#like have you guys ever interacted with kids????

[writingwithfolklore]

I Cut Out Social Media for 30 Days and It Changed My Life

Okay hefty title, but I mean every word of it.

Over January I followed a book called Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport. I'm sure you've already been lectured to death about how bad technology and social media is for you, so I won't repeat the statistics here. What I will say is that Newport suggests that there are also positives to technology and that abandoning it altogether is not realistic. Instead, he proposes that we define our values, and then use technology to attain them--rather than allowing technology to define what values we should hold.

To do this, Newport suggests a complete "detox" of non-essential technologies for 30 days. That means abstaining from social media, netflix and other streaming services, videogames, etc. But of course still being able to phone loved ones, email for work, and use google maps if you're going somewhere new, etc. In doing this detox, he proposes that we will be able to better understand what values we hold as people, not just as consumers of technology.

He was right.

At first I found it really hard. Right away I noticed that any activity other than doomscrolling and watching endless hours of Youtube took a lot more brain power. I started doing puzzles, reading, writing (a lot!), cooking and baking, and taking many walks with my dog. By the end of the day I'd be fuzzy and exhausted, and all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and watch my favourite shows. I didn't, but I wanted to.

But then I started to notice my "brain stamina" (I'm sure there's a better term for it but oh well) started to improve. Instead of writing for two hours before getting fuzzy, I could write for four. And then six. And then eight. Slowly, I found myself being able to do more in a day, to focus for longer on one task, and I didn't feel as drained by the end of it. I had a clearer mind, I could remember things a lot better, I was no longer struggling to find really easy words--they just came to me.

This all also resulted in me spending so much more time with my friends and family. I realized that I really valued this time--and that it wasn't something I could replace by hitting 'like' on an instagram post from them. I rediscovered community, passion, and in many ways, humanity.

It was like I was looking at the world in a new way. I started to notice more, be curious about more. I kind of remember being this way as a kid, and I couldn't believe how I had ever let that go. Now, the idea of sitting on my couch and watching hours and hours of Youtube in every moment of my free time feels inconceivable.

However, my 30 days are up, and so Newport suggests setting some rules to reintroduce what technology I believe supports my values. I've decided not to return to Instagram, but that I do value keeping up to date with the gaming community and pop culture, which I do on Youtube. Now, Youtube is something that I watch for a couple hours on weekends, instead of eating up every bit of free time I have. I also value interacting with other writers and the writing community, so I've created a couple hours in my schedule to check Tumblr and my Discord and keep up to date with you guys here.

But now most of my free time is spent reading or writing, or being with my family and friends, and I value that most of all. To demonstrate how much has changed, in the months before my detox, I wrote maybe 2500 words. Since my detox, I've written 40 000. Last year, I read about four books. In just one month during my detox, I read 10.

If this sounds like something you'd be interested in trying for yourself, feel free to reach out to me! I'd love to talk more about my experience and things that worked or didn't work for me. I'd also really recommend the book, it was incredibly helpful in determining what rules were healthy to set and how to get out of technology and then back in with success.

Back to usual content soon :-)

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Gorp, Questionable Child Rearing, Progressive elves and some campaign lore!

As always, I apologize if your ask isn't here/ hasn't been replied to, it is unfortunately impossible for me to answer to every question I get to the extend I would like to. Occasionally I also just don't have a very interesting answer to offer 😅 and I try to avoid spamming people's feeds! But thank you so much to everyone who interacts with my stories, characters, art, and is curious about my thought process and writing! The response is frankly just as overwhelming as it is deeply appreciated, and every word of encouragement or message about how I inspired you to draw or write more of your own stories makes my day.

DU drow and Gortash had what I would describe as a "Toxic Friendship". They got along well enough, had little friend dinner-dates, drank together, superficially shared their woes in ways that benefited no one, and DU drow ultimately had a great deal of respect for Gortash - except you would have never known that by the way he treated him.

DU drow belittled, harassed, and even destroyed Gortash's property on whim alone. Every compliment was back-handed and every display of friendship was somehow sarcastic. Gortash let everything slide right off his back for reasons I like leaving obscured. Here's a particularly intense write-up I did about their relationship a long time ago that still stands. I think it serves really well to illustrate how intense DU drow could still be about his friendships.

PFFTT, I don't know why that would be a female-child only thing, but maybe that's just a colloquialism?

DU drow actually talks pretty similarly to children as he does to adults! He just doesn't set the same expectations on them. Children don't ask stupid questions because the world is still new to them, nor do their respond reasonably to everything, they also don't understand some big words or complex ideas depending on how you present it to them - he understands this and adjusts accordingly. But otherwise his tone would be the same, even with his his own child. He's that guy who's good with kids on the basis of treating them as to-be adults rather than.. Well, just a child.

The Astarion assessment is fair, LOL.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

(Surface) elven kind strikes me as fairly gender-indifferent overall! And while I enjoy theorizing about how their culture has shifted over the years from exposure to "urban life", for both better and worse, I like to think this is an aspect that has remained mostly unchanged, even for elves who may have had a really mixed-up upbringing from living in a city as diverse as Baldur's Gate.

I believe Astarion (and by extension Shadowheart and DU drow) are fully aware that they read as their respective genders and that for other races, such as humans, that means something; but for them that is a different custom that doesn't really apply outside of pronouns and reproductive expectations. So, I actually believe that Astarion would be pretty indifferent to life as a woman save for occasionally missing having a dick for the obvious reasons (only to then shift back and lament the opposite, probably).

ALL THE TIME!

But I know that you meant to ask if I will ever draw it.

VERY LIKELY THAT I WILL.

As a side note, thank you for showing interest and excitement for male-on-male sex that isn't just anal, LOL.

CW for the obvious, though nothing too descriptive or awful.

I understand if people disagree as a knee-jerk reaction, but I would say that Astarion's character demonstrates a shocking amount of self-control and emotional regulation. I went into this more in detail in an older post, but basically: the guy always brings himself down from his own outbursts, is exceptionally good at reading the room, is extremely forgiving and pragmatic, and knows when to send the jokes outside and respond to vulnerability in kind. I stand by this as more than a headcanon; it's in his actual writing and dialogue.

All that to say, I don't think Astarion would ever lay a violent hand on his own children. I also don't HC him as having endured corporal punishment as a child, hence not really having that instilled in his mind as a possible example to draw from.

I could see DU drow implementing physical punishments that he doesn't consider to be actually painful, like pulling, pinching, or squeezing a child while you reprehend them; things a parent might do because they think it's harmless. Astarion would probably be the one to say he's not really achieving anything - so it would likely be short-lived.

I DO think they would both be okay with setting up their children to pretty arduous physical labor, though, both as punishment and just in general to toughen them up. You could argue there's a way to do this that is reasonable, but they would prooobably push that line into dubious territory.

Buddy, WHO said low fat, what do you think the meat and taters that he's eating is swimming in!

But back to your question, he can enjoy a sweet treat every once in a while! He just far, far prefers savory. Personally, I think the guy would go crazy for a panettone. Or a big sugar-powdered crepe with some berries.

I kind of flew through the Circus in DU drow's playthrough because I was SO excited to get to Baldur's gate. They were only there long enough for DU drow to make Astarion mildly pissed off during the dryad's weird love quiz.

I also somehow missed Lucretious and never got the Dribbles quest - probably for the best.

Becoming a big ol' squid seems like a deal-breaker for his character in-game - so, same thing applies here. He'd let him down gently but potentially want a friendship for as long as DU drow is still himself.

... Buuuut it would never come to that; DU drow would most likely end his life pretty swiftly if he were to turn into a mindflayer, so Astarion wouldn't have much to worry about 😬

Alas, she pretty much never crosses his mind since he has no recollection of the type of relationship they had prior to DU drow's amnesia.

Or at least she won't as long as nothing weird ever happens that potentially jogs his memory 😇

Hello! I also love the escorts, but due to both DU Drow's and Astarion's respective attitudes towards drow and that kind of activity they didn't really hire his services. I do like to think him and his sister had a lot to gossip about as soon as they turned their backs, though, LOL.

[interact-if]

Black History Month Author Spotlight: Lapin

To kickstart the Black History Month Author Spotlight series, I'd like to introduce everyone to our first IF author, Lapin (@harlequinoccult)!

(I had a ton of fun reading Lapin’s answers, and I’m sure you will too! Read on for a celebration of ‘weird,’ Lapin’s Black southern gothic / horror influences, and how a D&D game could lead to interactive fiction!

Lapin, thank you again for your candid, humorous responses, I am very honored to have gotten to know you better :D)

Author: Lapin

Black creole and cajun, artist and writer, and wannabe game developer

Games: Slaughter Squad (Horror, Slasher, Romance)

Synopsis: YOU HAVE A HUNGER A HUNGER THAT YOU’VE BEEN NEGLECTING For the most part, you’re a pretty normal mid-20-something year old who lives in a shitty apartment in the city. Well, except for one thing. Your.....”Associate” Carter “Dollface” Abernathy. Who is a murderer, and quite frankly, a sloppy one at that. And you’re the accessory to his crimes. No matter what way you’ve gotten to know the man, or how you feel about him, you’re stuck with him, and stuck with just being his little “helper” ........Or are you? Especially when you’re suddenly given a....Unique opportunity.

Games: The Valley of Luck (Fantasy, Adventure, Romance)

Synopsis: The Valley of Luck was said to be a myth. Something that grandparents would tell their grand-kids around a campfire. Even those who worshiped Lucian, The God of Luck, thought it nothing but an old wives tale. Until, one day, a man with an arm made of solid gold started telling people that he'd been there, that he'd seen the Valley. Word spread quickly, and suddenly, every continent was alight with the rumor that The Valley was real, that it could give you all the riches you could ever want, and then some. However, your quest, whether related to The Valley or not, will lead you down a much stranger path.

Quote from the interview:

My upbringing was a bit odd. I am the youngest of three, two older brothers, one being a half brother, in a black military household… Middle school Lapin was a jock. But, lo and behold, the internet started getting more popular and that kid's brain exploded from internet exposure, for better and for worse. … I feel that there is a specific and niche demographic of people like me that were raised by early 2000s to 2010s internet. And on that era of internet, were creepypastas, online horror, early ARGs….I ADORED internet horror, which was my gateway into classic horror, funnily enough. Slaughter Squad, in my eyes, is a letter to that black kid that wanted to be weird. Be weird, be messy, see a fucked up movie, get more out of life.

Read on for the full interview!

Tell me more about yourself! What are some things new readers or long-time readers might not know about you?

