#(do not come at me for having a different opinion)

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

My long, nuanced answer to this poll about shipping:

I like to think about different possibilities of a ship regardless on if it’s canon or not canon, and the majority of my ships are not canon. Which I’m okay with because corpos sometimes tend to mess up canon couples anyway ESPECIALLY most LGBT+ couples, so that is why I am 100% content with say, Destiel not being canon. Don’t worry, I’m not using that Destiel meme that has been used very distastefully nor am I swearing with my whole chest until I run out of oxygen that Dean is bisexual in canon. You can take a breather. Specified ships aside, I like romance, and I love it even better when it’s well written and the couple has the best chemistry.

When it comes to others that love toxic ships, that is a whole different discussion for those particular shippers to have, and I prefer ships that have a lot of chemistry or potential chemistry over toxic ships, so I’m not the right person to discuss the nuances of toxic ships. So the toxic ship lovers can throw their opinions onto this reblog if they want.

I’ve also had ships where they were off-screen, and I was like, “but what if they actually did interact?” I always think about the personality traits that would make the characters compatible with each other. This is NOT a romantic ship, this is purely a familial relationship possibility that I have not seen anyone do yet: Jason Todd and Terry McGinnis. Think about it, people. Jason has a few similar traits to Terry and Jason would definitely find himself relating to Terry more than some of the other Batfamily members. Plus, it would be refreshing to see those two interact and have Jason not be constantly fighting with the Batfamily, specifically Bruce Wayne. I get that his opinions and views are very different from everyone else in the Batfamily, but it gets old fast. Like an old and hardened Jason Todd will probably incorporate some cool non-lethal wrist guns on Terry’s suit after testing it out and even sparring with Terry while (playfully) teasing him because that’s what older siblings do: annoy and taunt their younger siblings. With love. Seriously though, I think Jason and Terry would have the best brotherly relationship out of the Batfam. Or maybe I’m just alone in that teeny tiny minority lol. Call it a rare BROTP.

Fanon in shipping is a mixed bag, because on one hand, I go, “yeah, I can definitely see this happening with Character A,” but on the other, there is like OP said, mischaracterization. I like most ships even if it involves a character who is canonically spoken for or has explicitly shown attraction to only the opposite gender with another character with ZERO cheating, because I don’t need ships to follow canon. And when cheating gets involved I’m thinking, “yeah no, given the loyalty this character gave in canon, this is out of their character, so skipping!” That is where fanon comes into play. But if I dislike the fanon, then I create my own.

Shipping has no rules, except just respect other people’s boundaries, so I’m not gonna tell people “ew gross, why you following canon,” or “Blegh, why do you like this fanon, it’s so blah blah blah!” My opinions on canon vs fandom are nuanced. Canon can sometimes give us some cute pairings (like Kiara and Kovu from Lion King 2, my GOATED OTP) but canon also gives us icky ones or messes up a fairly nice couple (like Gambit and Rogue from the latest X-Men cartoon from what I heard and saw clips of). There are also non-canon ships that have made me scratch my head, made me feel indifferent, or I’m just like “I don’t get why anyone would ship this, but whatever.” And again, shipping has no rules, except just respect the boundaries of other people. Canon or not, have some fun with your ships. Let’s not start wars over ships and making non-shippers think that ALL of us act that way.

Hey, I wanna talk about how we do fandom! I've come to realize that I, personally, tend to differ from many others in that I highly prefer to only engage with a text as it's written, so I don't tend to really like fanon/extremely ooc characterizations and I find it hard to get invested in ships that aren't canon. My way of doing fandom isn't better or worse than anyone else's, but I am curious about how much of a minority I'm in! So:

*We've all seen ships of characters not from the same media and stuff like shipping the concept of ennui with the color blue, okay, I'm asking what you, personally, find compelling!

[libraryofgage]

so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing

basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems

anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is

also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao

also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't

---

"You're going to fail my class, Munson."

"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.

Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."

He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."

"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"

"Not the first time."

Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."

"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.

"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."

"What student?"

"His name is Steve."

Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.

He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.

"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"

"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."

Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."

--------

On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.

One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.

Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.

He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.

Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.

What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.

"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.

Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.

The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"

Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.

Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.

"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"

"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.

"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."

"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."

"You could've just memorized that."

Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."

Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."

"1,617."

He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."

"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"

"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."

"You don't know Newton's laws?"

Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.

"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"

"It's just...some equation or some shit."

Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"

"What?"

"What do you like?"

Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."

Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"

"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."

Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."

"A what?"

"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."

Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."

"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"

"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."

"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."

"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.

"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."

"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.

"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"

"Yeah, kind of the whole point."

"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"

"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"

Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."

"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."

"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."

"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."

Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"

"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."

"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."

"By...strumming it?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."

He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."

Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."

"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"

"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.

Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."

"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.

"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."

"Why not?"

"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."

"Does anyone else know, though?"

"My parents and the teachers. And you."

"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

"Big boy?"

"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.

He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."

[the-kingshound]

Mordred snippet as a gift to my lovely followers❤

Arthur will get married.

Mordred thinks of that, instead of reading the book that is open in front of him on the library's desk. The book is interesting, in his opinion, but he can't help but wonder about the new Consort.

A spark of longing makes it way through Mordred's chest. If the person Arthur is marrying, as Mordred understands, is from a rival House to the Crown, then he and Evaine won't be the last outsiders in the castle.

Looked at and spoken to differently. Left horribly out of place, like plants eradicated from their soil and left in a vase to whither.

He doesn't belong here.

He wants to belong, though. His... Arthur has tried very hard to help, but... As Mordred takes the perhaps too heavy tome, cradling it against his chest, and getting up from the seat to leave the library, hardly anyone spares a look in his direction. And if they do, it just ends up making Mordred feel uneasy.

He hastily goes through the exitway, having to push quite hard in order for the heavy doors to open. He thinks about going to Evaine, but then discards the idea, because instead a more pressing thought, or rather a realisation, takes up his mind.

Mordred is generally ignored, no one looks at him for more than a few instants, and though it sometiems makes him feel uneasy, it also generally sits well with him. He prefers to be left alone anyway, and Arthur provides enough company for when he doesn't.

But the thought of being ignored by the Consort too, just as everyone else, makes Mordred's insides twist.

But to avoid that, Mordred probably has to make the first step... maybe, he thinks as he walks, maybe a gift will make him be noticed? Just enough for Arthur's spouse to see that Mordred wants to be friendly them.

And then... they can talk. Maybe.

But... Mordred stops walking and takes a look around to locate the eastern tower, where the servants reside. Because he has just remembered that they are mute, as Arthur told him.

So Mordred has to learn to sign.

With a pointed focus that doesn't waver has quite a lot of servants greet him politely as he passes, Mordred walks towards a room he has been to before. He knocks, and waits, face set in a very serious expression.

A servant that Mordred doesn't know answers the door, his eyes widening as he recognizes Mordred.

"Greetings, my Liege. What can I do for you?"

But before Mordred can talk, his shoulders drooping a bit as his plan loses shape, a more familiar voice comes from behind the man.

"Oh, hello, Mordred."

His spirits lifted, he nods in greetings. Gwyar murmurs something to the other servant, who excuses himself, and Mordred gets inside the room.

He breathes in and gathers the courage to ask, "Can you teach me sign? Please."

[tossawary]

There are some things that I don't like about Buttercup's characterization in the "The Princess Bride" book, which I can't articulate fully before re-reading it. She's not too bright, especially compared to how poetic she is in the movie, and the narration seems a little mean about it. (In general, I find that the characters each being inhabited by good actors, who can deliver specific expressions and vocal tones, gives the film a degree of additional sincerity and feeling that works well to balance out the book's sharp wit.)

But one thing I do really enjoy about Book Buttercup, especially when she's young, is that she's so spiteful. She's a jealous, self-centered little creature as a child. All she wants to do is ride her horse (named Horse) all day, which frustrates her parents because she also hates bathing. She fails to notice all of the other village girls giving her the silent treatment for a month. She thinks boys are gross and quickly learns to freeze them out because they harass her relentlessly. In my opinion, with how she likes to keep her own company and seems disconnected from everyone else's behavior, she comes across as potentially some flavor of neurodivergent.

And after recently finishing "Some Unknown Corner", Young Buttercup reminds me of no other character more than Young Shen Jiu (SVSSS) at the moment. The difference in their backstories is obvious, the comparison feels bizarre from that angle, but the "everyone except for me is an idiot" tone of voice is remarkably similar. There's a shared "I have a lot of my sanity resting on this one other human being whom I like to boss around, and if anything happens to them, I will lose my mind" vibe.

[smollsmule]

Ok my queue spit this out after I saved it for later, so let me add some nuance here. Because this is a very importand issue, actually.

Of course nobody is prohibited from readin the books they enjoy. Hell, I like me some easily digestible fluff too! Some of my favourite book series are ya (and genuinely great books despite being “easy to read”).

There is something to be said however about limiting yourself to only engaging with that level of difficulty in reading. And before you come at me, I know that many people don't read at all and to many others reading is simply a hobby to unwind after a long day, where they just wanna turn their brain off and have some fun. Which is a totally fair reason to read. BUT. Reading (or more broadly, literacy) will never be just that. You live in an age of (mis)information and you WILL be confronted with texts (speeches, video clips, what have you) that are hard to dissect. Especially the ones that don't seem like it at first glance.

Media literacy is not only about how quickly you can summarise a paragraph or being able to pull quotes to show how maybe a character could be read as queer (although both of those things are a very good indicator of having advanced literacy). It's the VITAL skill of filtering and assesing information presented to you before so you can make an informed choice to internalise or discard it. It's being able to understand the information in the first place by grasping a complex thought presented to you in writing or in a speech because the simple truth is that not all truths are simple.

Media literacy gives you the ability of identifying that someone is trying to make you believe something and parsing why they're doing it by identifying the tools they are using. Which means you also need to know the tools they have at their disposal. It also means being able to connect points brought up before in the same or different texts to see if there is inconstencies or leaps in logic or if the argument someone is making only looks good because they use big words and a sentence structure that “feels” smart, but actually falls apart as soon as you poke at it a little.

Forgive me sounding alarmist, but if you can't read at that level people who have these tools WILL have power over you and you won't even have the tools to notice that they do. Even if people are not actively trying to harm or manipulate you, if you're unable to engage with their ideas you will get left behind in certain vital discussions and that not only feels like shit because everybody gets it but you, but it also again makes you incredibly vulnerable to those who do have bad intentions!

Now does that mean you only get to read Proust from now on? Of course not! I still do believe that a piece of literature can directly and fundamentally change your life. I know it has for me. However, that is a personal opinion and it doesn't mean I can force anyone to engage with deep philosophical manifestos on what it isto be human in this world. And even less that I want to do that, despite me thinking that literally ANYONE could benefit from reading that kind of thing. But you NEED to be able to read complex texts outside of your comfort zone for honest to god survival. I am so fucking serious.

