he is a grandfather;* he lives happily besides and I have just read an excellent essay of his about the character of the revolution.**

*Kinloch’s daughter, Eliza Kinloch Nelson, gave birth to a son called Francis in 1800.

**From context, the French rather than American revolution.

7 Jan 1803

Not enjoyable, as you can see, but rather tender in its sufferings and joys was the transition into my 52nd year. On that birthday I wrote to South Carolina, responding to two of Kinloch’s letters, full of spirit and love.

22 Oct 1803

I already wrote to you that Kinloch has arrived in Bordeaux and will soon be in Geneva; he wrote to me at once in such a brotherly way, rejoiced at the long-awaited reunion, and for a few days took me back to the charming dreams of my youth! I answered him immediately; we shall see each other in the coming year. If nothing unusual happens, I can easily get a few months' leave; should it not be possible from this or that perspective, then the one who has crossed the ocean and all of France will also make these 60 posts himself.

25 Jan 1804

Write to me in Dresden at once. If the world quietens, or at least does not continue to burn, I hope to visit you and Kinloch in the summer.

18 June 1804

To Geneva, first, came the most beautiful letters from Berlin, gracious, joyful, inducing longing. Then Kinloch’s embrace! he is as he was; slightly fatter; his heart noble, as before; a husband, like you; a caring father; a faithful brother; a morally perfect person.

13 May 1780

Ich bin wegen Hrn. Kinloch in großer Freude und Furcht. In Furcht, weil seine Stadt von 10,000 Mann mit vieler Artillerie belagert wird; in Freude, weil er eine sehr liebenswürdige und reiche Frau geheirathet hat. Von seinem Bruder bekomme ich öftere Briefe; die seinigen gehen durch die Kriegsgefahren häufig verlohren.

9 Sept 1780

Kinloch, nachdem er sich in verschiedenen Treffen tapfer gehalten, ist am Arm verwundet worden, worauf Südcarolina ihn einmüthig zum Deputirten auf den Generalcongreß erwählt hat; er sitzt mit seinen Collegen zu Philadelphia, nicht eben ruhig, denke ich.

11 Aug 1781

Zwei Tage sind mir über der Anordnung von mehr als 500 Briefen, die nebst meinen Büchern aus Genf gekommen sind, verflossen. Manche Erinnerung an Kinloch, Nassau, Bonnet, Tronchin, Boone, Knight, Sandys, Abbot, versüßte die Arbeit

7 Dec 1782, to his mother

Ich bin in meinem Leben bis dahin meist glücklich gewesen: fast nie aber auf dem Weg, den ich gehen wollte. Vor zwölf Jahren wünschte ich zu heirathen*, und mit ein Paar Professorstellen zu Schaffhausen zu leben; ich hatte nachmals auf England und Flandern verschiedene Plane; einst schien mir das größte und beste, mit Kinloch dem Aufblühen und Fortgang eines neuen Freistaates beizuwohnen, und im Krieg und Frieden einem freien Volk zu dienen;

*Der Wunsch dauerte nur wenige Tage.

January 1784

Es kömmt weder mir zu, mich solchen Schriftstellern zu vergleichen oder zu verachten, was Gott auch mir gegeben: aber nachdem ich viele Jahre der ersten Jugend fast verloren, das 33ste endlich hier, aber in einer Beschäftigung, für die ich nicht war, das 24ste und 25ste mit Kinloch, so daß mir für eigene Studien von Freundschaft und Pflicht wenige Zeit gelassen wurde

9 Aug 1786

In meinem Hauswesen hat sich weiter nichts verändert, als daß Hr. Boone, Kinloch's ehmaliger Vormund, und von Südcarolina Gouverneur, seinen Sohn' hieher gesandt, welcher bei mir wohnt; Zeit kostet er mir keine, da ich nur bei Tafel ihn sehe; er ist ein liebenswürdiger Officier, der auch zu Aschaffenburg sehr wohl gefallen.

20 Feb 1801

Von meiner Briefschreibung muß ich nachholen, daß auch nach Südcarolina an Kinloch eine Antwort dabei war. Erinnerst du dich des edlen Jünglings? Nun ist er Großvater; lebt übrigens glücklich und ich habe so eben einen vortrefflichen Aufsatz über den Charakter der Revolution von ihm gelesen.

7 Jan 1803

Nicht lustig war, wie du siehst, aber zärtlich in Leiden und Freuden der Uebergang in mein 52stes Jahr. An dem Geburtstag wurde nach Südcarolina geschrieben, auf zwei Briefe Kinloch's voll Geist und Liebe.

22 Oct 1803

Schrieb ich dir schon, daß Kinloch zu Bordeaux angekommen ist und nun zu Genf seyn wird; wie brüderlich er mir sogleich schrieb, des lang ersehnten Wiedersehens frohlockte, und für einige Tage mich ganz in der Jugend holde Trăume zurück versehte! Ich habe ihm sogleich geantwortet; sehen werden wir uns im zukünftigen Jahr. Wenn nichts besonderes eintritt, so kann ich Urlaub auf ein paar Monate leicht erhalten; sollte es aus der oder der Betrachtung nicht seyn können, so wird der über das Weltmeer und ganz Frankreich Hergekommene auch diese 60 Posten selbst noch machen.

25 Jan 1804

Nach Dresden schreibe mir sogleich. Wenn die Welt ruhig, oder doch nicht weiterhin entflammt wird, so hoffe ich auf den Sommer Euch und Kinloch zu besuchen.

18 June 1804

Zu Genf erstlich die schönsten Briefe von Berlin, gnädig, freudevoll, sehnsuchterregend. Dann Kinloch's Umarmung! er ist, wie er war; etwas fetter; sein Herz edel, wie vorhin; ein Gatte, wie du; ein sorgsamer Vater; ein treuer Bruder; ein moralisch vollkommener Mensch.

#francis kinloch #johannes von müller #karl viktor von bonstetten #18th century history #queer history #“the desire lasted only a few days” 😭

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