Both parts of my family are 100% from Louisiana, New Orleans and the deep south. My moms side have been there so long, we have two streets named after us.

Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?

My main project, of course, is Slaughter Squad. I love slasher movies and horror media in general. But what I always noticed with horror/romance, at least in the visual novel scene, is that the main character is nearly always the one getting screwed over, so I thought, well, what if the bad guys actually are your peers? How would this dynamic change if they don't see you as prey? I never thought that premise would appeal so much to so many but hey, I can't complain! I adore seeing people having fun with the silly little concept I had.

Now, my secondary project, The Valley of Luck. Some may not know this, but this story is based off of a D&D campaign I DM'ed back in the day with my friends. All the ROs are NPCs that my friends had, or where going to encounter. I won't lie, I did shy away from it and changed some things when the whole debacle with Wizards of the coast (the company that "owns" D&D) Where making some...questionable decisions. But this story is my baby. My first born. This one has been in the works far longer than SLSQ and has a lot of background lore that I hope I get the opportunity to share.

I do have a few other projects bumping around, One I am particularly excited for, But that one will have to wait a little bit~

How has your identity, heritage/background, upbringing, or personal experiences influenced your storytelling or writing process? OR How does your work feature aspects of your identity / experience?

My upbringing was a bit odd. I am the youngest of three, two older brothers, one being a half brother, in a black military household. I never felt that I truly had a sense of identity until that household inevitably split up. Everyone talks about being the weird kid in middle school, but no one mentions being the "normal on the outside but wants to be the weird kid so bad its painful on the inside but can't because you were told that stuff is 'white people shit' " type of kid.

Middle school Lapin was a jock. But, lo and behold, the internet started getting more popular and that kid's brain exploded from internet exposure, for better and for worse. I was a little shitter on the internet, I can't lie about that, as much as I want to. But I feel that there is a specific and niche demographic of people like me that were raised by early 2000s to 2010s internet. And on that era of internet, were creepypastas, online horror, early ARGs....I ADORED internet horror, which was my gateway into classic horror, funnily enough. Slaughter Squad, in my eyes, is a letter to that black kid that wanted to be weird. Be weird, be messy, see a fucked up movie, get more out of life.

What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you?

Let your characters speak through you like you're being possessed by a demon.

What’s the one thing you’re really proud of that you’ve written so far? Do you have a favorite character or scene that you’ve written?

I am so serious.

is it wildly inconvenient? yes. does it help your writing a ton? also yes. Doing Roleplay with friends is a fantastic way to learn to do this. being a DM for a D&D game has basically made it so characters can simply speak from my brain at any given moment. It's also annoying because some of these people do NOT shut up. Learning how a character would react on the fly does wonders for dialogue writing and character analysis. Roleplay with your friends, or hell, strangers who are down to clown that could become friends. Be cringe. be free.

I love the opening to Slaughter Squad and if you told me to rewrite it with a gun to my head I would tell you to shoot me. I love how punchy it is and it came out exactly how I wanted it to. I don't play favorites with characters (<- lying) but my two favorites to write are the stinky little bastard cat Sterling in TVoL and.....Carter, from SLSQ. I love writing complete bastards. One being lighthearted and gets a pass for it because he's just a kitty cat and the other you want to actively beat his face in with your bare hands. It's SO funny.

If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be?

Write. Write it now. Doesn't have to be good doesn't have to be polish all that matters is that you WROTE IT. All the bells and whistles can come later!!!! Stop thinking about the later and think about the now!!!! Write what you love and never give two shits about if it's cringe!!! Be excellent to each other!!!

Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

GO LISTEN TO CHROMAKOPIA BY TYLER THE CREATOR RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!

This-or-that segment: (bold = Lapin’s pick)

Coffee or tea?

Early mornings or late nights?

City or countryside?

Angsty or Cozy romances? (Or enemies-to-lovers or best-friends-to-lovers?)  

Steady progress or frenzied binge-writing followed by periods of calm?

Summer or Winter?

First drafts or editing?

Introvert or extrovert?

Plotter or pantser?

Characters or plot first?

Lapin’s custom “this-or-that” pairing: Rain or Shine

More on Black Southern Gothic:

Black southern gothic can vary a lot, but when I think of it, I think of old semi abandoned wood shotgun houses in the swamp, all white tiny baptist churches where the white paint is peeling from the heat and humidity, riding horses down a dirt paved street while people still ride by in their old busted down 1960s chevys. Old plantation houses that have been reclaimed by the swamp. The dark, humid heat of the night on a street with no streetlights. Every house you see is absolutely haunted by something and not just ghosts. Voodoo and hoodoo is different than what people will tell you it is.

Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo by Ntozake Shange, Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jessamin Ward, and anything by Toni Morrison 100%.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 15

   1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14 16

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with this post to be on the tag list. Will only add if you interact with this post that’s linked. Read DNI/BYF first. 

NOTE: Dion’s down bad and Jeremy needs more than one positive influence. Also, pray for the Reader guys. 

Warnings: Both Dion and Jeremy are out of character, toxic marriage/relationship, themes of obsession and possessiveness, slight yandere themes, anxiety, one or two mentions of vomit, near panic attack (probably), invasion of personal space (Dion needs to learn), jealousy, drugs (sleeping pills), almost normal sibling interaction between the two Agriches (they are trying their best <3), mention of birth control, Reader thinks about how Dion would make a pretty bad father (better than Lant but still bad), (Reader thinks Dion would be jealous of their future kid if they ever have one, but I think he’d be more worried about whether or not they’ll survive), Dion’s actions are very toxic no matter how you look at it. Please tell me if I missed any.

NSFW-ish warnings: mention of implied vaginal sex, Lant being creepy-ish with putting the Reader on birth control since he basically thinks the married couple is busy at night often, implied/mention of cum swallowing, mention/implied oral (male receiving) and hand job. No sexual activities actually take place, but still.     

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG FANDOM RELATED THINGS (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI.

= = =

“Jeremy?” 

He grins so brightly it could rival the sun. “In the flesh. I heard that the old lady invited you to her room.” Hands in his pockets, he kicks a leg before leaning against the doors. His cat-like blue eyes observe your every action. It puts you on edge.

“O-oh yes… word sure does travel fast.” Lifelessly you chuckle, fingers slightly gripping the sheets below you. It takes effort not to rip them between your fingers. Averting your eyes leads to them landing on his brown boots. They looked cleaned rather than new, the laces slightly worn and a scuff mark here and there on them. 

You look at them harder. Slightly damp with some sort of cleaning material, you quickly realize he had just washed them. Scanning over his person only makes you more certain of that fact -some slime in his hair and on his pale cheek rests a small speck of blood. His clothes were wrinkled all over and his hair was windblown. 

Regardless, his clothes are still expensive looking and you wonder if they cost more than half of your wardrobe back at home. Trying your best not to frown at the reminder of how much more powerful the Agriche family is compared to your own, you’re drawn to the red on his fair cheek.

Upon seeing where your gaze rests on his face, he quickly swipes the area off a few times until the blood is no more. It stains his blue sleeve now. 

“The old lady wouldn’t shut up about it once she sent the invitation yesterday. You should have seen Dion’s face,” he scoffs with a grin at the memory. 

Knowing Dion, it was probably a twitch of the eyebrow and a glare meant for her. Their relationship is sad, in all honesty. Still, you wonder if she told him herself or if he just overheard from a second party. Or perhaps both, going to ask her in person once the news reached his ears. 

“Is that so?” Brain working overtime to keep this conversation going, you watch as Jeremy yawns while stretching his arms above his head. When like this, he really does only look like a boy - a child. But underneath his current demeanor lies a little crazy man who has no qualms about killing. 

Just how he was taught to.

The boy hums in thought, making you look at his face. He grins and you keep the cold sweat at bay. His pearly white canines nearly shine in the sunlight seeping through the glass terrace doors. He reminds you of a cat on the hunt. Ready to pounce.

How pathetic.

Even with a child you are only prey.

“Are you free tomorrow? Xana is and it’s not like I have anything going on either.” He sounds so carefree, his age showing. And yet, the fact only makes you more nervous, fingers twitching as Jeremy waits for your answer. His face is so bright that it almost looks sincere. 

Well… you do need to talk to Roxana. Maybe not ask her for help right off the bat, but establishing a ‘decent relationship’ with her and Jeremy could be a decent idea… assuming they won’t turn out to be like your husband.

Oh. I… never considered that…

Newfound apprehension forms from a single thought that just now crossed your mind. After interacting with Maria a few times, you already expected you would become one of her ‘favorites’ - for how long, you’re not sure. But what about the rest of the family?

Lant?

Sierra?

Roxana?

Jeremy?

Would they also become obsessed with you? So far, the only one who’s acting as he should is Lant and to a degree, Maria, not to mention Sierra. On the other hand, Dion, Roxana and Jeremy are not. But, as you originally thought, the two younger in-laws could just be testing you. Whatever the reason you don’t know.

You take in a small breath. You can still hear your heartbeat even as you lock eyes with him. Your gut screams at you to kick him out as you smile at him. You force your body to ‘relax’ as it stiffens when you answer.

You need to start properly playing the role of a good in-law to these people. Submissive enough to be ignored by the majority of them while the others praise you. Holding back a scowl at the newfound ‘plan,’ you realize you’re reducing yourself to nothing more than a fucking dog.

You go on regardless. 

“Yes, actually. Do you have something in mind?” His eyes brighten, pushing himself off the doors a bit. From what’s shown, there isn’t a hint of something sinister in those blue eyes of his. Your younger brother-in-law almost reminds you of Zac whenever you praise him or tag along on one of his ‘adventures’.

“You haven’t seen the entire estate, right? There’s some cool sights we could show you.” Excitedly offering up ideas you only smile and nod. In truth, just the thought of it is making your stomach churn. It wasn’t in disgust like with your husband, but rather… something else.

“That sounds nice.”

A lie that only makes him smile brighter.

However, before he could utter another word, the doors opened behind him, and had he still leaned against it, he would have fallen backwards. Dressed to the nines - then again, who isn’t in this family, ever - a certain tall, black-haired and scarlet eyes man towers over the boy like nothing. 

You flinch while Jeremy looks at the ‘intruder’ in annoyance. Your time together has come to an end, it seems. Dion glances at you before looking at his younger half-brother. 

“Since when was breaking and entering your hobby?” What should sound like a joke is said with a glare, his voice low enough to almost sound like a threat. 

“O-oh, I actually invited him in after he knocked…” There wasn’t a bond between you and the boy. But you had a feeling that if you didn’t step in, an argument would break out, and that there was a chance that Jeremy might take a swing at him. You don’t care about Dion, but you’d rather not see a kid fight a twenty-year-old.