And, hey! The good news is that this is not some secret mystical power you either get blessed with or not. It is a skill you can train, by reading challenging material. Books with more complex sentence structures, more nuanced ideas or arguments. Books that force you to think about them. I hate to say it but the only way to get better at reading is to read. It doesn't have to be fiction but i will be very real with you, I doubt that - if you're putting down a book because it's unreadable to you based on the chosen perspective - you'll be the type to pick up scientific essays or anything like that.

Don't cut yourself off from vital skills by locking your mind in a box. You are capable to handle those more complex texts, and I'd wager you'll even enjoy it once you find your niche (yes! you still get to have preferences!). You just need to give yourself a chance to learn.

[xerotiny99]

╋━ SO IT GOES [Teaser]

SYNOPSIS

There’s something so forbidding about talking to a stranger about your relationship with your husband. Yet you find yourself in front of him, in front of this supposed stranger, every week; you fill him in on your time with your husband, including every detail. He’s only there to help you right? He’s only guiding you through the darkness to prevent your marriage from falling. Right? He’s just a sex therapist, right? And so it goes…

So it goes • Jeong Yunho x Female Reader

Sex therapist!Yunho, married!reader, cheating husband (?)

Warning: (18+/ mdni) smut, infidelity, corruption kink, size kink, sadomasochism, dacryphillia, unprotected/protected sex, huge dick yunho, all the other smut warnings apply.

TEASER [word count: 2,630]

Your POV

Eyes.

Eyes express a lot.

A simple variation can translate to sundry of emotions.

Crinkle by your eyes? A genuine smile.

Fluttering eyelids? Nervous, anxious, flustered.

Wide eyes? Fascination, incredulity.

Scrunched brows and squinted eyes? Anger, rage, exasperation.

It comes as it goes.

All my life, I’ve been compelled by eyes; they hold a myriad of tales, unspoken, see-through stories of existence, and some mysterious truths. Reading eyes has become a habit of mine, an amiable idiosyncrasy I can’t let go of. Some might call it an infatuation, and maybe it is.

Though, could I be blamed?

My senses go abuzz when I find my own interpretation of people’s eyes; sometimes, their eyes would express their sentiments even before their voice and body could. Interpretations and perceptions are not always based on impressions. I wouldn’t judge anyone for their way of leaving a mark on me, or their speculations for that matter.

The irises which harbour different colours, they are a delight to read at times. From a hazy brown to a mystic grey, perhaps a dash of green and blue to the specks lined with the stark white; an idiosyncratic attribute ensuing a plethora of tacit inklings.

I had grown accustomed to noticing people’s eyes first, an urge coming to almost immediately when I peered at anyone; I would stare into the depths of the furrows and crypts, uncovering the different shades in them. Although, I might parade my pride in being adept at this said quirk, but I could never read his eyes.

That one perplexing man who had become my fixation, unknown to me how he did. With how cordially speechless he was, I could write a novel about his silence. There’s beauty in his silence, in his words, in his eyes; unfathomable, yet still so alluring and hauntingly beguiling. Without saying much, his eyes would inveigle anyone into doing anything for him. They were a trap, a well-played ruse to hold you captive—anyone would fall into it, I did too.

Things have their own way of working out. I was told by some mistake of my past. As my days went on to become years of countless regrets and failures, I built my faith in his words more than ever. My beliefs were shaped by countless people coming in and going out of my life; although, the unpredictability of life can sometimes be a bitch.

Things don’t work out on their own. It only took one person to change my opinions, my beliefs, my perceptions, and my life. A man who willingly chooses to remain in the dark, in the obscurities of his mind; it only took one man to change me completely. Life’s full of regrets and satisfactions. You fall in love, and you imbibe resentment, you find joy at times whereas there’s also disappointment.

It comes and goes.

“I also work on referrals, Mr. Jeup.”

A coarse titter resonates through the empty hallway, followed by someone’s dainty footsteps. Curiosity breaks your bubble, and you stop twisting the ring around your finger, pausing for a moment to direct your attention to the sounds passing through. You narrow your eyes down at the two people conversing in the middle of the hallway; a taller man you were supposed to meet with, and a middle-aged man, somewhat shorter in his stature.

When your friends were forcing you to therapy, they were raving about this therapist more specifically. And from their rambling, you could sure tell why they wanted you to be here. Your therapist was a good-looking man—that certainly undersells the point, but you were tongue tied because of the band around your finger.

“Of course, Dr. Jeong. You don’t have to remind me.”

“I feel like I need to,” the therapist lets out another laugh. “I’ll see you in the next week, Mr. Jeup.”

Their conversation, seemingly muffled to your ear, was a pointless distraction from the anxiety crawling up your stomach. When you hear the man’s footsteps descend down the hallway, you look away, fixing your gaze on your newly manicured nails. You have the urge to chip off the fresh coat of polish off them, fidget with your fingers while this moment passed. The stranger’s silhouette grazes your skin as he walks past you, leaving you alone on the chair in the middle of a brightly lit hallway.

“Mrs. Choi, I suppose?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, sensing a certain type of warmth lurk on your side. His shadow forces itself on you, compelling you to suck in another breath and compose your nerves. A frail stretch graces your lips and you turn to face him, crooning your neck further up to meet his eyes.

You hum out a response, “yeah, that’d be me.”

He nods his head in acknowledgment. “Can we take a moment? I’m sure you’re not in a hurry to get your session started right away.”

“I can wait.”

“There’s no reason for you to be…” he trails off, “anxious. I don’t bite.”

You could tell he was joking, but your anxiety couldn’t. Your brows scrunch up, and your lips tremble.

“Oh, not a fan of jokes, I assume?” he clicks his tongue, smiling down widely at you. “I won’t waste much of your time, mrs. Choi. Ten minutes is all I ask and I dearly apologise if what I propose is an inconvenience to you.”

“It’s absolutely not,” you retort, not even taking a breath in between. “Ten minutes is fine. I can wait. There’s no problem with waiting until you are comfortable.”

He lets out another chuckle, “it’ll just be ten minutes, I promise. I’ll heed you the moment I’m done.”

Nodding to him, you press your lips together and stare down at your quivering hands. An eventual gust of cold pushes through between you, making you raise your head up to find yourself staring his back; you keep your eyes on him till he disappears into the room, or his office—you can’t be too sure about it yet. And you were back to being along on the confining cushion chair, sinking deep into it while your thoughts ran amok. With nothing better to do, you tip your head back against the chair’s support and close your eyes, deciding to catch a few minutes’ shut eye.

Well, you could hardly relax in whatever time you were told to wait; your thoughts proving to be heavy on your mind and your shoulders. What are you doing here? Should you really be here? Should you really have booked an appointment with a sex therapist out of all? You had your doubts when your friends told you about it; since when have their solutions ever been fruitful to you? This takes you back to the night you were sobbing your sad story to them. You find yourself reliving the night, at that dingy bar, on a sweaty leather couch, a booth too dark for your own good, and the chaos of your friends.

It was a tough night, that one. Nightouts weren’t your scene anymore, not since you had gotten married. Spending your nights with your husband was more peaceful than going out to noisy clubs with your girlfriends. You had changed, and your friends gave you an earful about it every time they had the chance to. Regardless—that night—you wish to forget about it, burn the memory forever, bury it somewhere deep down within yourself, somewhere where you won’t retrieve it again.

Never again…

“Mrs. Choi?”

It’s a sweet voice that jerks you out of your daze, making your body flinch at the sudden sound. You sit up straight in the chair, coming face to face with your said therapist. His soft brown eyes bore into yours and his lips have a fragile curve etched on them; he shakes his head and straightens up as well.

You blink twice, retaliating. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“I never made any accusations,” he simply shrugs and turns on his heel. “If you’ve gotten too comfortable now, then you should see me inside, missus Choi.”

There’s spite laced to his words, so cleverly he enunciates them.

“Yes—yes,” you clear your throat and scamper on your feet, following a step behind him.

“I may have taken a minute over the proposed time, apologies,” he speaks up, and stands by the ajar door, guiding you inside his office, or the aforesaid room.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, purposely keeping your tone down. A soft shade of red coats your cheeks, embarrassed at the prior moment replaying in your mind.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” He states as he closes the door behind him.

The room is cosy. That’s the first word in your mind: cosy. There’s a long window to one side, overlooking the city. One of the remaining three sides of the walls is covered by paintings deftly hung on it, and the other two are left blank with a cream shade. The centre space is occupied by two armchairs facing each other at a slight angle, and coffee table separates the two. There are two floor lamps on the each side of the chairs, and some pages and a notepad are strewn about on the table. The rest of the room is neat, with necessary vacancies filled with furniture, and so on.

You sit down on the chair, focusing on a stray crease falling on the flounce of your dress. You have eerie fixations at times like these, times when your anxiety is speaking louder than your rationality. Murmured shuffling follows a soft grunt from him, he sits down on the chair opposite to you and crosses his legs. You hadn’t given him much of your attention before, though now, you’re gradually catching up on the little details. His hair is a dusky shade of blue, he has sleek and frameless glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose; and more precisely, he’s clad in a black suit with a grey shirt. He’s lean, but not so much; he has a good built, and his height makes up for it.

“Before we start,” he clears his throat, grabbing a hold of his notepad from the table. “I would like to assure you that this is a safe space, and the doctor-patient confidentiality secures your privacy—which we’ve already signed on.”

You look up at him and nod your head, not making a sound.

He sighs and continues, “I would very much prefer if you were to use your words than staying mute.” Leaning back against the chair, he presses his lips together and breathes out, “considering it’s "our first session", I’ll cut you some slack. But I can’t help you unless you’re willing to be comfortable with me.”

This time, his eyes grow heavy on you; the intense stare delving through yours, makes your body shudder.

“I understand, doctor.” You mumble, “I’ll try to be upfront with you.”

“All’s in vain if you’re not relaxed,” he adds, his words sounding wispy to you. “Let’s not take up much of your time now. We shall start, I suppose?” he asks you.

“Surely.” You don’t know why you even spewed that word out, you didn’t want to sputter the first thing that came to your head.

“Great. First and foremost, I want to know what’s on your mind right now.”

It’s a simple question, right? Simple enough to answer without seemingly crushing down under the weight of your anxiety and stress. Right?

“Well, I’ll be honest. I’m not sure about seeking therapy for my intimate relationship with my husband.” You blurt, rolling your shoulders out. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s all new to me; how am I not supposed to be uneasy with this?”

“Alright,” he hums, his eyes straying off of you for a long minute before they’re back on you, piercing through your soft and confused gaze. “Think of me as someone whom you would share your feelings with. A friend? Maybe. We’re still bound to other liabilities though. If we were to, supposedly, take them into consideration, I believe that would make us friends with benefits—strangers with benefits sounds more cheerful on the ear, doesn’t it?”

You could only nod to him, acknowledging his speculations, however eldritch they might sound to you right now.

“Right. We’re both associated with each other in some sort of welfare,” he smiles weakly at you, “I’m not asking you to let your guard down, but I suppose, you could begin by telling me what your issue is. We can work out why you need therapy later on, that is after I understand your problem, Mrs. Choi.”

