#(like i think the problem is that it always feels v important to be clear abt my tastes/Who I Am bc i want to be Understood)

[aeide-thea]

thinking abt like. if you introduce someone to something you're into and they're like, wow, that's so awesome, you're probably tickled that they dig it and are seemingly a kindred spirit at least that far; if you then introduce them to another thing you're into and they're again like, wow, that's so awesome, you're probably still pleased but also perhaps guiltily wondering whether they know any other adjectives; and if you introduce them to a third thing and yet again they're like, wow, that's so awesome, you're probably asking yourself, was any of that affirmation actually real or is this person just so reflexively accommodating that they've been turning off whatever independent critical faculties they possess in order to play a better yes-man???

(for values of 'you' that primarily mean 'me' obviously)

[terezis]

ok here's the hot goss from the nycc taz gn panel

i don't actually know whether or not it was recorded/ if they're going to put it online so here is my summary. also if i miss anything and u were there pls feel free to chime in. spoilers obviously!!!

got eight new preview pages (four two-page spreads), not the pages on the macmillan website!!!

ok i will tell u about those pages but the main thing discussed at the panel was how they went about adapting this arc into gn form. the actual time spent in wonderland has been trimmed a lot bc they had to think about what was actually important to the narrative as they are building to story and song.

basically in planning out the suffering game they also really had to decide what the rest of the series would look like, bc whatever they include now is seeding the stuff that's going to happen later.

cam is not in this book. it was implied there's less wheel spins. rowan/ash/sterling get much less screen time

almost half of this book is lunar interlude stuff (pre and post suffering game, INCLUDING REUNION TOUR!!! no word on where it ends but they made it clear that a LOT of thought went into what to include and where to end it, and what that would mean for the next book)

ok so about those preview pages

first one was post-taakitz date with kravitz sensing a lich and the umbra staff shooting at him <3 <3 <3

i thought they were going to show us the preview pages that were on macmillan so when i saw kravitz i was so shook

second spread was magnus visiting the voidfish, which now happens right before they leave for wonderland; the whole beginning of tsg from magnus trying to talk to pringles to him kidnapping those guards to the chimera fight was cut LOL bc it never really got… addressed again in the podcast

angus comes to get him for the mission but magnus has been going Through It (outright stated, they were like. he found out he's a red robe. he would probably not be handling it well. he has eyebags now. LOL) and snaps at angus when angus presses him on what's wrong.

more angus content, he will be investigating what's going on at the bureau more (his scene w magnus ties into this)

same for lucretia! more content/ stuff for her to do

third spread was merle w his kids getting saved by the red robe, is at a carnival instead of a random street this time LOL

last one was the boys arriving just outside of wonderland

wonderland looks fuckign cool

what else… oh confirmed like eighty panels of bare ass naked magnus after he gets his body back. so i think we really are getting the full reunion tour this book???

ALSO NAKED BARRY COVERED IN SLIME. WHEN HE GETS OUT OF THE POD. CONFIRMED. CANON. LOL

omg ALSO!!! ben (editor) said he campaigned REALLY HARD to have the umbra staff break during the suffering game, freeing lup early, bc he really wanted more time with her, but griffin campaigned really hard NOT to do this, and in doing so his arguments solved a lot of other problems they had been having at the time LOL

travis is the fans' champion when the others get too edit-happy. he's the one who has a good idea of what moments are important to the readers so he's like hey… too far. don't cut that. and then they don't

justin leaves great notes and when they couldn't figure stuff out ben would often say "no it's fine justin will solve this." and he ALWAYS DID

this was news to justin

??? i think that's all the main points honestly i'm v picky about adaptations but overall i feel like these are good changes that make sense when translating the podcast to gn

that said i do hope taako still gets a washing machine dropped on him <3 do this for me carey <3

[miniwheat77]

Denim. (Gaz x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blood, injuries, reader gets hurt, sorry if I missed any.!

Inspired by that famous blue denim button up Gaz’s operator has on 🥰

Not edited.

This one! ^^^

Your foot tapped nervously against the floor of the Humvee, you were sitting in the passenger seat, watching for any signs of an ambush.

This was an important mission, one for the books. Since Hassan had been killed, someone named Amir had taken his place. After he’d attacked an American Military base, he had a target on his back of course. It was a big day. You could feel that this was right, that you were going to take him by surprise. You could feel it in your gut. You weren’t apart of the fight with task force 141 when they took down Hassan, but you were now. Here you were. This was a good chance to prove yourself to them. You had all reinforcements. The plan was to surround the building he was inside, take cover. And hope that he would surrender.

“You okay kid?” Captain Price asks you. You nod your head. “Something just doesn’t feel right.” You mumble.

He nods his head. “Yeah. I feel it too. But we take orders and if Laswell is okay with it, I suppose we will be too.” He nods. You swallow hard. “These people..” you pause. “They’re different.” You look out the Humvee window, keeping an eye out. “What do you mean?” Gaz asks. He’s in the back seat. “They don’t surrender. If they feel trapped, they attack. I mean.. this is the place with the highest rate of suicide bombers. I just think this is a bad idea.” You mumble. You can hear the both of them sigh, like what you’ve just said changes everything. “I mean.. for christs sake, they send small children in with bombs to do their dirty work. They don’t care. They’re dirty and don’t care who they hurt. They beat and rape women out in the street, behead each other for small mistakes. I think we should turn back. He’s not going to surrender, we have to come in guns blazing.” You mumble.

Your heart races in your chest. So does John’s.