“Did you?” He sounds doubtful but thankfully not upset.

“Y-yes.”

Your husband only continues to stare you down. Unable to maintain eye contact with him for a second longer, you turn your attention to Jeremy. “But yes, it would be nice to spend time together.” From the corner of your eye you can see Dion slightly twitch as you show sweetness to his brother and not him.

But he quickly recovers, most likely realizing how pathetic it was to be jealous over a kid. Even more so when that kid is his own brother, needing to keep appearances that he’s not as depraved as the rest of his family. You almost praise him for that.

Jeremy smugly looks at the second oldest son before turning back to you. “Okay. I’ll come by to pick you up in the morning with Xana, then.” He lingers for a bit before your husband gently nudges Jeremy’s foot with his own, signaling to the boy that he wants him out.

… this is so weird to see… and pathetic on Dion’s end.

Your husband had only recovered from short-lived jealousy. Annoyance, on the other hand, was radiating off of him.

“Hey! Why are you pushing me out!?”

“Pushing? You must be imagining things.”

If it wasn’t for their tone of voice - snarky, threatening from Jeremy and monotone from Dion - it would have passed as a normal exchange between siblings. However, with murderous rage and pure hatred in his eyes, Jeremy looks like a hissing cat. Dion, on the other hand, looks like he could easily take him down if needed, calm and calculating.

Quickly slipping your shoes back on, you hurry over to the two males. Choosing to ignore your husband, you pat Jeremy’s head, softening your eyes as you pretend he’s your lovely - annoying - Zac. 

Imagining he had (h/c) hair instead of black, replacing his blue eyes with (e/c) in your head, the memory of your brother almost puts you at ease. You make yourself feel sick for doing this - it wasn’t fair to no-one.

“Thanks for coming by, Jeremy.” Saying his name was an accident, your breath hitching once you realize your mistake. Too intimate for in-laws who barely saw each other, when one is afraid of the other. You continue on regardless. 

“I’m sad that we need to cut our conversation short, but your brother wants to talk in private.” You don’t want to be alone with the favorite son. You consider begging Jeremy to stay, but that would only backfire on you. You’re scared to find out how Dion would react if you do that.

Jeremy’s reaction is also a call for caution. So, you keep your mouth shut.

“However, feel free to come by whenever.” 

 You’re vaguely aware of your husband’s fingers daring to curl into yours as you offer smiles and attention to Jeremy. You pull that hand away, skin crawling at his touch. Like you would willingly hold his hand. 

“Oh…,” taken aback by your sudden shower of ‘affection,’ Jeremy looks at you, surprised. But a joyful grin breaks out on his face, truly showing his youth. “Alright. I’ll come by with Xana tomorrow.” He turns on his feet to leave, but not without sending one last glare towards Dion.

After the door shuts, the arranged husband and wife are left alone.

Facing the door as your husband faces you, he’s close enough to reach out and plays with a strand of your hair, twirling it between his fingers. It makes you want to cut that strand off, to cut all of it off and scrub yourself clean. Fingers twitch as you hold back the urge to yank your hair away from him and leave the room.

“You act affectionately towards everyone but me.” He steps closer while you become glued to your spot, breathing halted and heart almost stopping. Bringing the strand of hair up to his lips, he kisses it while looking down at you, scarlet eyes glowing with something heavy, dangerous thoughts swirling in the red irises. You’re close to screaming.

Your legs buck. Lungs stop working. Mind blank. Mouth dry as you force your right hand down, shaking and twitching as it begs to be bitten down on. 

He lets it go with an odd smile, and you tear your gaze away to look at the heavy doors in front of you. 

Sweat pools at your temples and the base of your neck. You lick your lips, terrified that Dion might take another unwanted step. That he would give in and -

“I-I don’t know what you mean…,” you speak faster than you can think. Lacing your fingers together in front of your chest, you silently pray to a God that won’t listen. For if he did, you wouldn’t be here.

You must repent for your sins before he lends you an ear.

“You don’t?” His pointer finger curls and then wipes away a tear you didn’t even notice that leaked, and you start to breathe rapidly. “You smiled at two guards yesterday while ignoring me. And just now you even rubbed Jeremy’s head while you refused to touch me.”

You just shake your head, prayer after prayer said in your head. No-one answers them.

“He’s a boy… n-no need to get… upset over it.” Your toes curl in your shoes. The door is right there, you could try your luck. Oh, but when you look at him from the corner of your eye, you realize that’s impossible - his eyes are solely on you. Watching your every move, every twitch, every exhale and inhale. His attention to detail is clear as day when he calls you ‘cute’ once he notices how you caught on.

Your stomach churns.

He starts to talk again, and for once he doesn’t lean in closer or hold the back of your neck or head. “You’re right - he’s just a boy… setting aside the fact he could easily take on a good amount of the regular guards.” His reply is accompanied with a lazy smirk.

You blink, turning your head to face him. You’re still trembling, still holding back screams and sobs the longer he stays here. But, you needed to say something, slightly annoyed he’s knowingly ignoring what you meant. “I-I am fully a- aware of that,” your body twitches as you look down to the side, “and I kn - know you know what I me-mean.”

You can’t stop stuttering. It’s embarrassing, it makes you feel like a child. But how can you talk properly to a man that gladly assisted in taking your freedom away? His pretty little songbird.

Your husband hums in thought before pushing back a few strands of hair behind your ear. He takes a step back when you do. 

How considerate of him.

Was silence always this painful? Or was it just his suffocating presence that taints the air around you? Are you really going to suffer being his wife, a part of this family for the rest of your life, no matter how short?

Was your sin so offensive that it carried over to this world?

While you’re drowning in your anxiety and panic, Dion merely looks at you. Shamefully, day by day it gets harder and harder to just limit himself to fleeting touches. He’s all too painfully aware that you’re terrified of him, that you despise being here and to bear his last name. 

He knows it’s not romantic. That it’s dangerous and all kinds of fucked up. But his feelings for you are genuine, no matter how twisted. He wonders if that realization would only drive you away once you get it.

It’s not romantic but it’s the closest thing he knows to it. And it makes everything all the more ironic. 

Soon, he’ll learn the price of pushing and pushing and pushing.

Both of you are startled by three knocks at the door, too caught up in your thoughts to even hear the footsteps. A regular occurrence for you but an extremely rare one for him. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“My Lady, I have returned with the sleeping pills. May I come in?”

Oh! You forgot all about Hana, how silly of you.

Hana my savior, my hero, God I think you’re my favorite person now and -

“Y-yes!” You squeak out, acting a bit too fast just to open the door yourself. Both your maid and husband are taken aback by this, especially when you hold the door open for her. “Come in.” You usher her, watching as her look of confusion becomes stoney once Dion enters her field of vision, standing tall, towering over both of you.

She bows her head as she continues to hold a silver tray with the pills on it. Unnecessary to carry it just for measly pills, but the fact she’s here at all improves your mood significantly. You’re so caught up in her that you don’t see the way Dion’s eye twitches before his expression becomes true neutral as he sees how warm you are with her.

“Greetings, Young Master.” She doesn’t spare him another glance as her attention returns to you. “My Lady, what time do you plan on retiring to bed?” She places the tray on the nightside table and it’s only then do you notice it.

Red wrappers hiding away the appearance of small balls rests on the tray. Watching as she takes the three pieces of what you assume to be candy and pills off the tray, you give her an answer. Your eyes never leave the candies, though. 

“Um… around eight, I suppose.” Currently it’s three in the afternoon. And currently, you’re doing your best to ignore your husband’s horrible stare. But thanks to Hana being here, it doesn’t burn as hot. 

Yes, you think. It was a good thing you helped her out back with Maria. Any other maid wouldn’t be able to withstand Dion’s presence more than her. Not batting an eye right after greeting him and yet, you don’t sense any hostility from him towards Hana.

Unlike with the guards from last night.

How… odd.

Oh. right. Dion was the one who assigned her to you. Meaning most likely he didn’t have any animosity towards her. Then, it hits you -

There’s a reason she’s here.

You bite your lip, holding back a cold shiver that threatens to crawl down your spine. No. Right now isn’t the time to think about such things. Right now is the time to thank her with a small smile, hoping your eyes aren’t showing your worries.

“O-oh,” you gesture to the candy with your head, “if I may ask, where did the candy come from?” 

“Ah, yes. Young Master Jeremy requested that I give them to you. To take away the sour taste.”

“Oh. He’s sweet. But what does he mean by ‘sour taste?” Your gut tells you that it concerns Dion. Your guess is confirmed when Hana glances at him, figuring out a way to explain without offending the man.

Your husband decides to answer in her stead.

“His new hobby is butting in with things that don’t concern him.” Clearly annoyed, your husband eyes them, scarlet narrowing into slits. Despite this, he doesn’t make a move to dispose of them or send them back.

His answer implies that the candy serves as a ‘fuck you’ to his older half-brother. Wait, doesn’t this mean that Jeremy waited for Hana? Or was it just a coincidence they crossed paths?

“He’s been carrying candy with him for a while now,” Dion says like he just read your mind. His boots echo in the room until he’s standing at your side once more. His scent makes your nerves go into overdrive, gulping down a cry for help. When Hana turns back around to take her leave, you offer a wavering smile.

“Thank you, Hana… oh, later today can you help me pick out a small gift for him? As thanks for the candy.” Truthfully, you don’t want to see the youth. His big eyes filled with an adoration held for a sibling is misdirected at you - be it for a test or a craving for something that is vastly different from what is brewed in this family.

You hate how it reminds you of the sassy twelve-year-old who sneaks into your room in the early morning. Of how it reminds you of the way your own brother would buzz around you like a bee when he was done with his tasks for the day, or simply didn’t want to be alone, his stupid grin, his stupid remarks that made your eye twitch and - 

… you miss Zac. 

“Yes, My Lady. I am ready whenever you are.” 

She hesitates before leaving, glancing at Dion and then at you. In the end she bows her head, carrying the silver tray with her. It becomes quiet when the door shuts behind her. 

A rabbit left alone with the wolf.

Fuck… I should have gone with Hana, you lament, the opportunity that once presented itself was now gone in the blink of an eye.   

“You seem close.” Dion states after observing your short interaction. “It does hurt a bit that my own wife is close with everyone else but me.” He teases, but something akin to ‘hurt’ lays barely hidden in his words.

Hah. Sucks to suck.