“You make somewhat reasonable points,” you mutter under your breath, looking away to peer out of the window, noticing the sudden change of hues in the sky. “I guess, I can comply with what you’ve proposed. I need someone to talk, anyway. Need to get these things off my mind—and why won’t a stranger, whom I’m paying a huge fee by the hour, be a better person for it.” You shrug, redirecting your attention to him.

He raises a brow at you, a blank look in his eyes, a stoic expression written all over his face. Leaning to the side in his chair, he rests his elbow on the armrest and lets his forefinger graze his lower lip. He wants you to speak your mind, you could see it in his eyes.

“My husband and I—my husband and I have been struggling with intimacy.” You squeak, “it’s starting to affect our relationship—our marriage. It’s too soon for us to bend.”

He hums again. “And how long have you been married for?”

“We’ve—almost eight years now.” You answer, “we met in college, became friends, graduated together, and destiny brought us here.”

“Marriages aren’t meant to be perfect,” he begins, “it’s very common for couples to face challenges, struggle with their emotions, their differences and time becomes completely irrelevant in such situations.” He lets out a soft sigh, “have you voiced out your feelings to him?”

“Many times,” you croak, “it always ends with him misunderstanding me. We grow further apart when it happens.”

He starts scribbling something on his notepad, “arguments are common too, Mrs. Choi. Your emotions are running high and if there’s anything you want to avoid, is creating misunderstandings or misconceptions.”

“I’m aware.” You look away from him, staring down at the ring tied around your finger, the diamond glinting ever so gently under the bashing rays of dwindling sun.

“Is there, perhaps, something else on your mind, Mrs. Choi?” he questions, his words striking nonchalant to you. In all seriousness, he’s hit the right spot; your mind had been elsewhere since you spoke about your problem with him.

Your mind is dwelling on your husband.

“I—I—I shouldn’t be saying this,” you stutter, fumbling with your thoughts and your words, your tongue growing heavy in your mouth.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Mrs. Choi.”

His voice is what stays reverberating in your head when the silence grows, neither does he tend to break it nor do you; the weight of your emotions starts building up on your shoulders, till you’re physically slouching, till you grow heavy to your notions. You fidget with your ring, twisting and sliding it along your finger. He watches you quietly, noticing your lower lip trapped between your teeth, which dent it in till it starts bleeding gently, your chest convulsing to the erratic rhythm of your heart, and your trepidatious mannerisms.

He’s about to break the silence, but a sharp intake of his breath, snaps you out and you finally say out the words trapped between your teeth.

“I think he’s cheating on me.”

[COMING SOON]

SO IT GOES [M.LIST.]

[megismyname]

I agree that Nic hasn’t said she is dating J and same goes to Luke regards to A. Nic and Luke haven’t said they are seeing each other either, so how can you say that Luke and Nic are together when they haven’t said anything, double standard 

Dear Diary,

Today a troll on the internet accused me of perpetuating a double standard all while hiding behind no profile pic and an “Anon” moniker.

Oh “perpetuating” and “moniker” might have been too big of words for said Anon - I really need to remember who I’m dealing with.

Anyway on to the “double standard” 🙄

Do I tend to believe there is a chance that Nic and Luke are together? I sure do. Why? I’m well versed in critical thinking and media literacy and those are skills that lack greatly around here.

Now what’s the difference between me and the “others” - I don’t walk around saying this is FACT. The thing is that none of us know “fact” except Nic and Luke.

So if an Anon wants to come in and tell me they THINK J or A might be in play as romantic partners, then I’ll accept the opinion. Depending on the reasoning, I might not respect it but I’ll accept it. But when an Anon comes in telling me I’m delusional or out of touch with reality then they can go play in traffic because the fact is none of us know the “reality.”

Just another day and another troll who can’t function without me getting under their skin for existing in a positive mindset. Oh they keep me young. 😘

[what-even-is-thiss]

Writers all come from different walks of life but the thing we have in common is the ability to write things down. To put stuff in sentences. Sometimes even non-sentences. But I’ve met people who can’t write. Who can’t talk good. And I think to myself. That’s not a writer. The perspective of a writer is inherently biased towards people who can write stuff down. Public memory and opinion is dominated and documented by the articulate.

And as someone who is quite articulate or at least aims to be I can’t really fundamentally understand the perspective of the not so articulate. So my thoughts are clear and readable before you but those who can only speak in one word sentences or those too afraid to put pen to paper? Not heard from as much. And I’m not certain how you fix that. And of course there are those who simply don’t want to be heard from. Those who don’t care. Those who are illiterate for one reason or another.

Like as infinitely diverse as writers are, we’re still writers. And we can really only hope to approximate the feelings of those who aren’t. Because once you’re able to write it’s difficult to impossible for you to understand what it’s like to not be able to do that. You can certainly try. But there’s whole swaths of society that just never produce much of anything for the written dimension of the historical record.

I think about the ones from the past. So many people like the ones I know. Smart people. Good people. Never were able to write much down or even say much. People who think that my ability to write is so odd. They’ve told me so. Sometimes directly, sometimes in other ways they were able. People like my grandfather who could barely string a sentence together in the best of times. There’s so much he’s lived through that I wish he could’ve written down but he’s not a writer or a talker. So what’s left for history? My interpretation of his life events. Not his. Because I’m the writer in the family. I’m the one who collects information and puts it into sentences later. I’m the only one, really. And what of my family? Do their stories even want to be told? Have I even collected all of them? Have so many of them been lost because they just didn’t know how to put it into a sentence?

There’s a lot I’ll never know that’s locked behind people communicating differently than I do, being good at different things than I’m good at. It drives me crazy.

[what-if-i-just-did]

"Are you okay?"

I spoke softly, so as not to startle him. I'd come back to the room to find him sitting up, and I could almost feel his panic and confusion. Upon seeing me, he calmed down.

"Yeah," he nodded, and it looked painful. "Just, I woke up and you weren't there, so.. "

I understood the problem instantly. I'd only gone to get water, but.. I would have reacted the same way, had it been him. Strange. Just days ago, I would not have hesitated to kill him. He would have easily done the same- nearly did, on a few occasions. Subconciously, my hand raised to the side of my throat, tracing an old scar. Very nearly.

Sitting down on the bed again, I could tell he was still looking at me. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Well... not beyond what We already know."

Right. We. Capital-W-we, like capital-U-us. Something that had happened in a single second that seemed to span a century. Mortal enemies to codependancy, a complete united front, within a second. We were lucky, We supposed. By myth and legend, the few that found what We did either came out with their sanity in fragmented shards, or did not come out at all.

Perhaps that's why We came out alive and sane- Well, sane... As close as could. One mind would shatter... but two would meld. Still incapable of grasping the... the magnitude, the insignificance, the severity of what We witnessed. Of what We know. But not catatonically so.

I sigh. We've spent the past few days in a hotel, avoiding Our respective teammates, mentors, minions, superiors... I know the exact look my mentor would give me if We even tried to explain this. How do We explain what happened to Us? How do We explain why there even is an Us, when We don't know Ourself? They would have his head most likely, or at least try to talk to me alone. But the difference, the line between me and him has thinned and blurred into infathomability. We don't know how, We can only guess at why. How could We convince them of it? The truth is We can't, and we know it. And his side.. has it's own complications. It's been days... We've been getting used to being Us, but We're running out of time.

"You're troubled."

Had it been anyone else, the observation would have startled me, seeing as how deep in thought I was. As it is, it's like he'd already been in my mind. Our mind. Days ago, my greatest enemy. Now, I don't believe he will ever be capable of even startling me again.

"We're running out of time. It's been a few days. They were aware of the risk in Our respective missions, but they will be expecting a result, and soon. Our corpses, or Our success. We need to decide what to do. We required the time to re-adjust, We still need more time, but... if We are not to do something soon, something to monitor or influence the consequences, then consequences will find Us, Our preferences and needs be damned."

He nodded. I didn't need more of an answer, anyways. He was already aware of everything I said. That's another thing, this.. near psychic bond. It wasn't like We could hear eachother's thoughts, it was more like.. like We had no need to. His body, his emotions, felt like an extension of what had originally been my own. We were still seperate and yet, connected. His feelings felt like an echo in my mind, his presence bringing me comfort despite feeling like my shadow. He was me, and more. He was still him. I was still me. But We were Us, and that was irreversible and incomprehensible.

Silently, we thought. Going through our options, sharing opinions, it required no words, no means of communication. Eventually We came to a conclusion. We would have to make sure that Our other halves weren't to be injured, that We weren't to be seperated, by either of Our previous sides. We didn't question those instincts, those needs. They had been instilled in Us the second we became Us, and it had left Us a scared, shivering mess as We clung to eachother, Ourself, for the first few hours. We had worked past that, had learnt to become seperate enough to operate independantly. Still, We stayed close.

It wasn't so much as that it hurt to be apart, as that it was massively unpleasant. Well, it hadn't hurt up until then, but We'd only been apart for short times and short distances since then- the bathroom, grabbing something, switching off the lights. It would not surprise Us if being further apart or for longer amounts of time would end up causing pain. We are One, after all.

Reassured, we both nodded. The lights had remained off, so there was no need to seperate Ourself. We slept in one bed, skin-to-skin, the closest We could get to physically being one. Social convention and strangers' assumptions were not something We were bothered by anymore. Although some leaned towards unpleasant accusations, We'd considered it an occupational hazard of almost always being in physical contact of some sort.

Sleep reached Us simultaniously, as it had ever since We became Us. It was a peaceful sleep, preparing for the day ahead.

Enemies who experience an inescapable horror together and can't imagine being without one another again

The one you hated just days before becomes the one you need curled against you to feel safe, the back of your neck now a hearth for his fiery breath while he sleeps. Flames that once terrified you have become a comfort, a barrier from evil that wishes for your shared demise.

[kitthefoxkin]

tw// discussion of genitals, zoophilia, harassment, transphobia, and sexual topics

has anyone else seen the controversy over species affirming packers? its been all over my feed and i have a lot of thoughts about it. the person that originally made them is actually my mutual on tiktok (where this whole thing originated) and i honestly think its not that big of a deal 😭

for context, a user named cyrusbarks on tiktok asked if anyone was interested in him making species affirming packers for alterhumans. a bunch of people were, so he made them and posted about it. they're sewn by hand with fabric and stuffing. they're not excessively detailed. since then, a LOT of people have been accusing him of being a zoophile and a predator because of this, which is insane to me.

first of all, packing isnt sexual and never has been. the only reason people think it's sexual is because it's genital related, which is just not correct. genitals arent sexual, and wanting species affirming gear isn't either. its no different from human packers made for trans folks already. but for some reason, people think that this specifically has sexual intent, despite not being usable in any sexual context.

second, a BUNCH of people have been misgendering him. Cyrus uses he/him and bark/barks pronouns and everyone ive seen talking about it has referred to him as They or She, both of which are misgendering. one person i was talking to literally said that he deserved to be misgendered. their exact words were "if someone's being odd... they don't deserve respect". i don't think i have to explain why this is an absurd thing to say.

third, people have been coming at ME for defending him, coming to my tiktok page calling me a zoophile. this is not only incorrect, but so, so hurtful. i love my pets so much, and being accused of being attracted to them is absolutely disgusting. my cat has gotten me through the worst times in my life, and people are implying that im abusing them because of my opinions on a stupid online controversy. its absurd.

my first mistake was expecting maturity and nuance on tiktok, i think. if you have any differing opinions or viewpoints, please please message or comment!!! i do genuinely want to discuss this topic and understand other people's viewpoints, as i feel very strongly about this. please just be respectful-- if you're just going to insult me, im not going to engage in conversation.

thank you for reading friends!