You don’t think he’ll listen to you, but he does. “Change of plans fellas.” He calls into his radio. “We’re going to go in hot. Forceful.” He mumbles. Hearing everyone call back. You sigh a breath of relief. Thank god. “Refuse to be a sitting duck to a terrorist.” John mumbles. He knows he’ll have someone to answer to, but he can’t find it in him to care all that much. Gaz can sense the relief in the way you relax your shoulders, reaching by the window to place a hand on your shoulder. Giving it a reassuring squeeze. Feeling you lean back into his touch. You and him were fairly close, but pretty much all of the task force was. It was always strictly platonic and had never stretched any further past that, it was forbidden obviously.

When you arrive, you can feel that same sense of nervousness filling up your stomach. It’s got it in knots, something still didn’t feel right. Like something bad was going to happen. When the building was surrounded, everyone raised their guns. Creeping closer to the building, le easy to file in through the doors. “Watch close. We don’t know what we’re going into.” Captain Price says, everyone agreeing. When given orders, everyone bursts through the doors, making their way through the first floor. “Watch the doors close. If he’s here, he’s going to try to run.” Ghost orders. Everyone agrees. Flowing through the building like a bad case of termites.

The top floor is where the problems start.

As soon as they caught sight of your cavalry, they fled to the top floor and set up traps.

“Okay. Gaz, Y/N. You guys start on the left. Me and Ghost will go to the last door on the right. Everyone else keep a close eye on the stairs. Watch close.” He nods. Everyone agrees, splitting up and going their separate ways. You push open the door, raising your gun quickly. Gaz looks past you. “Looks clear to me.” You nod. He agrees, the both of you stepping forward. A yell leaves your lips when a man emerges from behind the door, slicing right through your cargo pants. Gaz is quick to fire at the man, dropping him where he stands. He lifts you up, sliding you back behind the door and closing it. A few others come running. “Just one. He got her thigh with a knife.” Gaz breathes, tugging his first aid out of his pack and wrapping a bandage around your thigh. The cut looks deep. He’s worried. Gunfire makes everyone perk up, coming from the direction Captain Price and Ghost have gone. “Go, I’ve got her.” Gaz nods. “Shit. This did not go to plan.” You laugh. “Never does. You alright?” He asks. You nod your head. “Yes. I’m all good.” You smile. “I’ll be fine.” You breathe. He kneels down on one knee behind you, letting you lean back on him. He’s got his sidearm ready, just in case. After what feels like forever, he’s getting antsy. You need a doctor and he’s tired of waiting. Captain Price and everyone else emerges. “Did you get him?” Gaz asks. “Yep. He didn’t go easy but we got him.” Captain Price breathes. “They had 3 or 4 bombs. Ready.” Price kneels down in front of you. “You did good Y/N. Saved us from a big catastrophe.” He smiles. You send him a lazy smile. “Let’s get her back to base, yeah?” Gaz says, nervously. He’s worried about you.

The both of them each take an arm, helping you down the flights of stairs to the Humvee you arrived in. Getting worried when your head began to hang. “Shit. Y/N?” Gaz asks, stopping. They let you down. “Y/N?” Gaz asks again. Shaking you slightly. “Think she passed out.” Price says. Gaz presses his fingers to your throat, feeling your heart beat. “We got to get her back.” He nods. He lifts you up, hurrying down the remainder of stairs, Price throwing open the door. Gaz gets you inside, holding you. Price hurries to the drivers side, getting in.

—

You don’t remember much, but you wake up in the infirmary. You try to fight your way out of the wires and lines you’re connected to, resulting in you being restrained until you fully came to. Finally understanding that your leg had been cut pretty deep, barely missing your femoral artery. You were a little out of it from the meds they had you on, but you were doing better. “Do you want us to go get Kyle?” The medic asks, resulting in a confused look from you. “What?”

“Kyle, you kept asking for him. Do you want us to go get him?”

“Oh uh.. no. I’m okay.” You mumble. You must’ve been asking for him when you had to be restrained. You remember him sitting with you, when Captain Price emerged from that room. But that’s all you remember. “We’re going to work on some release paperwork and we’ll get you on your way, how does that sound?” She smiles. You nod your head. “Sounds amazing.” You sigh.

She disappears and a few minutes later, Gaz is pulling the curtain back. “Hey.” He smiles. “Hi.” You send him a lazy smile. “How are you feelin? Better than earlier I hope.” He chuckles. “Much. It hurts but it’s better.” You mumble. “Gotcha. Captain sent me down here, I’ll help you get back to your room.” He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s wearing his full set of gear. Vest and all. “I’m sure I could’ve handled it.” You laugh. The medic comes back with all of your paperwork and sets you all up to leave.

He walks alongside you, a hand on your lower back. He’s ready to catch you if you fall. All you have on are socks and the tied up gown they’d put you in. “Hey Gaz. I forgot to give you some bandages for Y/N’s leg. For any bleeding on her stitches just in case.” His radio goes off. “Uh. Here, come inside my room. I’ll run back before we go all of the way to the women’s barracks.” He leads you down the hallway a little more. You complain about the hospital gown the whole time.

“You can borrow something of mine. I’ll be right back.” He laughs, closing the door behind him as he makes his way back to the infirmary. You sit on the edge of his bed for a minute. The throbbing in your thigh is relentless. You stand up, step over to where he’s got his clothes, picking up the first shirt you see.

He steps inside his room, closing the door behind him. He’s got a washcloth in his hand for your thigh. He’s watching his feet until he steps inside, finally bringing his eyes up from the hard concrete floor.