“... arranged wife.” Murmuring under your breath, you ignore the way his body twitches at your addition. Surely this man isn’t under the impression that you have begun to open up to the idea of accepting him merely because you let him have a few fleeting touches here and there. Or having silly ‘hope’ or an expectation that you will fall into his lap at some point in the future.

Whatever reason he had for keeping you was still a mystery. You could only guess, but every one only spelled imprisonment and suffering on your behalf.

“Right.” Dion doesn’t say anything else, but looks at you instead. A bit passes before he opens his mouth again, delivering news that makes your skin crawl at the implication yet soothes one of your worries.

“Father plans on putting you on conceptions starting tonight.” He delivers it so bluntly you almost mistook it for a joke. 

“Oh,” you say, somewhat grateful while extremely disgusted at the implied nightly activities your father-in-law presumes you engage in with his son. At least this means he doesn’t expect a grandchild anytime soon. “That’s… fine. Great, even.”

Your husband doesn’t react to your relief of not having to bear his child just yet. Like he expected it - a quick glance and it doesn’t even look like he was bothered by it. Perhaps the thought of a child might upset him to a degree - after all, having a child would mean all of your attention would be on them and not him. 

It’s clear he’s not fond of sharing. Even so, you can’t help but frown at how jealous he can be. Possessive or not, one should not be jealous of their own child receiving attention that they need.

Silence resumes. Fidgeting with your fingers, you do your best to ignore the strong effort it takes to breathe in a single breath. You should make an excuse to leave. Call for Hana and start to look for a gift for Jeremy. Lie and say you feel sick, kicking him out.

Anything. Anything to avoid his burning gaze, to get out of his presence that chokes you. To escape the one place he always seems to corner you in, behind closed doors as longing touches grazes your skin, with the only time he leaves you alone completely is when you’re laying down on the bed meant for two.

Instead all you do is stay in place. In place while your husband looks like he’s ready to pounce on you - either in a sexual or ‘loving’ manner, it doesn’t matter. Both make you want to vomit. Alias, it’s not like you will always be able to avoid intimate touches forever. Lust is a state that many feel and sometimes give into, and considering he had a few erections, it’s clear that, unfortunately, he is one of them who feels it.

The only thing you’re willing to offer are your hands or mouth. You’ll even swallow if it means he doesn’t try to escalate things further and penetrate you. 

“... you’re… you’re staring ra-rather hard.” Your voice cracks. It doesn’t even sound like yours, it sounds like a dying woman’s.

Ever so gently, hesitance obvious in his actions, one of his hands cups your cheek. You jolt, startled at his cold touch. He feels like a dead person. These same hands that hold you ‘lovingly’ are the same hands that have strangled the life out of numerous victims, enemies and family members alike. 

Goosebumps form on your skin. You’re starting to feel like a corpse, your lifeforce slowly draining away at his touch.

Frozen, you can’t react as he lifts your chin up, and your eyebrows furrow in dread and eyes widen in fear when you see how soft his expression is. Like this ‘side’ of him was reserved for you and you alone.

Your husband opens his mouth only to close it. And when he does decide to talk, he says -

“You’re beautiful.” 

You laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh, crazed as you stumble away from him. You shake your head violently. He’s crazy, this is insane, he shouldn’t be like this. None of this should be happening. 

He shouldn’t be playing house with you, he should be obsessing over his sister. He shouldn’t be here, gentle, instead he should be on the battlefield, acting as either Lant’s or Roxana’s dog depending on the timeline. He shouldn’t be spewing out nonsense, he should be out-performing everyone in this household. 

He shouldn’t be involved with anything ‘romantic’ or sexual.

“St-stop. Stop. Just - please, just stop. I-I ca-can’t take much more of this.” You keep walking backwards until you hit the edge of the bed. Your body becomes heavy and falls onto the mattress, a creak echoing in the bedroom.

“... you drive me insane.” He should leave you alone. Walk out the doors and let you have alone time. But his feet start moving before he even thinks about anything else. Like a moth to the flame, he burns himself while fanning your flames, embers spitting out.

Dion stops right in front of you, gets on one of his knees. Your husband takes one of your hands into his and you almost throw up on the spot. Your nerves are wrecked and fried, and for a moment, you think that you’re in an awful, awful nightmare. 

Dion knows he should walk away. But you’re a magnet he’s drawn to and despite his efforts, he only scares you instead of giving you peace. Giving you more reasons to detest him than ‘love’ him.

He knows he should back off. Maybe leave with a kiss to the back of your hand, as suggested by Ash. Instead he’s doing everything that the doctor advised against, needing to swallow you whole.

He really is a horrible husband.

Still, you’re just so -

“You drive me insane. I’ll bark if you tell me to, if it means you’ll finally look my way.” 

= = =

tag list: @tiny-mimi @umi-adxhira @pix-stuff @queenofspades403 @manitscold @s-ajia @disappointment-san @darkumbreon92 @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee @rentaldarling

[redladydeath]

@storm-ismyusername

The idea that the grandparents are so awful that Sarah & Thomas aren’t horrified when their Dad murders them says SO MUCH. (I guess the kids now know Very Clearly what their Dad went through and how he ended up like that.)

Welllll, it's less that their grandparents were completely horrible to them and more the desensitization to death that all citizens of Hell go through, plus the relief of no longer being stuck in that environment. Tom and Sarah's time with them wasn't torturous, just physically and emotionally exhausting. It was such a sharp pivot from being normal suburban kids to going to Hell and having to work for everything (even their relatives' affection) that any sort of return to normalcy was welcome, even if it came through violent means.

How would Vox find out about this situation? How ENRAGED would Vox be when he found out his parents were reenacting his childhood trauma on his kids?

Honestly, it wouldn't be hard for Vox to find out. Once he starts to break into the entertainment industry, it'd be easy to just happen upon or hear about a little theater that has an act that seems a bit too familiar to him and whoops, it's murder time. Tbh, despite his bad experience with it, Vox actually likes theater (or at least appreciates the skill/work that goes into live performances), so he could've feasibly realized what was going on halfway through watching the show.

Vox is a weird, hypocritical guy. I don't think he's against child labor on principle or would even admit that his own childhood was abusive, but ever since they were born, he's been very adamant about his own kids having "normal" childhoods. Part of it is his obsession with social status/norms (he needs to be The Best = society says that children should grow up in actual homes and shouldn't have to work = his children should grow up in an actual house and shouldn't have to work), but there's also a more human part of him that freaks the fuck out at the idea of his kids having to grow up like he did. He had a visceral internal reaction to his dad half-jokingly asking if he was going to get Tommy into the family business mere hours after he was born. He can't even articulate why that interaction gave him a mini-panic attack mixed with rage– it just did. So actually watching that fear be realized despite his best efforts to prevent it... it's not pretty.

Wonder what kind of role and show Sarah could be in? Does she develop genuine interest in theatre or singing after her experience?

Sort of. She discovers that she does enjoy performing for fun (not for work, though), but because of her experience, she now feels like she should be "earning her keep," even though she's. you know. eight. and in Hell. Vox doesn't really interrogate this new interest of Sarah's very hard, partially because he's not a very empathetic person and partially because it mirrors his own experience so closely that he doesn't even think to question it.

Ondine doesn't have a lot of variation in the kind of roles she plays. She's always a precious little girl of some kind because, well, that's all she can be due to her eternal youth. She's very at-home on sitcoms, although those aren't the only shows she's in. She has a view skewed perception of what life as an actor is like though since she's the producer's daughter and is always treated 1000 times better than any of the other cast members.

Are the kid’s personalities affected by their ordeal?

Not significantly. Ondine's a little more outgoing because of it and Fineas is a bit more introverted.

Wow, Vox’s fragile pride is so enormous that he forces his kids to relive his own childhood trauma. So pathetic and cowardly.

To be fair to Vox, the main reason why he made that choice was because he felt that if he brought his children under Lantana's roof, none of them would ever get out. The "my kids might not respect me anymore if they see me like this" thing was more of an underlying motive. He doesn't leave the kids with his parents for months/years after being rescued by Alastor like he does in the Cannibal Town scenario. He'll allow his kids to eat people in order to protect his ego, but he draws the line at child labor. Vox is a weird guy.

The shared custody situation sounds hilarious, can we explore that more? So would Sarah & Thomas have visitations with Vox every weekend? Would Vox & Helen try and make their schedules fit so the kids won’t be alone in their apartments? Once Vox gained Overlord status would he kill Helen, give her a penitent & stick her in a decent apartment so the kids could still bust her, or leave her on the streets?

I have no idea how this scenario would work, honestly. It's not entirely out of character since this would all be going on in Vox's early days, before he became his worst self, but I still struggle to come up with ways this could feasibly work without taking an abrupt turn for the dark. It's really for the best that Vox and Queenie never see each other again. Neither of them are going to play nice in the long run and it'll just end with the kids even more traumatized than they already are.

It would be funny if Alastor wanted super friendly and nice to Helen to spite Vox.

Oh, 100%. In any scenario where they meet and he knows that she's Vox's ex, Alastor treats Helen like a queen (except for that one RAM scenario where he casually kills her but shhhh).

@storm-ismyusername

Okay, so, the "Vox's kids die as children AU." I came up with the image of Vox keeping his kids in a fish tank first, but upon further reflection, I've realized that it doesn't really line up with the timeline I've established.

Vox's children were 7 and 10 when he died (1957)

Vox worked under an overlord for 3 years after his death before he broke free, started his own business, and met Alastor (1960)

He and Alastor were friends for 6 years until they fell out (1966)

Vox gained official overlord status 2 years later (1968). By the time Vox had the resources for the fish tank plan, his kids would've been 18 and 21.

The only window of time where Thomas and Sarah can die and still be children is 1957-1961, so it would have to happen when Vox was still in the employ of his overlord. I actually think the idea of struggling single dad Vox is really charming, so let's go with that.

With that background, I'm not sure if Vox would feel the need to do the fish tank thing since they went 15 years with nothing going wrong. Maybe it exists, but Sarah and Thomas aren't confined to it 24/7. Everyone already knows they exist, so they're allowed to move around the tower as they please (they are absolutely not allowed to go outside, though).

Okay, with that out of the way, onto the responses. Gonna answer this in parts: this one is the pre-canon stuff, the next will be the canon stuff, and the third will be RAM stuff.