[lesfir]

Astarion and Vampire Supremacy. In general and in romance.

In DnD, vampires are huge supremacists. They consider themselves superior to any undead and certainly superior to mortals. All mortals are cattle to vampires.

In Baldur's Gate 3, this trait is also present in vampire culture.

In Astarion there seems to be almost no such things… Or they are not emphasised - as I think they are. In my opinion we should have explored his different traits.

Vampire Supremacy is one of them.

Astarion was an Upper City noble and the chances that he wasn't arrogant towards the "lower classes" are very low. Zero for me. So he was already familiar with supremacism very well. Add to that the loss of his status and the hierarchy of the coven in which he became a slave. That's something.

We barely have conversations with Astarion about vampire culture: what does it mean to be in "vampire coven"? How vampires relate to the mortal world? And what does he like about the vampire world? It's more shadowy moments.

Here I found a few.

Part 1. Details in the story.

EA 9 patch, Act 1 - the grove, after killing Nettie. It's one of those cut out scenes with little companion comments and reduced to a one line or remade. Shadowheart had it too :< Now:

Act 2 - after killing the strange ox. Act 3 - Astarion as Lord says his stuff :D

This word: "spook" cattle/sheep... It's same edge of his character.

In Act 1, you'd think he thinks all "weak" people are sheep. That's true, too. Nettie has lost, she's dead and she's a sheep, but somewhere around here in the grove there will be a hunter for him and Tav - they have to go.

In Act 3, the path of evil, Astarion demonstrates this line deeper and more vividly. In Act 2, it still sounds like something funny, comical. Yes, yes chickens, oxen and people. But these are food animals - and that's not such a joke to Astarion.

To put it in perspective in Act 1 all his companions is a snack. He discusses with Tav what they would taste like. Here's the synopsis for that scene:

Synopsis: Astarion is staring at the other companions around the campfire. He's friendly and affable, but his mind is on his hunger. He starts to wonder what the others taste like, although he's MOSTLY joking. In the end he decides to remove himself, before the conversation gets too real. Mostly a joke that could become something serious.

Vampiric arrogance, predatory nature.

Vampires are clever hunters - their arrogance towards mortals comes in many forms, from food to merry carnage to lust. Basically, they use whatever gives them profit and pleasure.

He might not eat Laezel, but watching Lae and Shadowheart fight is entertainment for him.

Looks fun, but the nature of it is dark. It can be taken ironically, but he really enjoys watching brutal fighting and generally killing. It's a trait. Deserves its own post.

WYR_SmugglersCave_PAD_Suggestions He do hope. It's also relevant to mortals. Corrupt people with power are as parasitic creatures as vampires. Instead of blood, it's gold, work, and entertainment in an wicked way that damages people.

In this I notice the metaphorical nature of vampirism in Astarion's character. As an example of corruption I recall Astarion's little remark when we kill the two ogre-lovers of the barn.

The insignificance (who cares about two ogres) and again the comicality of the situation, the way Astarion smiles as he opens the barn is legendary. Kind of hides it a little bit and takes it away from the thought…

Somewhere in Baldur's Gate someone is paying gold to watch fights, and it's unlikely these fights have civilized rules. And it's doubtful that such a entertainment would only apply to ogres. The fighting pits at Baldur's Gate. Who knows if Astarion was interested in that when he was mortal. I headcanon that he was. He was extremely corrupted and it's deep in his personality.

Here is this telling facet, Astarion's interest in such burtal things, which are as much in the shadows as gremlin remarks, yet there is exactly "evil" in this one. This part of that aspect: The arrogance of the Noble and the Vampire. More points about treating people like cattle. There is a moment in Act 2 - and I have absolutely no idea where it is. SHA_Mausoleum_PAD_MakeshiftVessel Players find a vessel with a half-formed humanoid shape gestating inside and reacts accordingly. The being is just inert flesh and cannot speak. How to trigger: Interact with S_SHA_Mausoleum_MakeshiftVessel.

Where is that thing? I can't find.

In good companions, this is a cause for concern. In general the place where they found it contributes to very unpleasant thoughts. A mausoleum in the shadow lands of Sharr, where a necromancer and the chosen of Myrkul struts around. Well, Astarion too, as you can see... finds a downside. Hunting people is fun and keeps you in the spirit.

It's a good idea to check all the phrases in Astarion's Original throughout the acts. Maybe there's more.

I watched the epilogue of Lord Astarion Original and in a conversation with Minthara (hah, who else?)

And it's wild. It's literally all about the people. :D

We have a few to choose from for rpg's. And given the line about sports… I really don't think Astarion will be buying "food" very often. Or that pale arse is lazy after all and his hunt is a park in the city. And when he should be setting up his power web in the city, he's too busy for hunting.

Can you imagine him wanting to hunt and get some air, but he's got some lordish business in the halls until late in the evening.

Part 2. In Romamce.

This part departs from such direct things as blood and the predator's attitude towards people. It becomes more sensual.

I would say this trait of supremacism is slightly visible, but not over people, over mortality in a greater sense, when Astarion turns Tav: he emphasises the strength, sharpness. Better.

The morning after the turn.

He has a point. The last time he was mortal, he was killed.

Astarion as Lord does the same with God Gale Original mentioning immortality as - strength, lack of illness and youthfulness. love this one

His vampiric arrogance over Tav perhaps visible only in the first act. He didn't really care. Tav became his fun, his lust, and his way to survive. Then Tav is the first person to care about him in dozens and dozens of years of slavery. "Blood bags" and such are a bit of dark humour, so it might have been true in another life, but he and Tav are far from it, they're the first person he's cared for in decades of loneliness. His perception of mortality as something that makes a person more vulnerable is his trigger (among others) for turning Tav into a his kind. But since he's not in such a hurry in the end of mortal Tav, I'm guessing: it's his euphoric state after the ritual, where his spire for the castle of vampire happiness is to be with Tav forever. He chillin' about it, afterward. Tav's immortality is a nice thing he'd like, but okay it can wait. So. Tav... they're special. The two of them are special. Astarion elevates Tav and himself above the others. We are Better.

Camp. Vampire ambush.

When the camp is ambushed by spawns. If Tav proposes the idea that the world is actually a wonderful place that can accept him - he argues with them. But approves of all three different reactions. Also then Astarion says the word "forever" in regards to their relationship, to Tav.

This "forever" part is deep in Astarion. According to the artbook (The artbook is EA era, which is still sold with the game though, and the story doesn't contradict anything) So according to the artbook Astarion was obsessed with eternal life, forever youth, forever being. It extends to his feelings - it's needed forever. It's very sensual, but also very greedy and… painfully understandable - it's such a simple feeling to make something nice continue for as long as possible.

If Tav is on the same page as Astarion and tends towards the "only loved ones matter, we're special" mindset. You'd think it was his trick-manipulation to perform a ritual, praise Tav for supporting his idea of supremacism and get what he so reasonably needs. He's certainly glad that Tav has similar ideas to him, and he'll definitely support that. It doesn't depend on his goals still - his "we are better" is very direct and deep in his personality.

Italicized. Here we are. That's one of the key thoughts in his character. That's the focus. This trait is further seen in Astarion as Lord - he says "We", "Ours". The man even says it in Latin. Aeterna amantes.

New in patch 7, takeover of the Absolute:

This part is already moving away from vampirism. This one is very layered. We are because he finally found someone he can trust. We are because we are parts fated to complete each other. We are because he's not alone in the world anymore.

Along with vampirism, his Noble Lord status plays a role here again. We are the mighty, above and we rule.

It's an easy and very simple fit to vampirism - we are better and we are forever.

He's also incredibly proud of himself, that he can give something to Tav, can protect them. He's been under Tav's protection the whole journey. Undead outcaster in Faerun, they regard mortals as cattle, and mortals regard them as monsters. That's why there are monster hunters. Vampire spawn he was allowed to stay in the group and he was dependent, he couldn't be a leader. In the romance he felt he had nothing to give, he was getting Tav into trouble with a powerful true vampire. He was counting the seconds until they finally decided to leave him…

In the romance, vampirism plays into the fact that Astarion is very much immersed in thoughts of eternity together. This emotionally intense and fragile moment: "I don't want to lose anything", comes from the very moment he lost: his status, the sun, his life. Not gonna happen again. Vampirism in the romance have fun one too: -- wealth - these two literally wear the most expensive clothes on the Sword Coast. -- shared powers - he is going to be in charge -- fights and challenge is for Tav- warrior, Astarion likes to spill some blood -- pleasure - of various kinds, from bed to blood.

The end result is an amalgamation of his: -- his personality with, well, a pretty intense dark triad. I would say character image instead of personality. Because the personality is itself. But the character will always submit to the idea - recall that his core is a balance of evil and fun. And evil in DnD is eogism, immorality, narcissism, harming others for fun and personal goals and all that. These dark parts in irl personality can spoil the balance. That's why psychology is for people. Not for characters who will eventually never go against their core. (even if all psychology reference books say otherwise). -- vampirism - the desire for blood and a predatory attitude -- desire for status and power as noble -- force as magic -- forever -- and share it all with love A little bonus at the end. Animation 3 patch. Subtle process.

This scene is much improved in colours in patch 7. But I still like the original faces. He looks so much like a fox >:3

[dykedvonte]

One of my mutuals opinions is the "bro code" thing, that Curly is one of those guys who wouldn't care about the victim because the perpetrator is his friend and I'm really banging my head on the wall like that other anon. I've only played through the game once but Curly's behaviour/reactions etc read completely different from the "bro code" thing and I have to wonder if my mutual and I even played the same game.. like the constant digs at him from Jimmy, his body language in his face reveal and so on like you mentioned in your post. While this game is a little different obviously, it kind of reminded of a point in Alice Madness Returns that makes it very clear that Alice's pain blinded her to the abuse of the other children and her failure to act earlier because of it. Curly is guilty of a similar inaction but it doesn't change the fact he was a victim of Jimmy too. I don't think I can look at it any other way because both of these games have really stuck with me.

I genuinely think it really is the idea that people want a simple easy to blame problem and the idea that the only relatable victims of abuse are those that "surpass" it or do a lot to help others. When it comes to victims, especially those that don't fit the typical demographics, who either accidently perpetuate it, enable it or aren't ideal in some way shape or form, people jump to ignore what they went through as it's easier than dealing with those conflicting sentiments.