His lips part, mouth falling open slightly. You’re finishing buttoning up his shirt, one of his favorites. It falls slightly over your hips, your white cotton panties still visible. “Oh.. uh. Sorry.” He looks away. You look up. “Sorry.. it’s the first thing I saw, I didn’t want to dig through your stuff too much.” You blush, crossing your arms over yourself. “It’s fine. No worries. Here, I brought you this.” He nods. Holding out the washcloth. “I can help.” He smiles. Seeing the blood seeping from the bandage on your thigh. He nods for you to sit back on his bed. He kneels down in front of you, hearing you swallow hard at his close proximity. He bites at his lip in concentration, unwrapping your wounded thigh. Still fresh from where the knife had sliced through the skin and flesh. He’s gathered up everything else he needs. Some more bandage, some stuff to wrap it. He takes the wet washcloth, beginning to dab at the blood around the wound. Your bleeding was mostly stopped by now, just gently seeping through. He pats it all the way clean, lifting up an antiseptic spray. “Might burn a little.” He looks up at you.

His eyes shine in the moonlight that peeks through the window that sits high up on the wall. You nod your head. “I trust you.” You smile shyly.

The typical friendly relationship you’d had with Kyle is gone. Completely gone.

He sprays it onto your wound, being generous with it to avoid an infection. He sees you flinch, clutching at his sheets. This surely isn’t how he wanted to see it happen. He could imagine a million different reasons you’d be clutching his sheets like that. This isn’t one of them. He swallows hard, bandaging it up and wrapping it up once more. His fingertips brush against your inner thigh and he feels you shiver under his touch. “Sorry.” He blushes, looking down. “It’s okay.” You breathe. “Thank you, Kyle.” You breathe through your nose. He sits up, sitting down next to you on his bed. “Kyle hm?” He smiles. “We’re using actual names now?” He laughs.

“Seems like a more genuine thank you.” You smile. He bites at his lip, clearly nervous about something. “No problem, dove. How does your head feel.” He mumbles. “It feels okay. Doesn’t pound anymore..” you trail off. Playing with your hands nervously. “You alright?” He asks. “Yeah. Today just… scared me. That’s all.” You look down. He nods his head. Leaning into you closer. “Today scared everyone. The most anyone has been hurt in this Task Force was getting shot on our vests, it hurts but it doesn’t bleed or incapacitate us.” He trails off.

“My shirt looks good on you.” He smiles. He can see you blush, looking down. “Thanks. It’s yours after all.” You laugh. “I promise I’ll wash it and give it back.” You nod.

“No rush. I think it looks better on you anyways.” He smiles. “I don’t think that’s true. It looks pretty good on you.” You giggle. “I don’t know about that one.” He laughs. It’s low, sexy.

He rests his hand on your knee below your wound, running his fingers over your knee. He can feel chills rising on your skin underneath his touch. “Kyle?” You breathe. “Yeah honey?” He breathes. “I.. I’ve never had sex before.” You breathe. He smiles. “Hey.” He laughs. “I’m not..” he laughs. He lifts his leg up onto the bed, taking your hands in his. “I have to say this right because I want you to know.” He pauses.

“I do like you, and trust me, I would love to have sex with you. But I don’t expect you to at all. I would never pressure you into anything.” He smiles. His cologne smells amazing, and you’ve never been so close to him before. You grasp his hand that lies on your knee, bringing it up to the very top of your thigh. Above your wound. He smiles. “That’s a good girl.” He breathes. He glides his hand back and fourth over your bare skin, fingertips rubbing across the edge of your panties. He lowers his hand to your center, fingertips brushing over your clothed opening. He can feel you breathe out. Pressing ever so slightly into you, rubbing his fingers back and fourth. You tilt your head back slightly and he takes this opportunity to kiss your neck, you sigh out. The relief and warmth he makes you feel is intense and immediate. “Kyle…” you breathe. Body seeming to melt into him.

“S’alright sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He breathes. He pulls you into him, gripping your chin and turning your head to look at him. “You look so fucking stunning. So beautiful.” He sighs, pressing his lips to yours. He rests his right hand onto your left thigh, the one that isn’t injured. He’s a really good kisser and when he pulls away, you still have your eyes shut. He can’t help but smile. Your breathing has picked up slightly. He rubs his nose over yours, you can feel his warm breath on your face. “You can stop me.” He breathes. Resting his massive hand on your thigh, toying with the shirt you’ve got on. You shake your head. Your eyes clench shut. “I don’t want you to- I don’t want to stop.” You breathe. He leans into you, kissing you again. He pushes you back slightly, lifting himself up. He opens your legs, avoiding your wound as he pushes himself between them. Laying you back, lips moving with yours in sync. His jeans sit low on his hips. He presses himself right into your pelvis, you can feel how hard he is against you. You moan gently into his lips, and he tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth.

Kyle has never been so turned on in his entire fucking life, he’ll swear by it. You’re so fucking beautiful, and the way you look in his clothes. It’s everything.

He rocks his hips into yours, feeling you wrap your legs around his lower back. “Fuck sweetheart. Driving me fucking crazy.” He pants. He sits up slightly. He can see your panties have a wet patch of your arousal. He knows you want him just as bad as he wants you, and that fuels a fire inside of him so big that an ocean wouldn’t be able to put it out. He rests his fingertips at the top of your slit, rubbing gently through the cotton fabric of your panties. Gentle circles just right, right where you need him. Hearing you whine. The way your lips part in surprise. The small sounds you’re making. It’s nearly too much. You’re overwhelming him already and he’s barely touched you.

He works at his pants, getting them off as quickly as he can, his vest and shirt following after. He toys with the buttons on the shirt he’s let you borrow. Tugging them open so that he can get a good look at your bare chest. So pretty, just like every part of you. He takes his time with you. Hands cupping your breasts and massaging them, feeling your relax into him. He leans down, kissing your skin, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, hearing you gasp. You try to be quiet.