Ondine & Fineas where they die as kids: How does child Sarah and Thomas react to: 1-Dying 2-Going to Hell 3-Reuniting with your dead Dad (who now has a TV for a head) Would any of their Sinner features be different? Is it weird I can see Vox being more fatherly to Sarah and Thomas than he was in his human life? So when Sarah & Thomas die as kids does Vox find them before or after his big fight with Alastor? If before, what would Alastor make of the situation?  How long does Sarah and Thomas fend for themselves in Hell? A few days, a few weeks, a month, a year?  Did someone find the first? Did Vox only learn his kids were in Hell when someone was using them as blackmail against him? Did Sarah and Thomas watch as their father brutally murder their kidnapper in front of them?  Maybe another Overlord (like Carmilla, Zestial, or Rosie) found them and gave them to Vox because they felt threatening children was beneath them and drew the line at hurting kids. Wait what if Alastor found them first? What would he do with them if he did?

Okay, so Sarah and Thomas die somewhere between 1958 and 1959. They still drowned, maintaining their aquatic theming, but I'm not sure how exactly– could've been from their mother driving under the influence and crashing the car through a bridge's guardrails, could've been just regular drowning at the beach or something. Their mother survives, so they land in Hell alone (I have no idea what an 8~9 and 11~12-year-old could've done to get sent to Hell, but let's just move on).

Not sure how Vox finds them. In the main AU, they found him by recognizing his voice in an advertisement and seeking him out, but at this point, Vox is just some random nobody. Let's just assume he got extremely lucky and happened to come across them 1-30 days after they first arrived but before anyone else thought to scoop them up. Vox is horrified that they're dead and in Hell and privately swears to permakill his wife for letting this happen if he ever sees her again. He brings them back to his shitty little apartment and starts trying to figure out how the fuck he's supposed to care for children in Hell.

Despite the circumstances, Vox is actually a better father in Hell than he was on Earth. He has nothing to his name other than a shitty errand boy job, a tiny apartment, and his two small children, who he thought he'd never see again. While the stress of having to provide for them is a beast, losing everything sort of forced him to get his priorities in order. They become far more tight-knit than when they were alive, as Vox is forced to spend more time with them and get creative when it comes to meeting their needs.

It's all quite the adjustment for Thomas and Sarah. Dying and trying to survive on the streets was as traumatizing as you'd expect. Reuniting with your dead dad and having to adjust to living in poverty is also a lot to take in. Every day, they're stuck in a one-room apartment with gunshots constantly going off outside and explicit instructions from their father to be as quiet as possible and not open the door for anyone– very different from the upper-middle-class suburbanite life they were used to. Eventually, their dad will come home with cheap food, they'll spend time together for a while, and then they all curl up together in their singular bed and try to sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. It's not a comfortable life, but it's definitely more intimate than how things used to be. Thomas starts letting go of some of his resentment of Vox since he can tell he's actually trying now, and Sarah's view of him as A Good Dad, Actually solidifies.

Eventually, Vox secretly kills his overlord, starts his first business, and is taken under Alastor's wing. Things become more comfortable for the three of them, and Alastor becomes something akin to a weird, kind of fun uncle to the kids. Things are looking up for the family as Vox starts to build power and wealth. It's horrifying for the kids when Vox comes home one night without a head and swears revenge on Alastor, but that incident only adds to Vox's upward momentum. After ten years of struggling in Hell, Thomas and Sarah (or rather, Fineas and Ondine) find themselves back in the lap of luxury as their father claims the title of the Overlord of Television.

[worstqueerbaittournament]

Submission message for Klance: howdy, would like to submit keith and lance from voltron (lmao)

Submission message for Bechloe: Beca and Chloe from Pitch Perfect (mainly Beca but Bechloe was the ship they baited the most)

Additional propaganda Klance: Now Keith and Lance on the other hand was a whole fucking mess that they then shoehorned in an hetero romance to try and "fix it" but by lord it was bad, everything about voltron is so fucking bad

Anyway this is my Klance propaganda : They were actually bait

Klance's queer baiting by the team was the worst!! We had to deal with NETFLIX ALSO GETTING IN ON THE QUEER BAITING!! If you searched up Kkance during the times for season 6-8, the SHOW WOULD POP UP. The directors would make jokes about it being canon, even Lance's VA got in the joke!

Their queer baiting was the worst for anyone who was even looking for an ounce of queer rep in that show. The only queer rep we got was a man who died after not even 5 minutes on screen, and shoehorned in the credit scene of a gay wedding of a character that was neither Keith nor Lance.

I do not know Agatha and Sophie, so I can't argue that klance was bigger bait or not, I just know voltron was mean lmao. the creators said stuff like "lance will be someone's first choice!" (meaning NOT ending up in a relationship with allura bc she very much chose another guy over him) and heavily implying he would be Keith's 1st choice (or a guy in general bc of point number 2). point number 2: they also released official art showing how super cool and diverse the main cast was! race! gender! LGBT - they had shiro (who was......canon gay but that's a whole other can of worms) and lance hold the sign with LGBT on it and then did absolutely nothing with that w lance at all (he hit on allura, so obvi he's not gay, but at least bi or smt) (UNLESS you count the scenes where he's flirty with keith). I just remember going into the last few seasons being like "klance probably won't be happen be honest with yourself there's like no queer kids shows!! but damn like it so could tho!!! because of how much it's been teased both in the show and by showrunners like I can't have no hope with the way the producers talk about it!" lmao I should have had no hope, but i genuinkey believed there was a possibility it could happen. and actually I discovered after the fact that i think one of the writers for the show who was the main advocate for klance (they had a lot of diff writers for eps, which led to lots of character butchering but ANYWAY) left not terribly long into the show I believe bc he didn't like the direction it was moving in and didn't want to be tied to the show anymore. so it's not like fans just made klance up either - it was written into earlier episodes with the hope and plan to continue developing later, and then just nothing ever happened with it besides INTENSE teasing it to keep queer fans around. esp after shiro's relationship was literally only a flashback and then his fiance thing or whatever got blown up before we even got to watch him interact w shiro as we knew him in present time in s7, so I think they kept being like hmmm klance and the stuff about lance being a first choice before s8 to keep ppl around. also esp bc klancers made up such a big portion of the fan base. then they made a horrible szn and ended it w a flashforward to shiro marrying some random background character who maybe had 1 line? I just remember hitting the flashforward and being like uhhhh who is this dude??? but they did that to hit those diversity points wow first gay marriage in a cartoon or smt idk it doesn't count to me really. so anyway voltron in general is queerbait lol but klance is because it started out as a legit possibility and then they said sike! but only maybe sike bc u guys are mad at us burying our guys in s7 so maybe klance could still happen haha okay now we're serious no it's not happening. anyway I think klance is p bad queerbait and a vote for them is a valid vote, not just u liking the ship.

Here is my really boring and incredibly dry argument for #KLANCESWEEP:

There are countless examples of the Voltron showrunners queerbaiting when it comes to Klance. I will leave that argument and discussion to others. Instead, I would like to focus on why/how I believe Klance is the more significant instance of queerbaiting, despite Johnlock's queerbaiting being markedly more famous.

Queerbaiting is when a shows teases/hints at a character(s) being queer, but then never actually follows through on making the character LGBTQ+. Queerbaiting is, above all, a marketing technique; the show dangles the possibility of a queer romance in order to "bait"  a queer/ally audience into watching, and then continues to dangle or drag out the possibility of a same-sex romance in order to keep their audience hooked and continuously profited off. Queerbaiting takes advantage of peoples' hope and optimism, and that's why the betrayal stings so deeply once the queerbaiting is realized.

I argue that one of the major components of queerbaiting is that the show/writers must never explicitly confirm that there will NOT be queer romance. Queerbaiting is only sustained so long as the illusion of possibility persists.

Now, there are plenty of nuances to this.

If a showrunner comes out and explicitly states that there will be no queer representation in the show, this statement alone does not absolve the show of any queerbaiting it previously did. But, it DOES blur the lines for what can reasonably be defined as "actual" versus "willful" queerbaiting and subtext in the show going forward.

okay let me drop the pseudo-academic tone and just put it bluntly. what i'm trying to say is that, if a showrunner explicitly says "NO GAY ROMANCE," but the show's audience continues to insist and read for gay subtext anyway, and then the audience feels betrayed when the show ends with no queer romance --- at a certain point, wouldn't you argue that it's the fans that are actually baiting themselves, and not the show itself? this is what i mean by "willful" subtext.

As early as 2010 (this article/interview was posted the day of the first episode), the Sherlock showrunners explicitly stated that there would be no romantic relationship between Sherlock and Watson. Between 2010 and 2016, the showrunners repeatedly stated in multiple interviews that Johnlock would never happen.

I am 100% aware that I was drinking nothing but Kool-Aid while Voltron aired. I absolutely baited myself with desperate hope each season. But, in my weak defense, the flames of my Klance delusions were very much flamed by the promises made by the Voltron showrunners, who repeatedly floated the promise of queer representation in the show and spoke about Klance in the same breath. Klancers didn't bait themselves out of thin air; they desperately clung to the rope the Voltron writers threw us, and we were pulled in: hook, line, and sinker.

-

TLDR:

Queerbaiting involves willful deception and deliberate misinformation on the part of a showrunner/show.

If a showrunner encourages a queer ship, or makes vague promises of queer representation, then it reasonable for the show's audience to assume that a queer romance will happen. When a queer romance does not happen, this is clear-cut queerbaiting.

But if a showrunner explicitly states that a show will not have a major queer romance, then the show's audience should reasonably assume that the show will not have the queer ship they favor. If shippers continue to insist that their ship will come to fruition, and continue to pin their hopes on their ship, then the lines between who is actually baiting whom become very blurred.

Johnlock fans knew going into the show that John and Sherlock would never have an explicitly queer relationship. Fans continued to read for subtext, and maintained hope. The lines of queerbaiting become blurred, as it was not entirely clear if the show was actually baiting its shippers, or if fans were the ones baiting themselves.

In contrast, Klance fans were repeatedly encouraged by the showrunners, Netflix's marketing, and to some extent the VAs that Klance was possible (and that queer representation would firmly happen), and so Klance shippers were repeatedly strung along each season, up until the final season when Lance and Allura started dating and the Klance ship was torpedoed once and for all. (Do not talk to me about post-canon Klance, I am willfully defiant.) This is a firmly clear-cut case of queerbaiting.

In summary, Klance is the more textbook case of queerbaiting. It matches all the elements of queerbaiting: there was the willful deception by the showrunners, which encouraged Klance shippers specifically to hang onto the show, allowing Voltron to profit off its Klance audience. It's true that Klance shippers also continuously baited and deluded ourselves; but in our defense, we were following the example and promises set by the show itself.