The bro-code conversation in Mouthwashing stems from a concept I generally dislike that there had to be something about Curly that made him meet or keep being friends with someone like Jimmy. I think people genuinely underestimate how many like decent and good people just know an asshole or are friends with someone who is really bad outside of their view/established dynamics. The game makes it clear none of the inaction against Jimmy is because of a lack of care, it is a lack of understanding from the privaleged postions they have as men to not have to worry about what Anya does/went through and the type of extremes men like Jimmy will go through to cover it up. They are all too preoccupied in their own strifes.

Another thing I see being oversaturated the idea that you have to be a freak, misanthrope or have a disorder to do the thing Jimmy does. The game is an escalation, it's a spiral that I don't see people comment on that Jimmy was not likely having the mood swings and episodes of rage/frustration we were seeing in the game. This is after they all start experiencing the worst moments in their lives that he got THAT openly bad. Of course, this is just my interpretation but much like in real life, people that go to extremes like that usually live mundane lives. It's a pressure cooker affect to where the stress made them pop. It's self inflicted but still the case.

I really think people need to be more willing to acknowledge that not everything needs to be an extreme or in black and white or easy to understand. It doesn't need to be happy or have an answer or solution, especially in the cases where the abused sadly helps perpetuate what they experience. It's not he should've known better from experience or shouldn't he have known what could've happened because victims tend to not like to think in matters of the worst. Not to mention, especially in cases of abuse where it feels so personally directed that you don't expect to happen to someone else.

[thewadapan]

I do recommend people take this test, it's a riot.

But like, it's not a study. (The site linked above appears to be yet another waste-of-space Amazon-affiliate-advertising content aggregator grift, which talks a big game about Creative Commons but why would I want to repurpose any of this material in the first place? The only original content I can see here is obviously-AI-generated thumbnails for the art, which look like dogshit. The original results post for the test is a much better read.)

The way the test is designed is like this. Images were roughly balanced by art style: so of all the digital-art pieces, 50% are human, 50% are AI, same for the renaissance paintings, same for the impressionist stuff, same for abstract. Except, obviously, the human pictures have been selected to exhibit stereotypical signs of AI-ness: overdetail, odd scaling, incorrect proportions, random meaningless shapes, illegible text. Meanwhile, the AI stuff has been filtered to avoid anything that had obvious tells to a layman's eye, like fucked-up hands or whatever.

So it's basically a game of like... whatever your gut instinct tells you the image's provenance is, it's probably the opposite.

When you filter out the human works, and look at the provenance of solely the AI pictures (as given in the results post), that's when you find out what this test is actually indicative of. The pieces were mostly generated by two ACX readers, Ryan Wise and Jack Galler. I remember spotting every single one of Ryan's images, without fail. Meanwhile, nearly all of Jack's images fooled me. (There were also a handful of other AI images taken from social media or whatever, which again, I easily pegged as being AI-generated, they're pure slop.)

I'll actually go so far as to say that it's pretty embarrassing for Ryan that he thought these images were good enough to share. Wall-eyed figures whose clothes blend into flesh, abstract shapes with eerily-lifelike inhuman faces leering out of the picture, inconsistent details... but most of all, a sense that the prompts themselves were bereft of any creativity. "robot skeleton abstract painting", "woman in field impressionist". Come on man. AI is the ultimate tool for ideas-guys, and yet here you are without a single idea to show for yourself.

Ryan was apparently using StableDiffusion. Meanwhile, here's Jack talking about his process:

I just used Midjourney. Most of the prompts were just describing some generic impressionist scene. I've never had an art history class (but I am an art history fan!), so I worked with ChatGPT to identify key trends of say, Impressionism, so I could prompt better. I generated a lot of each one ,and just used my subjective opinion to decide what looked good and what didn't. The Paris Scene (which fooled the most people) had this prompt: "Impressionist painting of a bustling Parisian street under the soft rain, 1881" The Riverside Cafe (which people liked the most) had this prompt: "Impressionist painting of a countryside café terrace during twilight, 1883"

It seems that specifying a year in particular was what helped Midjourney hone in on these historical styles in a convincing way. Jack's method obviously involved a huge amount of cherry-picking—which I would argue is another huge element of human intervention, if only in a sense of curation. A version of this test I would like to see would be one where both different AI models and a range of talented artists were given the same prompt. What if it was one-shot, with just a single generation, no cherry-picking? Except of course an AI can generate thousands of paintings in the time it takes a human to do just one, so what would that even prove?

This test reminded me of a piece I saw on deviantART a long time ago, of this ruined fantasy castle in a cave. Pretty cool! But then you look at it a bit longer, and it's like- hang on, why is that human skull the size of the collapsed turret lying next to it? It's exactly the kind of nonsensical composition you see in AI, except no, it's just a digital artist using photoshop and they fucked it. I kind of feel like this is where the state-of-the-art of AI image generation is right now; about as good as a guy bashing together stock assets in photoshop, which is to say maybe good enough to get an idea across, even if it can't actually stand on its own two legs as a piece of art.

So yeah, from a cynical perspective, I'd find it hard to argue that Jack's generations aren't "good enough" for many applications. I don't know that I'd hang any of them in a gallery. The longer I look at them, the less I like them. But they've got the right vibes.

So a more accurate headline for that BOING BOING article might be, "AI art haters unknowingly prefer AI-generated works by Jack Galler, according to test".

If there's one thing I'll be taking away from this post, that's helped me better understand my own feelings on AI art, it's this analogy from digital artist Ilzo, quoted in the results analysis:

Imagine if everyone got the ability to create mostly nutritional adequate meals for like five cents, but they all were mediocre rehydrated powder with way too much sucralose or artificial grape flavor or such. And your friends start inviting you over to dinner parties way more often because it's so easy to deal with food now, but practically every time, they serve you sucralose protein shake. (Maybe they do so because they were used to almost never eating food? This isn't a perfect analogy.) Furthermore, imagine people calling this the future of food and saying chefs are obsolete. You'd probably be like "wow, I'm happy that you have easy access to food you enjoy, and it is convenient for me to use sometimes, but this is kind of driving me crazy".

Last month, over 11,000 people took Astral Codex Ten's survey to see if they could they tell the difference between 50 human-made art and AI-generated images. The results were humbling for humans, especially ones who professed a loathing for AI art.

Most participants stumbled through the test, scoring just 60% — barely better than flipping a coin. What tripped them up? Our preconceptions about art styles, it turns out, are deeply ingrained. When people saw classic Impressionist paintings, they confidently declared them human-made (and were often wrong). When they encountered digital art, they quickly labeled it as AI (and were frequently mistaken).

Perhaps the most ironic finding was about people who claimed to despise AI art. When these AI critics picked their favorite pieces without knowing their origin, they consistently chose AI-generated works. Even among those who rated their hatred of AI art at maximum levels, their top two favorite pieces were created by machines.

[nylloth]

My opinion about Arcane s2 (mostly Viktor)

I'm trying to be neutral on this, but I'm upset with what they did to Viktor.

I was wrong about their relationship with Sky (but I had hope), you can see he never really cared for her and the animators put their all into conveying that. Plus, let's say Sky represents Viktor's humanity and Viktor himself gives up on her. And it's a lot easier for him to give her up than it is for Jayce, who he's trying to show this new “world” to.

They have a lot of gay moments with Jayce, I don't know why the writers call it “family”. It's really hard to see family in that. It seems like at some point they decided to change the plot, because at the end Jayce and Viktor just disappear and no one just doesn't care what Jayce has with Mel.

The thing I didn't like the most was how they changed Ryze, that now Ryze is Viktor, the all-powerful mage. We know from the documentary that it was Ryze at one point. That would make more sense than Viktor traveling through time and constantly dooming himself to a series of miseries. But then again, they added the “all for Jayce” aspect to it.

You can see it's supposed to be a different character, right?

I really didn't like how they treated Sky because obviously she wasn't an evil manipulative core. Viktor killed her twice for his own purposes. Once by accident, the second time on purpose. Look, you add a girl who is IN LOVE with a man, make her die twice for him, and show WHY he doesn't care. It's a dirty act. Amanda said she was “proud to write Sky”, I don't know what there is to be proud of. As a woman, it was painful for me to watch. You didn't have to do that. Did you mean to say the character is gay? You don't have to humiliate women to do that.

I always hoped Viktor wouldn't have any romantic innuendos because feelings, for Herald, are a weakness. But the fact that they're indulging JayVik fans makes it look NOTHING like that. Like, I'm not a fan of this ship, but even I don't consider what they showed as brotherly feelings. Especially from Viktor's side. He is literally too concerned with Jayce's opinion.

I also think that the writers largely emphasized the clips and fights, but didn't add to the story itself. I mean Silco's deep thoughts in the first season on political topics and the theme of family in general was shown much better.

Herald is essentially non-existent. It's a character for the last two episodes who is immediately killed off because of a few words from Jayce. Viktor returns and they vaporize somewhere. I take it this is starting a recurring time loop.

They kind of tried to put in Viktor's “here he's come to the realization on his own that humanity is bad”, but they did it SO FAST and literally because of one event that it looked bad. Yeah, it's not about hexcore. VIKTOR SUPPOSEDLY CAME TO THIS ON HIS OWN. Why? Because Jayce shot him, and then Jayce helped him realize otherwise. No, really, what was that?

I also didn't like the redesign. I was hoping the mask would look different, but it looks HORRIBLE.

It's supposed to give the impression that Viktor “shut down and withdrew into himself”, they also tried to make him a “deity”, but since it only lasted 20 minutes before he went back to his normal state, it didn't make any sense… Anyway… I sympathize with everyone who loved Viktor specifically, outside jayvik ship (happy for you guys). I know they are excited, but this is not Viktor's story. You see, Viktor doesn't have his own personal story now, he's too connected to Jayce. You could say he did everything and nothing at the same time. Because he keeps running this time loop, but he's running it because of Jayce's influence.

Waiting for his updated lore to read….. idk I'll read it and forget it like a bad dream.

[rotshi]

sonadow brainrot yappings

Sonadow Twitter/Tiktok Takover:

I asked some questions to test my luck but ah well. at least i dont have to look both ways ten times the next time i cross the street. BUT oml what the hell was their problem? The amount of times my jaw dropped ??? Like Ayooo? "Go off king"???? Are you his queen???? "run laps around you"??? You keep it 'clean cut' to woo him????? "shopping partner"?????? You mean a fucking date???? Drawing each other unprompted????? Are you fucking kidding me?????? What the hell am i listening to? These fuckers got me exhausted. Like I woke up, listened to just 3 answers and was ready for a nap. Coffee flavored Ice cream MY HEARTTT!!!!!! (i wonder if i can get some coffee ice cream too) Sonic being like 'of course' when there's a mention of Shadow's caffeine addiction like he doesnt have a chilidog problem. They really are perfect for each other. Im surprised Shadow didn't say anything about it. Nah they did all this fruity shit on their OWN ACCORD! THEY DID IT THEMSELVES they did it themselves they did it themselves. Them influencing each other to the point where their opinions change on a FUCKING DIME: sonic: I dont have an opinion on orbot shadow: he sucks sonic: he sucks shadow: hes the best sonic: hes the best They really are so obsessed with each other it's concerning. If it were up to them they would spend their whole lives 'competing'. And these 'Competitions' 'Races' or whatever feel a lot like excuses to just be around each other. Oooooooooh their endless excuses. what is sonic's problem too? shadow opens up a smidge and the little blue bitch giggles. but i understand things had to be kept light for what theyre doing... i dont think sonic means to be... a little blue bitch. If they were alone i'd like to think sonic would be much more understanding and hear him out. But with possible kiddos listening in they couldn't get too deep into things. If it wasn't a 'Q&A Twitter/Tiktok' thing, and it was just them, I feel like they would talk all day and night. But they were getting to know each other and ahhh if was amazing. Hearing Shadow talk about himself and Sonic wanting to get to know him is the best and sweetest thing and all I was REALLY hoping for. Them just actually just sitting down and talking.