He moves lower and lower. Fingers sliding into the hem of your panties. He tugs your panties down, avoiding your bandage. You’re shy, closing your legs slightly as he pulls them off. “Nothing to be nervous about. I’m gonna take good care of you.” He breathes. He can see the redness on your cheeks. He spreads your legs gently. His touch feels like gentle brushes. His breath hitched in his throat when he sees you, so bare for him. He inches closer, the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. You shiver at the feeling of it. Eyes slightly going wide when you see the size of him.

You swallow hard and he smiles. “It’s alright. I’ll be gentle.” He breathes. “You can always stop me.”

You nod your head. You’re not going to stop him. He circles your clit with his index finger, collected your arousal on his finger. Feeling you going tense beneath him. He can tell he’s working you up. “S’alright darling. Try n relax for me, yeah?” He breathes. His accented voice sends chills up your spine. He rests more of his body weight on you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He’s going to muffle your sounds. He pushes his index finger into you, hearing you gasp. He starts slow, not wanting to push you. His finger fucking into your wet hole. You clutch the edges of the shirt you’ve got on. Knuckles going white. He pulls back, sitting up onto his knees. “Feel good?” He asks. You nod your head eagerly, moving your hips down into him slightly. He can’t help but smile.

He slides it out of you, hearing your whine in protest. He collects more of your arousal with his middle finger, pushing both of them into you. Your thighs shiver slightly, your eyes shutting. “O-oh fuck Kyle.” You mewl. The way you say his name has his cock jumping slightly. He’s so turned on. He scissors you open, thumb rubbing against your clit. You’re so soft, and wet. You’re driving him crazy. Right when you’re on the edge, he pulls away. Hearing a frustrated whine leave your lips. He can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.” He smiles. Seeing your cheeks redden. He inches closer, the tip of his cock drawing over the expanse of your pussy. Gathering your arousal at the tip. He moves himself between you, pushing your legs up slightly. He spits right on the opening of your pussy, sliding his cock up the cavern. Once his cock is lubed up enough, he nudges the tip right at the entrance. Watching his tip disappear between them. You sigh.

He inches deeper, pushing your hips into his bed. “It’s gonna hurt baby. Just try to stay relaxed for me.” He mutters. Seeing you nod your head. “I’m okay. Been through worse.” You smile.

When he starts to hurt you, you reach your hand down. Pressing down onto the wound on your leg. The pain spikes up on it, drawing the pain away from Kyle’s cock stretching you out for the first time. When he bottoms out, his mouth falls open. You finally draw your hand back from the wound on your thigh. The worst of it is over now. You can’t help the tears that gather in your eyes. “F-fuck. I feel so full.” You whine, lifting your hips slightly. “Yeah baby. So full of me.” He gasps. He can’t contain the way he feels. He doesn’t want to. “Oh fuck.” he whines. Burying his face into your neck again. He draws his hips back, thrusting back inside of you. You stiffen underneath him. Wrapping your arms around him. Your eyes get heavy, you can’t keep them open. Shutting them tight as he starts to fuck you, he pulls his cock almost all of the way out of you before thrusting back in. He’s got a steady rhythm. Feeling you shiver. “Feels so good Kyle, so good.” You whine. “Yeah baby. I know. Got me so close already. Fuck.” He grits his teeth.

“Look at me.” He breathes, tilting your chin up to look at him. “You okay?” He asks. You nod your head, struggling to keep your eyes open. “Keep looking at me sweetheart. Wanna see your pretty face when you cum.” He breathes. You shiver at his touch. It’s unbelievable how fast this happened, how fast you have right into him. “Kyle.” You wince. “M’I hurting you?” He pauses immediately. “No. Don’t stop.” You breathe. He pushes your legs up, spitting on the base of his cock to make sure he’s not going to hurt you. “Thank you.” You breathe, looking up at him. The moonlight shines perfect on your eyes. “What?”

“For taking care of me. For reassuring me. And for staying with me earlier when I was h-hurt.” You hiccup. Your teeth are gritted. He keeps the same steady pace, he’s a perfect fit for you, his cock slipping between your walls perfectly. He laughs slightly. “I got you.” He breathes. “Nothing to worry about now. I have you, I always will. Just try to relax for me.” He breathes. “Keep looking at me.”

Your eyes snap up to his. Chills rising on your skin. You’re right there, right on the edge. It’s intense, the unfamiliar build of an orgasm. Kyle is fighting off his own orgasm. He hisses when you claw down his back. The burn has his brain spinning. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out before he finishes. He leans down to kiss you again. It’s sloppy and wet but desperate. He raises himself up slightly, rocking himself into you at a slightly different angle and that’s when you lose it. He forces you to look at him, your eyes getting heavy. He clamps a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. Body shaking and convulsing as you reach your orgasm. You clamp down around him, walls throbbing with your orgasm. The coil that’s wound up in Kyle’s is about to snap. His body shivers and he bites down onto his lip. Just a couple more thrusts and he’s growling out, eyes rolling back into his head. “Oh fuck-“ he whimpers. He relaxes into you. Avoiding your wound as he slides out of you, moving himself next to you.

Right there he knows he’s gone. You look more beautiful than ever. Face flushed, his shirt half buttoned up. Skin sweaty and flushed too. Full of his cum. It’s a good look for you. He laughs after a few minutes of silence and you can’t help but laugh too. “That escalated quickly, ah?” He laughs. “Yeah, yeah it did.” You let out a breath of relief. He moves to rest his arm on you. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too bad.” He breathes. “No, I’m good. Really good.” You blush. He pulls you into him, “you look really good too.” He smirks. Seeing you roll your eyes.