Additional propaganda Bechloe: Ok for a little propaganda, since you may have forgotten pitch perfect, I want you all to know I first saw it as a 16-17 year old at gay youth group and can you imagine my fucking surprise and bafflement when they werent lesbians. Like basically thru the whole movie I was like “fun lesbian film nothing out of place just waiting for them to actually be gay” I know this was mostly the youth group organizers fault but I still think pitch perfect should have to answer for their crimes

I could talk so much about this but I want to point specifically to this promo for pitch perfect 3:

Bechloe - Pitch Perfect 3 Promo

Bechloe is REAL!

YouTube

and they then proceeded to give chloe an absolutely godawful love interest and like really overdid it (they also tried to give beca one too but anna kendrick was having NONE of that)

IIRC, Beca and Chloe were supposed to be lesbians but Universal vetoed it and made them give Beca a male love interest. Whether that changes things is up to you.

Even more Klance propaganda under the cut:

@klanced pretty well summarizes why Voltron was *more* queerbaity, but I think we should also consider what it means to be *worse.*

Make no mistake, the Sherlock team was.... for lack of a better term.... almost gaslight-y in their press, by disregarding the subtext that they themselves had written. But they were consistent. And their messages as showrunners did bear through, even as they were being cruel. Most importantly, Sherlock never needed the people they were baiting, so they could act aloof. That distance was horrible, but nothing like Voltron.

The relationship between Voltron and its fans was toxic, parasitic. Voltron couldn't have stayed around for that long without dragging its queer-baited audience behind it. It was a Netflix show, and those are always so close to the hangman's axe. It was the online fervor that sustained it.

And so, they had to appease the fans, pay the piper. But they had their own ideas for how the story would bear out, and each creator wanted something differently. In the end, they consistently used marketing tactics to imply something that could have been possible, if not for distinct creative voices that instead weakened the queer stories until they were watery piss.

Anyway, this was rambling. Vote Voltron for dangling queer alignment and ambiguity. Vote Voltron for pretending to be an ally. Vote Voltron for the stupid fucking LGBTQ banner that has Lance on it. Johnlock hurt, in a distant way, but Klance was worse.

I actually said this earlier on a different post, but I'll say it here too:

Its completely reasonable to think Klance was originally planned. Their interactions in the early seasons seemed a little too romantically coded to be something completely made up by fans. Thats why Klance was so popular, because it seemed all too possible.

However, when Dreamworks forced the creative team to change the story in order to keep Shiro alive instead of permanently killing him off like they originally planned, their entire story got fucked over. Seasons 3 and 4 were too far into production to stop and completely redo them, it would have been too expensive, even though it was the logical course of action. Instead, the producers had to make serious last minute changes to the story in order to keep Shiro in the picture. As a result, Shiro and Keith's switched places in the show, and Keith was almost completely written out of seasons 4-6 because Shiro was never supposed to be there. Any and all possible plans for any sort of development between Keith and Lance were thrown out the window because Keith wasn't there.

But as previously said, Voltron wouldn't have survived until the end without the rabid and feral online Klance fandom. The writing was very rapidly going to shit because there wasn't enough time to properly rewrite seasons 3 and 4 in order to meet Dreamworks' demands, and every season that followed suffered because of the decisions made for seasons 3 and 4. Everything was being improvised, and the storyboards for season 8 weren't finished until MARCH 2018 because of how behind schedule they were.

(I feel like the creative team don't get enough credit. Sure the show was a MASSIVE flop but their working conditions were less then ideal. Its impressive they got anything done on time due to the constantly changing ideas.)

The VLD producers knew that the Klance fandom was the only thing keeping the show alive, and continued to use Klance as bait until the very end. The VLD producers willingly enabled the notoriously toxic and violent Klance fandom with thumbnails and HotTopic merch, and allowed it to reach a point that the lives of their cast and crew were being threatenedby the rabid Klance fandom, just to get the ratings they needed to stay afloat.

THATS the disgusting part of all this. Whether Klance was originally planned as endgame or not, the producers used its popularity to keeping their already declining show running at the expense of the safety of their cast and crew.

I know next to nothing about BBC's Sherlock and Johnlock and whatever, but what the VLD producers did was sinister. Putting their creative team through both production and online HELL for some ratings, and it blew up in the most humiliating way possible. They did alllllll that, just to get one of the worst endings to an animated series of all time. Literally everyone hates them for what Voltron became, putting the lives of their creative team in danger was for nothing.

And obviously the producers can't completely blamed for the show's outcome, Dreamworks ruined their original plans. But continuing to use Klance as a marketing tactic while your fans are getting out of control and your creative team is being put in danger is just appalling. It was in their power to tell the Klance fandom Klance wasn't endgame, and that probably would have quelled the fire, but instead, with every season, they threw more and more gasoline into the dumpster fire.

So if you haven't already, vote Klance in this poll.

(I'm linking my source for all this info here. Its a video essay that I totally recommend watching. Super duper interesting.)

[softgh0stbites]

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ Something Pink, Something Borrowed

A Vincent Valentine Week Prompt! Day 1 Pink/Glass/Kiss

Rating: SFW Pairing: Vincent x Reader Synopsis: What does Vincent get the girl who cherishes everything? He wants to make her feel special, offer an apology for all she has to put up and at the same time appeal to her affections. Though he doesn't want to stumble over his words, maybe there's another way? Maybe the language of flowers isn't so bad after all. Notes: Just a cute and sweet drabble I cooked while being in a car for 3 hours. What flowers do you like? And have you ever been gifted flowers? Anyway, enjoy~ Music I listened to: Fade into you by Mazzy Star and Angel by River Styx [Unhealthy obsession with this song for them lowkey]

˚❀　.　˚　　✦　　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.　˚❀　.　˚　　✦　　✿　.　˚　. 　 

The day was bright and warm—spring had snuck up on everyone like a gentle embrace. The center of Kalm was alive with movement, people bustling about, getting their homes in order for the new season. Pastel fabrics swayed in the breeze, and the rhythmic sound of footsteps against cobblestone filled the air. There was idle chatter, children’s laughter, a distant bark as a dog chased after giggling kids with sticky candy-covered fingers.

And despite the warmth of it all, Vincent felt completely out of place.

He rarely ventured into town when it was this crowded, much less left the security of his upper-floor room at the inn. The happiness in the air made something inside him squirm like it was pressing him toward an inevitable interaction he wasn’t prepared for. As he wove through the crowds, he made a conscious effort to look unapproachable, his usual armor against unwanted conversation. He wasn’t here for idle pleasantries anyway. He was looking for something specific, a place he had seen once when you arrived but had given no thought to until last night when overhearing your conversation.

Vincent wasn’t usually one to eavesdrop on conversations, but your voice had been involved, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy hearing you speak.

-----

You had been helping Aerith carry drinks back to your table at the pub, both of you engrossed in conversation. Tifa had gone with Cloud to get supplies, Cid was busy with learning new navigation equipment, and cait sith- not really sure what he was up to. Vincent had straightened slightly from his usual slouched position in the corner of the establishment, trying not to make his attentiveness too obvious as he lazily draped his arm over the back of the bench. He was only here because he didn't trust sleezy drunkards not to try to follow you two back so despite your insistence that they would be okay, he came along anyway. His eyes followed you, but you hadn’t noticed yet. Good.

"Do you have a favorite flower?" Aerith asked, her face lighting up with a bright, eager smile, clearly thrilled to finally have someone to talk to about it.

"I’ll be honest, I don’t know enough to pick one. But I used to read about flower language all the time!" You admitted, a faint blush dusting your cheeks as you scratched behind your ear. "Kind of silly, I know."

Vincent’s brow furrowed slightly. Flower language. He had never given much thought to it before, never had a reason to but the way you spoke about it, there was a quiet sincerity there. Did you see meaning in those kinds of things?

Aerith gasped, clapping her hands together. "Of course not! Flowers have been an important part of history. It’s not silly at all! The language they hold—" she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands, "—even back then, people used flowers to say the things they couldn’t put into words. And I think we both know a few guys who aren’t the best at talking."

She playfully nudged your ribs just as you were taking a sip, making you choke slightly as a few drops dribbled from your mouth. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, grimacing softly.

"Yeah, Cloud is pretty quiet unless you prod him too much, huh?"

Aerith gave you a knowing look. "Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed your little telepathic connection with Vincent." She took a swig of her drink, eyes twinkling mischievously. "You’re practically attached at the hip! You sure stare like you want to be."

Vincent stiffened. Telepathic connection? His clawed fingers curled slightly against the wood of the bench. That was an exaggeration. Surely.

Your hands flew to your face, groaning in mortification. "It’s that obvious?"

"Mmmhmmm," Aerith hummed, grinning. "But that’s okay. I think it just means you find comfort in each other, right? He’s around the group a lot more when you’re there." She pointed out matter of factly.

Vincent exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking toward the wall. He wasn’t aware he had been that obvious, maybe he should tone it down and give the both of you some space. It didn't bother him per say, just complicated the moments you two were able to hide away in the corners and sneak intimate moments. Particularly that old storage closet on the HighWind, it had become his favorite place to linger by, seeing as most of the time you pulled him in there it ended with the both of you breathless, your clothes disheveled and his hair out of place.

"Really? I never noticed…" You shyly toyed with a loose strand of hair, gaze flickering across the room until it settled briefly on Vincent.

His eyes snapped away instantly, fixing very intently on the faded menu beside him on the wall.

"He makes me feel really safe," you admitted quietly. "Even though his gaze is… intense sometimes. I don’t think he means to be. At least, not usually?"

He barely kept himself from shifting in his seat. Safe. The word rang in his ears, foreign yet something else. The way you said i made it sound like a miraculous compliment. He may have felt a little grateful for his superhuman hearing after all.

"Well…sometimes I want to know how he feels," You hesitated, continuing but lowering your voice. "It makes me think about love languages. What do you think guys like that want?"

Vincent’s opposite hand twitched slightly where they rested against his knee. Oh, this would be interesting.

Aerith pursed her lips in exaggerated thought. "Hmmm. Touch." She dramatized it by saying it breathily with a teasing look.

You went rigid, face heating. "Ahhh… maybe," you mumbled. "But I was thinking more along the lines of gifts, quality time, words of affirmation…"

Vincent slouched even further into the bench, his legs spreading wider as a couple of ladies happened to glance at the empty spot beside him. One look with his glowering eye was enough to have them turn around and perish the thought of approaching.

Love languages? He supposed he had heard of it before, but the idea of applying it to himself felt somewhat foolish. A man like him, who had spent decades trying to erase himself, thinking about something as trivial as love languages? He supposed he did have a soft spot for the classics of all things.