Deep thoughts:

Though I have been wondering what Shadow's beef with Sonic really boils down to. I highly doubt it but maybe Sonic reminds him more of Maria than he even wants to believe? Maybe at times he even sounds like her? Idk ??? How carefree and enthusiastic she was, helping shadow come out of his shell. IDK im a sonic noob !! He probably feels like this about a lot of people!

I can understand that there's more parallels with Maria and Amy than with Sonic and Amy. Putting myself in Shadow's shoes; I have a sister, I love like Shadow loves Maria. We are the best fucking friends. I can talk to her about ANYTHING. We're a team. But when it comes to finding a romantic partner, I dont want to look at my partner and just think of my sister lmao. But I would like a similar feeling. Comfortable, understanding, to have that team work, and able to talk about anything to them. And I think Sonic and Shadow have that if things were different I guess. Although Sonic doesn't always talk Shadow down from a decision, it does seem like they both can come to an agreement. "Two sides of the same coin". Like yeah, Sonic might've not been able to change Shadow's mind on going back to the Ark BUT I feel like Sonic probably wouldn't even try. I feel like he would probably even offer to join him for back up. IDK IDK IDK !!!! IM NEW TO SONIC STILL and all i've really seen of the two is some Game clips, some IDW stuff, and of course Sonic X and Sonic Prime. And some of the things my sister has told me. I got most of my IDW knowledge from her and pintrest ghhghg LiSTEN LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I know sonadow will never be canon, I KNOW !!!! i accept that. Sonamy runs this bitch and Im not even mad and I dont even care. honest to god i do not care. I just like Sonadow and will die on this stupid hill SO HAPPILY. But also it would be so funny if they were to be canon one day. I would lose my fucking mind and throw up. so for my own sanity and health, im glad that theyre never gonna be a thing. im sorry, but im already half way to calling my doctor. i dont think i can handle an official kiss. It's just pure brainrot thinking about how their complicated relationship would work. Love isn't just as simple as 1+1 , this shit has the whole alphabet and the whole fuckin pi in there and it could all add up to 0. I'm solving a math problem for fun BECAUSE IM STUPID AND LIKE TO SUFFER ‼‼‼‼‼‼ But they said the same thing about Bubbline and Korra/Asami and look how that turned out. It would be funny but at the same time reality would probably shatter and sonadow would have to save it again- like my profile says, Im gay and like gay things. let me perish.

I'm honestly the biggest yapper. I go quiet, think about shit, and open up like a shaken up soda can.

TLDR; sonadow takeover made me explode

[gretavanmoon]

Keep Me In Your Back Pocket

Sam x Female Reader

6.6k words

+ Not sure if this is a one shot, a blurb, or just an extended thought, but. Enjoy an angsty little Sammy idea.

Warnings: Cursing, Yelling, Mention of Smoking & Drinking, Mention of Mental Manipulation/Abuse, Arguing, Mention of Sex.

“Alright, lay it on me.”

For the life of her, she never knew exactly what color she wanted her hair to be. It seemed like every month she was rolling the dice on something new, something fresh and vibrant that she’d never tried before. She loved it blonde, she loved it when it was a dark chestnut, even liked it the time she dyed it a bright scarlet with some kind of purple streaks. She was always changing it, always daring to be different and go against the grain of what all the other girls were into that season. Every single one of them suited her, though. As gorgeous and poignant as her features are, every different way she decided to style herself fit her perfectly. 

“I love it,” I reassure her as she asks my opinion, knowing good and well that I’d admire her in any one of her decisions on changing up her appearance. 

“Sam, you say that every time. It’s okay to have a little constructive criticism sometimes,” she scorns me with a playful scoff. “Give me your honest opinion. I can take it.”

My eyes travel to meet hers in the mirror as we both stand before it, the reflection showing my appearance as disheveled and worn, just as it always was when I’d let myself indulge too much the night before. My shirts have always stayed permanently wrinkled and unbuttoned, and my hair was always in a constant state of tangles, tied in a forgotten knot at the back of my head. 

Her, though, as perfect as a shiny new thing just unwrapped and pulled from the box. Every single morning, every single night, every single ticking second of the day, she hardly ever looked like she was out of place. Naturally gorgeous, and she never even knew it. 

She pulls her fingers through her locks, fluffing and tousling and deciding whether or not her newest color-switch decision was a good one. 

"Y/N, I swear..." I reply, my hands coming up in front of my face to show my white-flag honesty.

“Ugh,” she groans, letting her fingers drift through it from her forehead and around to the sides, watching her reflection as the hair falls like feathers in front of her face. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“No, I promise. It looks really good on you. Every time you do this, it looks good. I wouldn’t lie to you, love.” And I’d swear to it. I’m not just trying to make her feel better. 

She was like a sponge to her surroundings, soaking up her inspiration from the dust that lied on the bottom shelves of high bookcases, or from the color of a new spring bud on a flower bush in the park. She saw beauty in everything and lived with nearly no hate in her heart, much to my opposite. She’s expressive and confident, effortless but with the loudest sense of humor and style. Never settling on one facet of life, but living in the sense that she’s able to change it whenever she damn well pleases. 

Mine and Y/N’s kinship goes back longer than I can remember. The ever-changing eras of our lives had been spent side-by-side since we were kids playing Kick the Can at the end of our neighborhood’s street, waiting for the street lights to come on to tell us when to run home for dinner.

I’d seen it all… Her first crush on the boy that sat behind her when we were in fifth grade, and her giddiness when he asked her to the winter dance. I’d seen her fail her driver’s license test four times before she finally passed, giving us both the freedom of inheriting her dad’s old beater flatbed and the open road. I helped her write the letter she wrote to her high school heartthrob, telling him that she no longer had the same feelings that she did when they’d first met. And I caught the subsequent tears that fell from her eyes as she listened to the horrific rumors he’d spread about her to the entirety of the school. I sat with her while she nervously opened her acceptance letter to college. Helped her surprise her parents with their twenty-fifth anniversary gift. I watched her fall in love with a man she met while she was pumping gas at a truckstop on her way home from a Black Sabbath show. And now, just as I always have, I’m helping her to understand the true beauty that she has always had as we stand before this mirror… Me in my pleated dark jeans, and her in her white dress and veil. 

“I just… this hair color doesn’t suit me, it never has,” she argues, trying her best to pin back the bangs she’d begun to let grow out some time ago. “It makes me look older, washed-out, don’t you think?”

I sigh, running my hand over my face as we go over this round-and-round again, probably for the fiftieth time in our lives. 

“Everything suits you, love,” I compliment her honestly, not brave enough to tell her that even though I’m standing behind her and encouraging her to notice her own beauty in her wedding gown, my heart and lungs are full of stones as the reality hits me that I’m not waiting for her at the altar, dressed in a tuxedo.

“Are you not happy with how it turned out?” I press.

I find it odd that instead of her embracing the newness of her copper-blonde strands that match perfectly with the color of the trim sewn onto her wedding dress, she’s instead criticizing it. It’s completely out of character for her. Normally, she’d be falling into the boost in confidence her new color has given her. But today… 

“No, it’s great it’s just… not me,” she argues. “It’s what Bobby wanted. Said he likes me best with this shade. Says it brings out the real ‘housewife’ side of my features.”

I physically can’t help the grimace that paints my face as it contorts into confusion. “Y/N, how the fuck does a hair color reflect how you choose to run a household?”

“Shhtt, Samuel. We’re in a church for god’s sake!” she turns and hits me across the arm as I roll my eyes at her pretending to care. She turns, careful not to step on the long train of her dress as she makes her way toward me, and away from the mirror. “Sammy this… This is my natural hair color. Close to it, at least."

“Oh…” I murmur, somehow only now realizing that I in fact have never really seen her with her real, actual hair color. Not since we were young kids, anyway, when my memory begins to turn to fuzz. 

“He says he loves me just the way I am, that I don’t need anything extra to make me look beautiful,” she goes on, her face falling just a bit as her eyebrows turn down. She stays quiet as she avoids my eyes, and she knows that it won’t take much for me to become argumentative. It’s easy to do, these days. 

At the risk of me making her mad on her wedding day, I stuff my sullied hands into my pockets, finding a wire nut and a few pennies at the bottoms to fidget with. “That may be true, love, but… is that what you want? You’ve always expressed yourself with all these wild hair colors… crazy makeup and outfits and whatnot.” 

It was true, her means of expressing herself were sometimes a little unprecedented in the grand scheme of things, but that’s exactly what always made her stand out to me. Besides the fact that I’ve been in her life for the past seventeen years, and the fact that I’m madly and incredibly in love with her.

“Yeah, I know… It doesn’t feel right to me, but. If it’s what Bobby wants–”

“Is that why you aren’t wearing hardly any blush on your cheeks? And you don’t have your fingernails painted, and your fingers aren’t dripping with all that silver you’ve collected over the years?” I grab her left hand, yanking it up close to my face to eye the small shiny diamond that now adorns her ring finger. From her betrothed… as her mother called him. Hell, the guy can’t even shoot Jack Daniels without a goddamned chaser let alone notice that the woman he’s to marry has laid down her entire life for him. 

She rips her hand from mine, jerking and forceful as I look back at her face. Striking as ever, even when completely devoid of any fancy eyeliner or powder, or whatever the stuff is. 

“Where’s that sparkly lip stuff you’ve worn every single day for the past ten years? Hm? And that necklace that you never take off because it’s bad luck…” My voice is rising now as she turns her back to me. “Fuck, Y/N, even your dress… You never wanted to wear white! Your dream wedding dress, what was it you always said, ‘I’ll never wear white in my wedding, simply because society tells me I have to!’”

“Stop, Sam! Just… Stop!” she yells, turning to face me now with rage emanating from her.

My jaw is clenched as my hands have long abandoned my pockets, rising into the air now as my voice continues to rise with them. 

“Stop what, Y/N?!”

“Stop being so goddamned honest with me all the time!” she yells. 

I scoff. “You just told me to not do you any favors, this is me not doing you any favors! Exactly like you asked!” I bicker. If there's one thing Y/N and I are good at, it's arguing.

“Ugh, do you know how easy it is to lie to someone?! How easy it is to sugarcoat reality to make it a little easier for them to digest?” 

“What in the fuck are you talking about, Y/N?” I ask, straining my voice.