“We should make this a thing.” He sits up slightly. “What?”

“I mean.. I’m not doing anything next weekend.” He smiles. “Are you asking me on a date, Garrick?”

“Yeah. Yeah I am.”

“Of course, I’d love that.” You smile.

“Great. It’s a date. Now get some rest. You’ve got some healing to do.” He smiles.

[pinkyjulien]

I really, really hate the "Female V is canon" vs "Male V is canon" debate that been popping here and here in the tags those past weeks

Cyberpunk 2077 is a Role Playing Game, there is no "canon" protagonist, that's the whole point. We all have a different playstyles, different stories and headcanons, our custom V is The Canon V of Our Own playthroughs!

After Phantom Liberty dropped, I've seen a lot of players, on Tumblr or Twitter, voicing their concerne and disappointment in how much more Female V focused the official promo, videos and even in-game credits became

I was one of them too, expressing my feelings multiple times, sometimes awkwardly, frustrated that Male V players were once again brushed to the side, because that's how it feels like, right?

Well, it might feels like it, but this isn't the case AT ALL, far from it. This is only what I would call a "Fandom Phenomenon" and I want to talk more about it a bit

I had a great conversation with a friend of mine who works in the game industry and it opened my eyes on the matter, and I've since been really interested in seeing RPGs statistics!

Because it's really, really important to make the difference between the Casual Player Base (majority of players) and the Fans / Fandom Base (minority of players)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I always been lurking in fandoms here on Tumblr, since Mass Effect, Dragon Age, and now with Cyberpunk 2077 and Baldur's Gate 3

First I want to drop some stats- might be completly wrong, but I'm only sharing my point of view here, in an attempt to explain why some people are frustrated with Female V being the focus (and why we shouldn't be!)

I think it's not wrong to say that fandoms are mostly occupied by women and fem-identifying individuals; fandoms are a safe place for players and fans to share their passions. Women are STILL HEAVILY harassed and hated in the gaming industry as a whole, it doesn't take a lot of digging to catch a vile comment on Twitter or on Twitch for example, you cannot go far without seeing someone either attacking or sexualizing them

This is a huge problem in the industry still, every games that release with a female protagonist get trashed- just look at the bullshit surrounding GTA 6 just because players will be able to play as a woman as an option

Fandoms are also safe for non-gender conforming people, non-binaries, trans people and queer men, but I think fem individuals and women are a clear majority, at least on Tumblr (only talking about genders identity here and not about being queer or not, not talking about sexualities or attraction) (not an official stat at all and only my point of view and experience from being on Tumblr since ~2012)

Now let's talk about Cyberpunk 2077- because this is my main fandom since 2020, and what prompted me to write this post in the first place

CDPR didn't share any stats recently, but it's REALLY SAFE to assume the MAJORITY of players are playing a straight Male V romancing Panam, followed by a lesbian Female V romancing Judy, but the player pools for both options are still majoritarly cis hetero men (and they are still the focus for AAA studios to sell their games, this is sadly just how it is)

However on the fandom side, Fem V was always the focus; virtual photography, mods, ships, OCs... She was always more popular than Male V, getting more interactions and notes and why trends like "Male V monday" were created and why there is still a lack of male V focused mods (non-binaries and trans fem folks and characters are also sadly under-represented in all type of content and art)

So, being yourself as a non-fem player, playing as a Masc V, seeing CDPR officially make the switch from Male V to Female V, when the space you've been in for the past 3 years has been overwhelmingly Female V focused on all front, was a bit of a punch in the guts; like I said earlier, I was reaaally frustrated with this too!

And I'd say it's "normal"? or at least "ok" to feel this way, it makes sense considering how little attention Male V in general get in the fans community

BUT. BUT... It's REALLY important here to realize how we sound and how we look like when we voice our frustrations on the matter; we sound and look just like all the misogynistic people over on Twitter who screams about "woke games" everytime there is a female protagonist in their "non political games". We have to remember that fandoms are suuuch a small part of the game industry

Baldur's Gate 3 recently shared their stats and this interesting tweet got into my dash

▶ tweet

Astarion is nowhere to be seen in the official most romanced companions statistic, but I'm sure a lot of people will agree that he's probably the most popular one in the fandom side!

Another stat here from Mass Effect and really interesting info coming from David Gaider about how the hardcore fanbase aka fandom's choices were WILDLY different from the casual / main player pool

▶ tweet

Getting my head out of the fandom bubbles and seeing the bigger picture, how much under-represented women still are in official medias (not talking about fan content) and how insanly misoginistic the game industry still is, both on the player and devs sides, helped me handle my own frustration on the matter, accept and even celebrate Female V being the focus for the Phantom Liberty campaign

With all that said tho, we all should be able to vent about the lack of Male, Masc and Non-Binary content in the fandom side, while still being aware of the industry state, it CAN co-exist! It doesn't make anyone a bad or misogynist person!

We are all humans and can be awkward and make mistakes, especially when voicing frustration or talking while in a negative mood. Let's educate one another in good-faithed manners when we slip instead of jumping to conclusion and throw accusations

Not gonna lie I kind of lost my train of thoughts and not sure how to finish this post, but I hope this can enlight some people on why CDPR made this choice!

Repeating this as a finale note; this doesn't mean that Female V is the "main" V or "canon" V . It's simply her time to shine, and it's well deserved! The industry needs it

[suddencolds]

Small Price to Pay | [1/1]

you know all those posts about making out with someone with a cold and the associated consequences? This is that in fic form, ~8.8k words. I'm embarrassing myself typing this, so here it is.