Aerith sighed dramatically. "That’s a tough one. I don’t know him well enough to say, but—" Her gaze lowered to the hands wrapped around her mug, her expression softening. "There used to be someone I loved. He would always drop by unexpectedly, like he always had the time to do so." She smiled wistfully.

Vincent studied her expression carefully. He knew that look. It was the same way someone smiled when trying to mask old wounds.

"Ah! That’s cute, spill more." You linked your arm with hers, trying to comfort her a little.

Aerith chuckled, lifting a hand to toy with the ribbon in her hair. "That’s how I got this. He gave it to me as a gift, and I never could let it go… even when he disappeared."

Your eyes seemed concerned, you reached up, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. She beamed at you, as if to say she was okay talking about it. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"It’s okay, I’m mostly over it. And anyway," she paused to take another swig, "We were talking about you. So, what is it that you think he likes?"

Vincent was still staring at the menu vaguely, eyes reading the faded lettering there. Raspberry sorbet. He had never had it before, but he had been reading the word over and over long enough that he could almost taste it. Sweet.

"He seems like a more traditional person, I guess… maybe at one time he would've liked dates?"

His breath stuttered, his hand coming up to his face, gazing at his empty leather glove. At one time. That was true, wasn’t it? At one time, he had been a man who could have entertained the thought of simple joys like dates. But those years were long past and the world had moved past simple walks on the beach hand in hand, probably. Picnics on Sundays with watermelon in the summer, rolled up button down shirts and bare feet in the grass. He remembered thinking he would court a woman someday, bring her lavish gifts from his corporate job, be home on time for dinner, but even then his bodyguard work never allowed him those luxuries. That life was entirely foreign now and not something he was sure of.

"So no Golden Saucer raves, check." Aerith made a swishing motion in the air as if marking off an invisible list.

"What about you though, what would you want?" She asked as you were still concentrating on what Vincent could possibly like.

"I think flowers is a good place to start, I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic," Your signature lop sided sunshine grin in place made Vincent's lips smile under his cowl. He could do hopeless and romantic, it wasn't too far off from his own views really.

-----

Vincent let out a silent exhale, pulling himself back to the present as he picked up his pace through the streets of Kalm. He didn’t know why your words lingered in his mind, but they did. You had considered him—his past, his nature, his preferences. In a way it felt good to be noticed by you.

You’d taken a leap of faith with him, putting yourself in a vulnerable position and gave him something he didn’t know how to ask for. The least he could do was acknowledge it, even return the gesture. He wasn’t good at these things, but he could at least try for your sake. His steps carried him toward the center of town, but instead of the busy marketplace, he turned into a quieter alleyway where a wooden sign swayed in the breeze, adorned with a cascade of trailing ivy.

Mira’s Floral Boutique

He hesitated. Standing outside a flower shop felt more daunting than hunting Sephiroth himself. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear the absurdity of his thoughts. Why was this so difficult?

His fingers flexed at his sides, his body caught in an awkward limbo between entering and leaving before anyone from the group saw him lingering here.

Then, before he could overthink it, he stepped inside.

The chime of a bell overhead rang far too loudly in the small shop. He grimaced as the sound echoed, announcing his presence before he even had a chance to collect himself.

The space was quaint, filled with the soft scent of earth and blooms. Clay pots were stacked near the door, ferns and ivy hung from wooden beams, their long vines brushing against his head as he moved. He ducked slightly, feeling out of place—like some great beast trying to navigate a dollhouse.

His crimson gaze scanned the shop, looking for something—though he wasn’t quite sure what.

A rustling from the back caught his attention as a small, elderly woman shuffled out from behind a shelf stacked with yellow carnations. She looked old enough to have seen several lifetimes, her wrinkled hands covered in dirt from tending to the flowers. She squinted up at him, eyeing his dark attire with curiosity before waving him down.

"Ah, there you are! Can't see ya with those legs," she chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m assuming you’re here for the flower deal?”

Vincent swallowed. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Was there a deal? He could just nod and pretend. God, no, that wouldn’t work. He exhaled slowly, shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh…”

Great start.

The woman’s expression twitched with amusement.

"You're not used to this, are you, young man?" she teased.

“…No.”

She let out a knowing laugh, motioning for him to follow her toward the back of the shop, where buckets upon buckets of fresh flowers lined the walls. He had never seen so many colors in one place. The sheer variety made his mind stall. How was he supposed to know what you like when there were this many options? Roses, gardenias, some kind of bleeding flower- oh, bleeding heart. Nice.

"Alright then," she said, dusting her hands off on her apron. “Are these for someone special?"

Vincent hesitated tearing his gaze away from the stressful choices he was about to make, his grip tightening slightly at his sides.

“…Mm.” A hum of agreement, she could think that if she wanted. Make it out to be whatever.

A rolled-up piece of wrapping paper lightly thwacked against his arm. He blinked, mildly stunned, as the woman squinted up at him.

“She’s either special, or she’s not, young man.” She scolded and shook her head. “Now, tell me about her.”

Vincent stiffened. His first instinct was to shut down the conversation entirely, but she was already walking toward the flowers waiting for his answer. He wasn't used to speaking about someone else to some random stranger, but something about the old woman seemed earnest. It wasn't like she was going to run down the road gossiping about this strange, lanky man who walked into her store with his gun still attached- He hoped.

He swallowed, choosing his words carefully as he didn't know exactly how to explain you.

"She’s… steady.”

The shopkeeper hummed, plucking a stem from one of the buckets absent-mindedly, it seemed like she did this a lot.

“She doesn’t push, but she doesn’t waver either,” he continued, voice low. "She’s perceptive, she listens." He tilted his head, one hand steady on his hip as he put serious consideration into it.

The woman smiled knowingly. "That’s rare," she mused. "Most people only listen to reply."

Vincent’s gaze drifted over the petals of a flower near him, the way they curled delicately at the edges. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, not really sure why he was suddenly becoming an open book to the florist about you.

"She makes space for people, even when they don’t know how to ask for it."

The shopkeeper nodded approvingly. “You talk about her like she’s something worth protecting.”

He tensed at that, but didn’t refute it.

With a satisfied hum and a tap of her fingers on the counter, she started plucking flowers from various buckets. Her steps shuffled through the shop, the wood creaking beneath her feet in protest. “Alright, I have just the thing.”

She selected a pink camellia, its soft petals full and vibrant. “Admiration and deep respect,” she explained, handing it to him first to let him smell.

Vincent studied it in his palm. That was a good start. She waited for him to bring it to his nose, he nodded his head in approval. It smelled sweet, soft.

Next, she added a few sprigs of blue salvia, their tiny blossoms delicate but striking against the soft pastel pink of the camellia. “This one means I think of you.” She shot him a glance. “Seems appropriate, considering you’ve been standing here looking like a man lost in thought.”

His jaw ticked slightly, but he said nothing. His eyes fixing her with an unamused stare.

Then came bellflowers, their lavender hue complementing the bouquet. “Gratitude,” she explained. “For the quiet kind of devotion, for the things left unsaid.”

Vincent’s fingers curled slightly around the stems as he collected them one by one.

Finally, she plucked a few delicate statice flowers, their clusters of violet petals weightless in her hands. “This one,” she said softly, “is for remembrance. For missing someone, even when they’re still near.”

A sharp pang pressed against his ribs, a sense of understanding settling deep in his chest. Though he wouldn't let it show as he shrunk further behind the red of his cowl.

The woman said nothing more as she wrapped the bouquet with a simple ribbon, tucking the stems into a soft white parchment before pressing it into his hands.

“There,” she said. “That should do it.”

Vincent looked down at the bouquet, the colors blending together in muted beauty. The weight of it felt different. More intentional than anything he had carried in a long time. It was like all his words were staring back at him in the face, yet the only people hearing it was in this room.

“…She’ll like these?” he asked, voice quieter than before a bit uncertain if his silly idea was truly just that, ridiculous.

The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. “If she’s anything like the way you just described her, she won’t just like them. She’ll understand them.”

Vincent nodded once, slowly, before pulling out the gil to pay. He tucked the bouquet carefully into the crook of his arm before turning toward the door. He could hear the shopkeeper call out to him once more about extra gil he was leaving behind, but his just raised his hand in acknowledgement. He figured since he was being so generous today a little extra spending wouldn't hurt his agony image.

The warm breeze met him as he stepped outside, ruffling his cloak and carrying the scent of fresh blooms with him. The bouquet felt heavier in his grasp than it should have. For the first time in a long while, he was bringing something to someone instead of pushing them away.

His skin tingled, his mind a restless current of thoughts—how you would react, what you would say, and, perhaps more troubling, what you might tell the others. Would you tease him? Would the group pry? Had he been too boring? Too traditional? Too old?

His long strides slowed, deliberately wasting time as the afternoon sun dipped behind passing clouds.

Was he being too traditional?

What even was dating like in this time? Generations had passed—what if the rules had changed? He had discarded his ideas of fun the moment he became a Turk, and after the experiment… did he even understand people anymore? What if he had gotten you all wrong?

A familiar voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

"Ah, Vincent! I’ve been looking for you. I heard it’s going to rain soon, so I brought an umbrella! I've been looking all over, Yuffie said-"

Like the chime of the bell in the flower shop, your voice pulled him back, parting the murmur of the town around him. His gaze dropped first to the scuffed sneakers stepping into his path before flicking up to meet yours.

Instinct took over. His arm shifted, subtly tucking the bouquet beneath the folds of his cloak as if it would disappear behind the curtain of scarlet.

---------

Your eyes missed nothing. He was lost in his head before you even approached, you could tell by the way he was studying the ground below, the way his strides faltered.

You opened your mouth to ask, but before the words could form, a single drop of rain struck the tip of your nose. You blinked in surprise before laughing softly, rubbing at the spot with your sleeve. The sky had been clear earlier, but you supposed the clouds had been creeping in while you weren’t paying attention.

Still, your focus drifted back to him—Vincent, standing there stiffly, shoulders tense as if he were bracing for something. You knew him well enough to recognize when he was uncomfortable. The shifting crowds, the open space—he didn’t like being seen like this.

So you did the first thing that came naturally. You reached for his hand.

For a second, it almost felt like he didn’t want you to. His fingers remained rigid, unmoving, and you braced yourself for the possibility that he might pull away. But then, slowly, his hand relented, letting you take it.

You didn’t say anything, only gave a light tug, guiding him away from the bustling street. He followed without protest, his long stride easily matching yours as you led him toward the bridge by the water wheel. The hum of the town grew softer as you stepped beneath its arch, the sound of rushing water covering the world beyond.