She’s got tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and her voice is nearly as loud as mine. I halfway want to take this outside, pull a cigarette from my pocket and keep going so that the entire church can’t listen in, but I really don’t fucking care at this point. It feels like something is brewing.

“I’m saying it’s okay to lie to people sometimes, Sam! To make them feel a little bit better about their situations, okay?”

“Why in the hell would I lie to you, Y/N?” I retort, stepping closer toward her. She folds her arms over her chest in what looks to be self-preservation. “I’ve never fuckin’ lied to you, in almost twenty years, I’ve never once not been honest!”

She’s silent as we both begin panting through our rage, having trouble holding our tongues back from what we really want to say, simply because it’s her wedding day. 

But then, fuck it. “I’m not gonna stop being honest with you just because you’re marrying him,” I bite, tossing around the idea of whether or not I should keep it all to myself, for once. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why’d you say it like that?” she says, uncrossing her arms. 

I think about it for a second, and normally, I’d throw my opinion of her fiance right in her face, no questions asked. But today… Today is a little different. And it hurts like hell to hold it back.

“Nothin’, Y/N,” I stammer, pulling the half-pack of cigarettes from my front shirt pocket. I waltz to the wall, taking a seat on an old wooden bench before sticking the unlit cigarette between my lips. I force it all down for the sake of her happiness, shoving my words into the deepest depths of my throat. I eye her heavily from across the room, and the tension is thick. 

Before I know it her high-heeled feet are bounding across the hardwood floor, right toward me. “No, not nothin’, Samuel.” She rips the cigarette from my lips and breaks it right in half, dropping the remnants to the floor. 

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, woman?” I exclaim, bending down to clean up the mess of filter and tobacco from the floor. 

“Damnit, answer me, Sam,” she begins to plead as I’m now face to face with her chest, and all the bright white material of her otherwise very bland wedding dress, for her taste at least. But again, I’d never tell her that. “Be a man, answer me and tell me how you really feel,” she demands. 

I can feel some new type of energy radiating from her, something that I’ve not felt from her before. And it’s then that I begin to suspect that her pleas are loaded with some other type of emotion.

I clench my jaw and stand quickly, letting the cigarette pieces fall from my hand and back onto the floor. 

“Fine, you really want me to tell you how I feel? Then I will, fuck it,” I yell. She doesn’t back down, and now I’m towering over her, watching as her cheeks redden with madness and the tears sit still, glimmering as she refuses to let them fall. “He’s awful for you, Y/N. He ain’t you. He doesn’t deserve you. Every single thing about you has changed since you got with him. He’s made you into his goddamned puppet. His fuckin’ arm candy. Stripped you of everything that you love. Everything that makes you happy–”

“He makes me happy, Sam! Don’t you see that?” she cries, finally letting one tear fall. “Just because he–”

“Does he, Y/N? Are you sure? Or are you just lyin’ to yourself because it’s what you think you want?” I go on, letting the words I’ve kept holed up fly freely. We’re quiet for a beat before I take another breath and speak again. “He gave you the big house, the boat, the money… the status… The last name that will get you whatever you fuckin’ want in this town. And look at you now. You’re a shell of yourself, Y/N. You ain’t even you anymore. You haven’t been you in a long time, and I’m just the bravest son of a bitch to tell you.”

Her nostrils flare as she crosses her arms again, her eyes flitting from the floor to me, and back. “This goes a lot deeper than him not wanting you to be you, doesn’t it, Y/N?” I ask genuinely. 

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Sam,” she says through a choked sob. 

“Then tell me, Y/N! Enlighten me. ‘Cause god knows you haven’t talked to me the same in months, now. Hell, I didn’t even know about this wedding until four fuckin’ days ago…” I go on, the sting of learning about it still hitting me right in the chest. I wasn’t even going to come, but…

She shrugs her shoulders. “He just, he gets me, ya know? He’s sweet to me, buys me nice things, takes me on vacations. His family loves me, tells me he wants to start our own family as soon as we can.”

“A family?!” I practically yell in her face. “Y/N, you don’t want kids, you never have!”

“I didn’t, Sam, until I–” she swallows her words, stopping to wipe the wetness from her face. In any other instance, I’d be working hard to catch them before they ruined the mascara and shadow she spent an hour on, but she doesn’t have a stitch of anything on her face to worry about.

“Until you what?”

I watch as her bottom lip trembles, her body a shaking mess as she lets herself fall onto the bench I’d just stood from. Her eyes shoot down and her shoulders fall; the once vibrant, radiant woman I knew that had a lust for life and an enviable outlook on the world now presents herself as someone who hasn’t seen the light of day in years. Someone who is skittish, unsure, and unconfident. Someone who lives under the thumb of a man who imposes such harsh reverse psychology on her that she doesn’t even see herself changing into something that she wasn’t born to be.

“Until I saw you holding Jenny Watson’s baby boy,” she croaks, anxiously rubbing her hands together.

What?

“What do you mean, Y/N?” I ask, my voice monotone as my thoughts begin to race. I slowly walk back over, and take my seat again on the bench beside her.

She inhales with a harsh sniffle, clearing the still-falling tears away as she tries to get them to stop. It takes her a second, but she looks at me.

“Until I saw you. Holding him. It… I dunno. Made some kinda weird switch go off in my head like, maybe… They aren’t so bad, after all,” she says, crossing one leg up underneath herself. “Like if you can be so natural with one, maybe I can be too.”

I’m left stunned. Hell, I hardly even remember holding that baby at our class reunion just six months ago. The kid was cute, and reached out for me. I couldn’t say no.

“Me?” I whisper, still feeling confused. 

“Yeah, fuck. Don’t flatter yourself. Ok? It was sweet, and cute… And… made me change my mind a little,” she says. “Made me think that maybe with him, I could do it.”

Her words nearly cut me in two. With him.

“But the making them part is what’s got me worried,” she admits, throwing me for a loop again.

“Worried? Why?”

She shrugs again, and I realize I’m slowly breaking through the barrier that she’s put up between us for so long now. She’s opening up to me, just like she always did. But still yet, she can’t find the words.

I search her face as she licks her lips, kneading her hands together again as she searches for the words. Sometimes I think that I can read her mind, but as of late, it’s as though she’s a prisoner to it. I keep my eyes trained on her as she starts and stops her sentences, biting them back as if she can’t admit anything at all. Finally, it clicks.

“Don’t tell me that son of a bitch don’t treat you right in the bedroom, too. For fuck’s sake… he’s a spoiled brat and he can’t fuck?! Wow, Y/N, you really hit the jackpot!” I couldn’t stop myself. 

“Oh don’t you even fucking go there, Samuel, I swear to god.”

“Go where, Y/N? To the truth? Is that not what you’re trying to say to me? That he doesn’t satisfy you?”

“Urgh, I know I shouldn’t have clued you in like that, now you’re just going to make it all worse!” she cries, resting her veiled, copper-blonde head against the aging wall of the church.

“Worse? When have I ever made anything worse for you, Y/N? For years, all I’ve ever tried to do was make you happy, be your friend. A shitty one, sometimes, but don’t sit here and tell me that I’ve ever been anything but good to you.”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes as she cries, finally bringing her hands to her face to cover it. She’s an absolute mess on her wedding day, and it’s all because of me. And my stupid words. And my stupid honesty. Why did I have to go and fall in love with someone who I knew was too good for me? Someone who would never refer to me as anything but a good friend? 

Truly, as degenerated of a person that I am, I’m still a million times better for her than the man she is supposed to marry. And suddenly, I’m wrought with guilt.

“Please stop crying, Y/N,” I beg her, quietly and gently bringing my hand to rest on her trembling arm. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. You’re getting married in fifteen minutes, you should be bursting at the seams with happiness, right now.”

She pulls the coverage of her hands away long enough to whisper a few words. 

“I should be happy, but I’m not, am I?” 

I can feel all the blood drain from my body and straight into the basement of the church, seeping through the crack and seams of the floor as it searches for somewhere else to be. Of course she trusts me to answer that for her. The one person who she knows will be nothing but brutally honest with her, no matter what the question is.

“I wouldn’t bet my last penny on it, love,” I whisper back, hoping that it doesn’t hurt her any further. “Just because it doesn’t take a lot for you to be happy doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be given the bare minimum of something real.”

She pulls her hands away from her face, her eyes blotched and swollen as she finally succumbs to her emotions, letting her arms wrap around my neck and her head rest in the crook of it.

Just like all the other times before.

“Why do you always know exactly what to say, Sam?” she says over another quiet whisper.

I shake my head as I wrap my arms around her waist, giving her the same hug that I have on so many other occasions like this.

“I don’t. I just say what I think. And hope that maybe you’ll listen to me, one day,” I chuckle a little as I feel her lips curl into a smile on the skin of my neck, making my cold heart feel just a little bit warmer.

“When was the last time you danced, Y/N? Like, really danced?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood a little.

She pulls away and shrugs, but she makes a point to let her fingers travel down the arms of my shirt, finally letting her hand fall overtop of mine. “I don’t know. Couldn’t tell you.”

“When was the last time you went to a gig? Or on those crazy long solo road trips you used to love… Or got your art featured in that showcase you used to frequent?” I ask. Again, she has no answer. I can feel my face fall in disappointment. This guy has really done a number on her.

“Are you still making your art?” I ask. 

The look in her eyes is solemn… empty and lifeless as if she’s reminiscing on a lifetime ago. 

She shakes her head. “No. Bobby says it’s silly and pointless to express myself like that. Makes too much of a mess in the house.”

I can’t help the scoff that leaves my mouth, and the subsequent eye roll. Does he even know who she is?!

“God, Y/N… next thing is you’re gonna tell me he made you get rid of Pepper.” Her beloved black lab has accompanied her through more of her life than I have. Her true best friend and one of the best dogs I’ve ever come in contact with. 

But again, she’s quiet. 

“You’re fucking kidding me, he made you–” I can’t even finish my sentence. That evil jackass made her ditch her dog?!

“He lives with my dad, now…” she says, rubbing a stray tear from under her eye. “Bobby doesn’t like dogs.”

I cup my hand around her temple, ignoring the position of her veil as I pull her to rest her head against my chest. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s the fuckin’ worst. And that makes me dislike him even more. You don’t take a woman’s dog away from her.”

“I miss him so much, Sammy,” she cries again.

“Where did my Y/N go?” My question is rhetoric, but true, all the same.

Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve learned more shitty things about this Bobby guy in the past twenty minutes than I have in the year that they’re been engaged. Fuck, all I came in here to do was tell her congratulations. Tell her I was happy for her, even though I was going to lie through my teeth. My best friend on the planet, the one person who I can fight to the death with, and make up the next minute like it was no big deal. Though we’re older now with lives and responsibilities, I still count on her to bring me back down to earth. I still miss her when we skip a few days of talking. I still yearn to feel her near me, search for her in my dreams, hope and pray that one day the universe will allow me to call her mine. The one that’s too good for me, the one that I would walk to the end of the earth for if I knew it would make her happy. I’ve never been a romantic man, but I sure as hell know a good woman when I see one. And I’ll be damned if I let someone dull her shine any further.

So I ask, for the first and final time, as I hear a commotion starting to gather in the chapel.