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves - you can read more of these two here! :)

Summary:

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest. Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

Yves has a birthday party to attend and a fake relationship to prove. Vincent is nothing if not adaptable. (ft. fake dating, an argument, contagion)

—

Here’s the problem:

Francesca throws a party.

It’s a birthday party, strictly speaking, but functionally it’s more of a college reunion—Francesca invites everyone from their year who rowed crew, which means that one: Yves will be surrounded by some of his best friends from college, and two: Erika will be there.

He thinks up an entire contingency plan—if Vincent can’t make it that weekend, for one reason or another, Yves will show up, hand Francesca his gift, spend the rest of the hour avoiding Erika and Brendon, and leave early, citing some excuse or other. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could handle talking to Erika—it’s just seeing her feels like reopening a wound. A part of him is scared that he’ll see her, and feel the loss intensely all over again—or, worse, he’ll get ideas about forgiving her, about letting her into his life again, about accepting her explanations.

And Brendon, too—seeing Erika means seeing Brendon, most likely, and Yves doesn’t want to justify himself to him any more than he already has. 

The point is: the less of the both of them that he has to deal with, the better.

When he asks Vincent a week before the event, though, Vincent’s response is immediate.

V: You can fill me in on the details later. I’ll be there.

It’s a little strange, he thinks, that Vincent always agrees so readily. Vincent isn’t a fan of parties—he’d been clear about that. He doesn’t seem interested in talking much about himself, either—he’s just the kind of person, Yves is realizing, who likes to keep his personal details close unless they offer some sort of utility.

Perhaps there’s something else that Vincent is getting out of this, then.

But when Yves asks, he’s met with the same cryptic answer:

“I don’t mind it,” Vincent says. “And you have something you want to prove to your ex. Ultimately, it’s a net positive.”

“While that’s technically true,” Yves says, “this seems like an unfair arrangement. I mean, you’re only doing this because I dragged you into it.”

“If I didn’t want to be dragged into it,” Vincent says, “I would say so.” as if it’s really that simple.

It can’t be that simple, Yves thinks—there must be more to his reasoning that he’s omitting—but he doesn’t press. Vincent is right. Vincent is the kind of person who knows precisely what he wants. If he really had a problem with this arrangement, he would’ve said so.

And, besides—a little selfishly, perhaps—Yves has started looking forward to their outings as of late.

—

Nevertheless, he doesn’t think about the party again until the Friday before it, when Vincent shows up at his desk.

“Do you have a moment?” he says.

“Yes,” Yves says, saving the spreadsheet he’s been working on and shutting his laptop. “What’s up?”

When he looks up, Vincent looks a little tired, though that’s not unusual—it’s been a long week, and busy season always means long hours and little sleep. 

“We can talk later if you’re busy,” Vincent says.

“I’m very free,” Yves says. He’s decisively not—and he’s sure that Vincent knows this, too, so whatever Vincent is approaching him with now must be important. 

“Regarding Francesca’s party tomorrow,” Vincent starts. He looks a little sheepish—as if he doesn’t quite want to be the deliverer of bad news. “I can still go. But I’m…”

“If something came up,” Yves says immediately, “you don’t have to come.” “It’s not that,” Vincent says.

“Or even if nothing’s come up,” Yves backtracks, “and you’re just not feeling it anymore? Also totally fine. Seriously. I can always just go by myself.”

Vincent seems to consider this. Yves is starting to get worried that something might actually be very wrong—something that Vincent is hesitant to even bring up—when Vincent takes a generous step backwards, raising his elbow to his face as his eyes squeeze shut.

“hhih’nGKTsHuhh-!”

The sneeze sounds harsh, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve; it tears through him with little warning, loud enough to echo slightly in the confines of the office space.

That’s when it all clicks into place: the tiredness. The slight off-ness to his complexion, the tension to the way he’s holding himself, the fact that Yves hasn’t caught him in the break room at all over the past couple days. The fact that he’s currently standing so far away from Yves’s desk.

“You’re ill,” Yves says, comprehending.

“Yes,” Vincent says. His voice sounds a little off, too, now that Yves knows what to look for; it has that quality it often takes on after a long day of discussions with clients—not quite hoarse, but getting there. “I’m positive it’s just a cold. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry about it at all, seriously,” Yves says. He feels guilty, suddenly—here he is, asking Vincent to spend his already-limited free time at a party, when Vincent probably has a high volume of important clients—and a burgeoning head cold—to deal with. “If you want to take a rain check, you should. I’m sure this week has already been rough for you as it is.”

“When is the next time you’ll be going to an event where Erika’s going to be there?”

That question makes him pause. “I don’t know. In another month, or so, if I had to guess?”

“So this event is important,” Vincent says, sniffling. It’s the kind of light, liquid sniffle that implies that whatever he’s caught, he’s just at the start of it. “In that case, I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Yves says. “That’s not what I—your health is more important than any event. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I feel fine,” Vincent says. “No headache, no fever. It’s just a slight cold. I will be fine tomorrow if I make it a point to sleep early.” he sniffles again, his expression growing hazy for a brief moment before he blinks, rubbing his nose on one knuckle. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine with it.”

“I am completely fine with it,” Yves says, reaching for the box of tissues that’s perched on his desk. He holds it out. “I just feel bad about making you go if you’re sick.”

Vincent takes a handful of tissues out of the box, brings them up to cover his nose, just in time for—

“hh- hH’nGKT-! snf-! hH-Hhih… hh’hiHhh’iiZSCHHh-uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis, pushing the entire tissue box towards him. “Times two. Seriously. I think you could use the weekend off—you know, to catch up on sleep.”