It was quiet here. Private, sort of. The way he preferred things.

Still, he hadn’t said a word.

Your eyes flicked toward him, watching as he remained unnaturally stiff. His arm was still pinned to his side, his cloak folded awkwardly beneath it like he was hiding something.

"Hey, you okay?"

Your fingers squeezed his gently, a small tug to get his attention, but he was already leaning against the wooden railing that kept people from falling into the water, unmoving. You let go of the umbrella, it becoming cradled by the blades of grass.

You frowned, scanning him for injuries, fingers adjusting his cloak that wasnt pinned to his side.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, It's nothing."

His voice was slightly strained. And—was that pink on the tops of his cheeks? You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him look quite like this.

Your lips quirked, curiosity sparking. What could possibly fluster Vincent Valentine? He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, as if he was in some kind of trouble.

"Does it have to do with whatever you’re hiding then?"

You leaned in, pressing his hand to your waist, tilting your head up to meet his eyes with a knowing hum. You were teasing, but only a little. Mostly, you just wanted to see what he would do.

His crimson gaze flickered to yours, unimpressed. A long-suffering sigh followed.

"You miss nothing, do you?"

"Sorry," you grinned. "Someone taught me how to be extremely observant."

He huffed—whether in amusement or exasperation, you weren’t sure but after a beat of hesitation, he finally moved.

"Fine."

With careful precision, Vincent unpinned his arm from his side, shifting his cloak away to reveal what he’d been hiding all this time.

A bouquet.

The rain started to fall down harder, the sound of it pelting the water snapped you out of your haze.

Soft pink camellias, delicate sprigs of blue salvia, the gentle violet of bellflowers and statice—all tied neatly together with a simple ribbon.

Your breath caught, eyes widening just slightly. You had expected something a lot more practical like maybe he bought himself a new weapon or at most a saucy magazine- although the idea of it would make you giggle. The idea of the Vincent Valentine viewing half naked articles of women with his skeptical gaze was hilarious.

Vincent said nothing, only held the bouquet out toward you, his expression unreadable but his body language screamed cautious. Like he wasn’t sure what you’d think about this gift.

You took your time viewing his outstreatched hand wrapped in the flowers, the delicate arrangement of soft pink camellias, sprigs of blue salvia, and violet bellflowers carefully tied together. It wasn’t just a bundle of flowers—it was intentional. Thoughtful. Him. It made you smile thinking of him having trouble picking out any of these, possibly having to ask for help. That alone made your heart flutter, he went out of his way to do something for you even if it made him nervous.

For a moment, you just stared, your fingers hovering over the petals like they might vanish if you touched them.

"Vincent…" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His expression was unreadable, but his grip on the bouquet was firm, as if bracing himself. He wanted you to say something more, anything to ease him, maybe change his mind about tossing them entirely. He looked somewhat adorable with something so fragile in his grip, this tall man wearing dark leather with layers of belts and a warning sign practically hanging from his neck that said, 'Danger'

You exhaled softly, finally reaching forward, your fingertips brushing against the pink paper wrapping before you took it from his grasp, cradling it like something precious before you brought them to your nose. The pinks, violets, and lavender colors all seemed to compliment you as well, almost like a miracle. The petals ghosted your lips as you tried to commit the smell to memory, you're certain you would be sneezing later. Your eyes caught the movement of a little bell charm hanging from the end of the ribbon, it's glass reflection glimmering.

"They're beautiful."

The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

You traced the edge of one of the camellia petals, your heart warming at the meaning behind them. Admiration. Respect. Then the salvia—I think of you. And the bellflowers—Gratitude. Even the statice, nestled among them—Remembrance. You swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. He might not have said the words out loud, but he had. In his own way. Your fingers curled around the stems, holding them close. He thought about this. He thought about you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest.

Stepping closer, you tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, the corners of your lips curling into something soft. His crimson eyes searched yours, still cautious, still waiting.

You didn’t make him wait long.

Rising onto your toes, you pressed a feather-light kiss against his cheek, just above his jaw before sliding to the corner of his mouth. You pressed a little more firmly, but still gentle. It wasn’t rushed, nor fleeting. Just soft. Intentional. The way he deserved.

When you pulled back, you lingered in his space, just close enough to feel the warmth of him beneath his cloak.

His breath had hitched—so subtle that most wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. The way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

"Thank you, Vincent," you murmured, your voice warm, sincere, "You did so much for me today,"

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, slowly, his gaze softened. He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head just enough that a few strands of his dark hair fell across his face. It looked like your gentleness had brought him back down to you.

"Hm."

That was all he said. But then, just as you started to pull back, his fingers ghosted over yours—the metal of his gauntlet cold, his other hand warm. Before you could react, he grasped your hand, his grip steady but careful not to wrench you out of place. In one smooth motion, he pulled you closer, guiding you against his side beneath the cover of his cloak. It wasn’t forceful, nor awkward.

Your breath stilled for half a second, heart drumming against your ribs as his warmth bled into you.

You glanced up at him, but he didn’t look down—not at first. His eyes remained forward, as if this was nothing of note, as if it was just practical—a way to shield you from the cold, the wind, the world outside of this moment. It reminded you of that moment on the hill, where you had finally mustered the courage to get close to him.

But then, after a pause, he spoke, voice quiet.

"You're welcome."

And though it was just two simple words, you felt them float down deep in your chest.

Because for a man who had spent years keeping others at arm’s length, this—his warmth, his presence, the way his hand curled ever so slightly around yours—was something far more than words could ever convey.

And you squeezed his hand in return, letting him know you understood.

Your eyes widened though as realization struck.

"You totally eavesdropped on me and Aerith yesterday, I knew it!"

Horror flashed across your face as you stared up at him, clutching the bouquet to your chest. How else would he have known about the flowers?

Vincent let out a long-suffering sigh, and though he didn’t say a word, you could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

How diva of him.

"You were loud," he countered, voice flat, as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse.

"Loud?!" you gawked. "It was a normal conversation—oh my god, were you lurking again?!"

He huffed through his nose. Not a denial.

Before you could press him further, he shifted, his hands lightly guiding you until your back was pressed against his chest. The bouquet was still nestled safely in your arms, but now, Vincent’s cloak draped over your shoulders, encasing you in a warm cocoon of crimson fabric.

Then, to your absolute surprise, he rested his chin on your head.

Your mouth opened—then closed. Opened again. A fish out of water.

Did Vincent Valentine just cuddle you? Voluntarily, out in the open?

"You’re lucky this is cute, because you'll still owe me an explanation later." You murmured, feeling a bit shy suddenly.

"Sure,"

You huffed, shaking your head with a small smile, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you adjusted your hold on the bouquet, inhaling the soft, lingering scent of the flowers.

"You know," you mused, "this does make us look like a very romantic couple. People are probably passing by and looking at us, thinking, ‘Wow, what a devoted lover, buying his partner flowers and wrapping them up in his cloak.’"

You expected him to reject your notion that you were a couple in the first place, not knowing if he wanted to label what you had between you anyway.

Instead, he scoffed, "Then stop talking, you'll make them look more."

You grinned. "But it’s cute—"

"Stop talking."

"I bet Aerith would—"

His hand gently covered your mouth.

You laughed against his palm, feeling the softest shake of his head above you. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, you knew the truth, that Vincent Valentine had absolutely eavesdropped on you.

And judging by the warmth of his embrace, the brush of his lips on the top of your head, he didn’t regret it one bit.

[kabra-malvada]

Mabel Pines did not deserve the hate.

[felicity0801]

Jiro is either the normal sidelean or “ian you prick move over” depending on how much he wants to deal with people. (so usually the “ian you prick move over” one. he is personality wise a selfish prick and generally hates interacting with people, but he’s also sorta classy rich kid vibes and somewhat overdramatic. I imagine he actually does the sitting/lounging sideways thing rather often, or if not that, feet on the table and leaning back as far as he can.)

Artemis is the normal sidelean or “that’s better”. (one somewhat sane guy)

Fait is the comfy sidelean.

Caspian is the “linda no stop that”

Kaya is the “Ian sit on the f!cking sofa”

Nix is the “Linda wtf” or “Linda I believed in you” (actually never believe in Nix lmao)

Mirage is the “IAN.” or “Ian have you ever been on a f!cking sofa” (she’s just silly like that)

hypothetically if i drew my characters as this meme

who should be which ones

Genesis is "Ian have you ever been on a fucking sofa" & Videns is "Linda. I believed in you." but that's all i can think of rn

mayb viz with the normal sidelean

[wewerebornsextuplets]

we all got that one uncle

[thatswhatsushesaid]

salt salt salt salt salt

stares @ these takes, stares at the decades of kirk/spock fandom history that absolutely laid the groundwork for published works featuring queer leads to exist in the first place. also lol overtly cishet. lol. ok 👍 bisexuality doesn't exist then.

but more importantly I would like to share my masterpiece with you:

[princecosmosanon]

Keep seeing so many “hot takes” about Zukka in particular that basically boil down to “this ship isn’t logical because the characters don’t interact enough” and all I gotta say is…

Shipping has nothing to do with canonical interactions.

If you are limiting ships to “do these characters interact a lot” then fella, I gotta say, you are invalidating so many ships and limiting your imagination to embarrassing extents.

It’s fine if you don’t like a ship. It’s fine if you don’t get a ship. Clearly a ship you aren’t interest in isn’t for you.

But no ship is invalid just because there isn’t much or any interaction between the characters.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Someone on the "is it not enough to see Tuvok" post commented "Unfortunately, seeing Tuvok frequently requires also seeing a Neelix, which is unacceptable." and Bea, I am being sooo brave about it, I've not even murdered them (yet)

I am pinning this to your lapel like a purple heart:

They are worsties, they're divorced despite never being married, they have pigtail crushes on each other, they are mutually annoying co-workers, they are middle aged men and also high school girls with the most insane beef ever, family men without families, orchid breeders (one for sustenance and the other for beauty), they're everything.

[landfilloftrash]

once more i apologize to everyone in a 140 mile radius of me i am deeply unwell

[stresskidz]

Gosh i really relate to him so much

[surprisinglydomestickakashi]

My favorite part about being still into Naruto is the way I'm into it means I frequently have to tell algorithms that I don't actually want to consume Naruto like they want me to. Don't give me bland voice over theories from people who need to be reminded of minor characters. I need my clinically not-normal girls, gays, and theys to talk with about the little side guys they have entire lives mapped out for, the interpretations that include their favorite filler episode because they like it and above all else people who don't shit on the women characters or only consider them, annoying and useless or waifu material.