I take a deep breath and gather myself, taking her hands tightly in mine as I force myself to look her in the eye. “Tell me you’re happy, Y/N. Tell me you’re really fucking happy with him, and I’ll leave. I’ll go sit in the pew and watch you vow to keep him happy for the rest of your life. All the while knowing that you’re puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for everyone,” I grit with softness, knowing that time is running out. If I’m gonna get through to her, I have to do it now.

The look on her face sends a shot through my heart, and I feel my throat tighten. Her eyes are lifeless again, and the woman staring back at me isn’t the one that I know.

Just then a soft rap on the door interrupts us, and an older lady peeks her head through to find us. “Y/N, honey, it’s time,” she says softly, her eyes landing on me as I realize it’s her grandma. 

“Ok Mamaw, thank you,” she says, wiping her face free of the dampness. 

“Samuel, I didn’t expect to see you in here,” she coos quietly with a sweet smile. 

“Afternoon Ms. Ellen, nice to see you again,” I say with a wave. 

She looks behind her quickly, checking to see if anyone had followed her. When she knows she’s alone, she lets herself a little further into the room with us. 

“I hope you’re in here telling my sweet Y/N all your long lost secrets before she’s an honest woman,” she says, folding her hands across her stomach. I’ve always loved this woman, the most picture-perfect cookie-cutter grandma with a virulent and exciting past. And, she sneaks and smokes cigarettes with me, sometimes. 

“Ah, maybe a few,” I say as I let Y/N blot her face with a tissue in the mirror. I’ve always felt like Ms. Ellen has been on my team, knowing, or better yet, able to recognize the love that I wear on my sleeve for Y/N. Sometimes those folk just have a sixth sense when it comes to these things. 

Ellen makes direct and intense eye contact with me before she mutters, “Doesn’t my granddaughter look beautiful in her dress?”

“Ah, yes,” I clear my throat, “she always looks beautiful.”

“Shame she didn’t even get to pick it out herself. Didn’t even get to try a few on to see what she might like,” Ellen says somberly. “Just had it handed to her by Bobby’s assistants.”

“Mamaw…” I hear the warning in Y/N’s voice. 

“What, child? Just telling Sammy here that I’m so happy it ended up fitting you like a glove.” I give Ellen a reassuring smile as I stand from the bench, realizing that it must be my time to go. 

Ellen turns and makes it to the door before she stops with her hand on the knob, taking a quick breath before she turns back to us. 

“Do you remember when you two were little, just kiddos in elementary school, and you decided that the two of you were going to have a wedding in my backyard?” she says. 

“Mamaw, shouldn’t you be finding your seat in the congregation?” Y/N warns her again, but it’s no use. 

“You invited all your little neighborhood friends and asked me to help you hem your dress. A bright purple one, I believe it was. Little Sammy spent all day roaming through the neighbors’ landscaping and stealing the perfect flowers to make you a bouquet. Asked me to bake cookies for your guests. Caught all the fireflies in town and stuffed them into a mason jar so that when the sun went down, you’d still be able to see to walk through the grass.”

My chest warms at the fond memory of all those years ago, back when life wasn’t real and time didn’t exist. I steal a quick glance at Y/N, standing in the mirror again as she listens to her grandmother speak. “Sam came inside and started rummaging through my cabinets, stealing the twist-ties off my loaves of bread to fashion into rings… The cutest thing I ever saw…”

“The first time I ever kissed you,” I add, once again stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

I watch as Ellen’s face lights up with joy, and Y/N’s blushes with embarrassment. It was the first time, but it wasn’t the last. One drunken night after graduation, Y/N and I had climbed onto the roof of the old dry cleaner’s and played truth or dare. Of course, I dared her to kiss me on a whim. And by god, she didn’t hold back. It was fast and it was heavy, but I knew deep down that for her, it was all in fun.

Nothing ever went past that kiss that ended in nothing more than just a little intense drunken intimacy. Nothing except the feelings that I had for her grew tenfold, and never went away. 

“Well, anyway,” Ellen breaks the silence. “I’ll be outside, sweetheart.” Ellen sneaked back through the creaky old door, giving me a look that said ‘Last chance, honey. Don’t let her get away.’

All I can hear in the room now is Y/N taking a deep cleansing breath, smoothing the dress out over her thighs as she straightens her veil. I catch her eyes in the mirror again, giving her one last look before I begin to make my way to the door. 

“I kept that ring, you know,” she says, stopping me. “The bread tie one. I still have it.”

I turn back. “You do?”

“Mhm. In my jewelry box at home. I see it almost every day.” She’s walking toward me again, cleaning up her face and running her fingers along her tear lines. 

“Why’d you keep it?” I ask.

“Because it meant a lot to me, reminded me how much you mean to me. And it reminds me to keep my promises, no matter how simple and pointless they are. They’re still important,” she goes on, biting her lips together every few words. “Do you remember what we promised that day, Sam?”

I shake my head, the memory a little fuzzy still. “Kind of…”

“We said that even though we might not marry each other when we’re grown ups, that we’d always look out for each other. Keep each other in check. And we promised to always stay connected, no matter what.”

I nod. “Simple as that…”

She smiles. “Simple as that.”

I fight a tear, myself, as I reach in my back pocket and pull out my wallet, fidgeting through the old, worn in pockets of it in search of what I know is there, buried away but not forgotten. Finally my finger lands on it, and I gently pull it from the narrow slot. I place it in the center of my free hand, tiny, blue, tattered and worn. 

“You kept your ring, too,” Y/N says breathlessly. 

“It’s survived three wallets and an accidental trip into the trash can. But, it made it,” I say, admiring the tiny item that I only see from time to time. 

She walks closer to me, gently running her finger along it’s paper edges. “Sammy, I can’t believe you–”

“Don’t marry him, Y/N,” I blurt, the words escaping my mouth before I can even give them a second thought. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry him.”

“What?” her eyes bulge from her head as she stops in her tracks. It feels as though the entire world is standing still. 

“I said don’t do it. Don’t lock yourself away for the rest of your life. Don’t be unhappy in a relationship with a man who won’t even let you have your dog,” I’m babbling now, my chest tight and my throat on fire. I don’t even care. I needed to do it, I have to say it. 

“But, I–”

“There are no buts, here, Y/N. You still have a choice, and if what you say is true, we promised to look out for one another. This is me looking out for you,” I say. 

She stares at me as her hands drop to the sides, her demeanor less than it has looked all day. 

“That’s all I’m gonna say, Y/N. That’s all I needed to say.” I stuff the ring back into it’s place in my wallet before smoothing my hands over my hair. My breath begins to pick up and I feel my face getting hot. I turn again and head straight for the door, and I hear the music begin to echo off the walls of the church. 

“Sam, wait–”

“You know it’s always been me, Y/N. And if it’s not me, then please, for the love of god, just don’t let it be him. Okay?” I say as my hand turns the knob. “Go in there and marry him, throw away everything that makes you happy, everything that brings you joy. Makes you you. Lie to him and yourself and to everyone in there…”

I feel thick, hot tears blurring my vision as I begin to lose composure from the adrenaline of what I’m saying and doing. I shouldn’t be doing this… But also, I absolutely should.

“But if not…” I raise my hands and let them fall back to slap my sides, nodding to her in a way that I know she will understand. The last look I got of the woman I just confessed my love to was one that will be etched into my brain for the rest of my life. For the first time in a long time, I saw hope in her eyes.

I dash out the back doors of the church and down the concrete steps, out onto the quiet street straight toward my motorcycle. I hear the music swelling inside, making me feel like I can’t afford another breath. I slip my helmet on and I check my watch, 4:59PM. 

I straddle my bike and grab the handle bars, taking a glance every few seconds at the back door I had just burst through. My heart is pounding as I hear the processional music begin, and my hands are rough as I grip the handlebars. I turn the key, revving the engine to let her know that I’m out here, serious, and ready to take her away from it all…

My eyes dash again and again, willing the doors to open. “Come on, Y/N, don’t do this…”

My hands twist the bars, the calluses on my palms harshly rubbing against them as I grit my jaw side to side. The anxiety is almost worse out here than it is inside. “Come on, baby…”

It feels like an hour ticks by as the music inside swells and becomes louder, and the blood pumping through my veins strains harder and harder. My foot is bouncing nervously on the ground, ready to kick the stand at a moment’s notice. But deep down, I know I’d wait out here for her for a hundred years. I’d never stop waiting for her, until she told me to stop. 

The organ music continues and starts from the beginning again, and it’s then that I realize, it’s still playing. 

She isn’t walking down the aisle.

My eyes flit to the door again, and just as I catch sight of the evening sun brightening its golden glow onto the stained glass windows, the back door opens. Slowly, at first, just enough for me to tell it moved. 

Fuck, she’s gonna run…

The door opens a little bit more, and I see the top of her head peek through the opening. I feel like my body is about to catch on fire as I realize she’s most definitely not where everyone is expecting her to be. She slips through the door, shutting it softly behind her as she finds me parked on the street, ready and waiting. I slide my helmet off to get a better look at her, and I swear every single ounce of breath is stolen from my lungs. 

Her veil is gone, and her high heels are off, and she’s tumbling down the concrete steps through the yard, directly toward me. My breath hitches, I can’t fucking believe it. She’s gonna leave. I feel like I’m frozen in place as I watch her run to me, her hair flowing in the breeze behind her. 

She’s glowing, rushed and anxious as she bounds barefoot through the mess of cars clogging up the street. My heart is thrumming from my ribcage, and I’m positive that I’ve never seen a sight more gorgeous in my entire life. 

She’s coming… she’s really coming with me.

Finally she reaches me and the bike, her chest heaving with nerves and lost breath as I give her a surprised and pleading look. I open my mouth to speak, but I really don’t know what to say. 

She rips the helmet from my hands and places it on her own head. “You gonna get me the fuck out of here Sam? Or am I gonna have to beg you?” she boasts with that old confidence she always used to have.

I laugh through my nose as she grabs onto my shoulders and hikes up her dress to straddle the back of the bike. 

“I’d love to see you beg, love. But not today,” I reply, kicking the stand up with my right foot as we find our balance on the bike. Her arms wrap around my stomach as I take off, zipping through the mess of parked cars and straight toward the quickest way out of here. 

“Where do you wanna go?” I ask her, turning my head just a little. 

“Anywhere. Literally any place on earth that isn’t here,” she yells into my ear over the deafening sound of the engine. 

I feel like I could speed up and ride straight into the sunset, and I’m positive that she wants to disappear just as badly as I want to. I feel the touch of her sweet lips land directly on the back of my neck, leaving a tiny peck there that nearly sends me into overdrive. I’m in such harsh disbelief. But moreso, I’m thankful. 

Her lips travel from the back of my neck and around to my ear again as her arms squeeze me a little tighter. “Thank you, Sammy,” she mumbles, and I feel a warmness overtake my entire body. She has no idea that I’m the one that should be thanking her. We both let the sound of wedding bells fall into our memories, only concentrating now on the sounds of the motor running, and the tires rolling across the pavement.