“Assuming that things haven’t changed from the event details you forwarded me, the party will be in the evening,” Vincent says, taking the tissue box from him, a little hesitantly, and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in.”

Yves opens his mouth to protest.

Vincent says, “I’m fine. I’ll call a rain check if I wake up with a fever.” He turns on his heels. “Otherwise, see you tomorrow.” 

—

Vincent, as Yves is coming to realize, is very good at appearing presentable, even when he’s under the weather.

“You made it,” he says. This time, they’d driven here separately. Yves had thought, initially, that it’d be easier to just drive Vincent places, so that the only thing he’d had to account for was his actual presence—but Francesca lives between them. I don’t mind driving, Vincent had said. You’d be going out of your way to pick me up, but he’d coordinated a spot a couple blocks down to meet up, so that it would look like they’d come together.

It’s cold outside still—it’s the sort of indecisive weather that seems to periodically hint at spring: a cold front, then a few warm days when all the ice thaws, a few flowers lining the grass along the road where the snow’s melted, and then another snowstorm. It’s easy enough, then, to chalk up the slight redness of his cheeks, the redness at the tip of his nose, as another effect of the not-quite-spring weather.

Yves is carrying his present for Francesca under one arm—a hardcover book—a sequel to one she’d read last year and gushed to him about liking; a couple fridge magnets, which she likes to collect; film for the polaroid camera her sister got her last year; and a letter, all wrapped up in a brown paper parcel. 

It’s nice to have an excuse to see everyone again, especially some of the members from crew whom he’s not close enough to invite to parties personally, that he knows Francesca was closer to. 

“It was a pain to find parking,” Vincent says. He’s wearing a red scarf today, and a white overcoat with black buttons and a sharply cut collar. Personally, Yves thinks it’s unfair that someone can be down with an irritating head cold and still look so good.

“No kidding,” Yves says. “You would’ve thought there’d be more than one tiny parking lot for all those shops.”

Yves asks how he is (fine, Vincent says—perfectly capable of spending a few hours at a party. Yves says, I feel like you would say that even if you were like, dead on your feet with a high fever, to which Vincent laughs, but doesn’t explicitly deny.)

Yves supposes he isn’t one to talk—he’d showed up to a crew event, near the end of the season, with the flu, just because it had been their then-captain’s last big event, and he’d been planning to give him a farewell speech. The speech had gone fine—and so had the first few hours—but then all his symptoms had hit at once—fever chills, exhaustion, a pounding headache, the likes—and Francesca and Erika had practically had to drag him home.

But that had been an important event—a once in a lifetime thing—and he’d drafted that speech for two weeks. This is so much less high-stakes. 

“I prombise I’m fine,” Vincent tells him, lifting up the side of his scarf to muffle a cough into it. “It’s just all the - hHIh-! all the annoyidg symptoms. I dod’t - snf-! - feel any worse than I did yesterday.” “Any worse?” Yves says. “Does that mean you were already feeling pretty badly off yesterday?”

“I barely even feel udwell at all,” Vincent says. “It’s just— I keep havidg to— hHih-! hihH’IIITshHHh-uuH!”

He sniffles, raising a sleeve to his face to cover the next, resounding, 

“hHih’iITTSshh’Uhh! snf-!” He buries his face deeper into his sleeve, his shoulders trembling with another gasp. “Hhih…. HIih’nNGKT—SHhuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, laughing. “Okay. Point taken.”

Vincent lowers his arm slowly with a curt sniffle. “Are Erika and Francesca close?”

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I think they still keep in touch pretty frequently.” it’s one of the reasons why he hasn’t told Francesca—or anyone else in the friend group—about the specifics of their breakup.

It feels wrong, somehow, to paint her in a bad light, to give people reason to take sides, when it’s always been all of them together as a group. 5am practice was a hell of a bonding experience, she was part of all of that, too. He has no right to take that from her. 

“How about Brendon?”

“Brendon’s sort of an odd one out,” Yves says. “I don’t think most of us had met him until he started dating Erika during our senior year. He usually hangs out with a different crowd, so he’s only really around when Erika is.”

Perhaps that’s better, too—more merciful—that when Erika had left him for someone new, it hadn’t been one of the people he knew and deeply trusted. If Brendon had been there too, at all those 5am practices, at all those oddly timed meetings—if Yves had had that much time to look back on, to wonder when Erika’s feelings for Brendon had materialized, to watch her fall for him firsthand, to look back and know that he was losing her…

It’s better, this way, he thinks, that at least he can look back on his time rowing crew as he’d always wanted to—not like the way he feels when he looks at Erika: heartbroken, and a little betrayed.

“I guess I’m in that positiod now,” Vincent says.

“In the sense that you didn’t meet everyone through crew?”

“In the sedse that I’m an outsider.”

Yves considers this. “My friends really like you, though,” he says. “I don’t think they think of you that way.” It’s a short walk to Francesca’s doorstep. Vincent really does seem to be okay, Yves notes—aside from the frequent sniffling, and the sneezes he turns away to direct into his sleeve, he isn’t shivering under his coat, and he doesn’t look more tired than usual.

Despite everything, Yves finds himself feeling cautiously hopeful. Something about Vincent’s presence has that effect on him. Vincent is always so sure of himself, even in situations Yves thinks he can’t possibly be certain will go well.

It makes Yves want to have faith in this too. Yves will see Francesca and his friends from crew, and he won’t have to say anything to Erika and Brendon, his friends will like Vincent very much, and everything will be just fine.

“Wait,” Vincent says, right after Francesca’s let them in through the apartment buzzer. “We should look like we actually like each other.” He holds his hand out, expectant.

“Good point.” Yves takes it. Vincent’s hand is warm, and a little calloused—when Yves tugs his hand a little closer, Vincent’s fingers interlace nicely with his.

“For the record, I do like you,” he adds.

Vincent laughs. “You kdow what I meant.”

—

It’s almost a relief, seeing everyone again. Yves used to feel a little apprehensive about reunions—around the possibility for the people that he’d known and loved to have changed past recognition, to have internalized everything some way but to come back and see that everyone’s moved on in their own ways, grown a little more into themselves—and a little further from him—than he remembers them to be. 

But when he sees Francesca, she still greets him with the same hug — one arm looped around his shoulders, for a firm squeeze. He hands her her gift, and wishes her a happy birthday, and she laughs and says the only good part about getting old is having an excuse to have everyone back in her living room.

“And Vincent’s here too,” Francesca says, turning to Vincent, who—after looking caught off guard for a second—smiles back at her. “I’m so glad you were able to come!”

“It’s good to see you agaid,” Vincent says. “And happy birthday. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!” she says, beaming. She’s wearing a cocktail party dress which slips elegantly over her still-bare shoulders. “I needed to pick something out for the occasion. I swear, these days, half my closet is just business formal attire. It’s depressing.”

“If that mbeans that the other half of your closet is filled out with idteresting clothes,” Vincent says, with a quiet sniffle, “you’re doing a lot better than I am.” 

Francesca laughs. “It’s just for my sanity,” she says. “Can’t let the clients dictate everything I wear.”

“It’s ndice that you’re celebrating your birthday, though,” Vincent says. He lifts a hand to rub his slightly-reddening nose with one knuckle. “My coworkers are always sayidg that they’re too old to want to ackdowledge it anymore.”

“It definitely feels that way sometimes,” Francesca says. “But it’s a good excuse to have everyone here, while we still can. Speaking of which—Yves is the worst at planning things for himself, which is ironic, because he’s always the one planning things for everyone else.”

“That is not true,” Yves says.

Francesca gives him a pointed look. “Last year, you were practically banking on having everyone forget your birthday.”

That is an exaggeration. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let that happen, even if I wanted it to,” Yves says.

“You’re damn right.”

“The ndext time you’re planning a birthday for him,” Vincent says, clearing his throat with a quiet cough, “I’ll pitch in.”

Francesca brightens, at this. “Finally another soldier on the right side of the war,” she says. “You can definitely be part of the secret planning council.”

“Thadk god,” Vincent says, playing along. “I was starting to thidk I was going to have to do it all alone.”

“It’s not a secret if I’m right here,” Yves says. Francesca ignores him in favor of having Vincent type his number into her phone.

—

Halfway through the evening, Vincent disappears into the kitchen for a moment. When he comes back, it’s with two drinks in hand—canned cocktails, Yves realizes, judging by the cans. He hands one over to Yves.

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Yves says to him. “Even at happy hours.”

“I don’t drink very often,” Vincent says.

“Does this mean that I get to see you tipsy? I’m sure our coworkers will be jealous.” 

“If you’re expecting my personality to change,” Vincent says, “you will be disappointed.” he says it with such certainty that Yves pays closer attention to him after that. 

Vincent does hold his alcohol well, as it turns out, with the exception of the slight flush to his cheeks a few drinks later—though even then, Yves can’t be entirely sure it can’t be entirely attributed to his cold. He listens intently as Yves talks to Diane—who’s a couple years younger than Yves—about how Crew has been ever since Yves graduated (mostly the same; the new underclassmen are good at showing up to practices on time, but that’s partially because their captain this year is a little intimidating). He gives several of the crew members a candid summary of his relationship with Yves, when asked. He tells Marin how they first met and he tells Kenneth what it’s like keeping their relationship secret at work and he laughs—a little sheepishly—when Sasha says they make a cute couple. If lying so openly is difficult for him, it doesn’t show.

If there’s anything that’s off, it’s subtle. It takes some time for Yves to notice—

The next time Vincent sneezes, his breath hitches with a sharp, desperate, — “hHhiH—!” Then he turns away, craning his neck over his shoulder for an uncovered, “HIiiIKTshH-uh-!”

He blinks in the wake of it, as if a little dazed, before he seems to straighten, lifting a hand to wipe his nose on one knuckle. It’s not stifled, as it usually is, nor is it neatly pinched off into his fingers, which is unexpected.

It’s as if the sneeze has fully caught him off guard—as if all the systems he has in place to sneeze as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible are just slightly impaired by the alcohol. Not that it matters much—Francesca has put some music on, and it sits in the background now, a low thrum, all but the percussive elements muted by the chatter of conversation.

“Bless you,” Yves says, leaning over to grab a cocktail napkin from one of the neighboring tables. He hands it to Vincent, who blows his nose and emerges with a small cough. “How’s the cold?” 

“Fide,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “Ndo worse than before.”

“Are you just saying that to get me to drop the subject?”

“I’m sayidg it because I actually mean it. It’s a very tolerable cold.”

Yves laughs, and reaches for his drink. He’s about to take a sip when he feels Vincent’s fingers close around his wrist

 It’s only a brief moment of contact, but the warmth it leaves around his wrist stays, even when Vincent lets go.

“Sorry,” Vincent says, a little panicked. He withdraws his hand. “That’s mine.”

“What?”

“The cocktail.”

“Oh.” Yves looks down to the can in his hands. He supposes Vincent might be right—they’ve both had a few drinks, so he’d lost track awhile ago. A lot of the canned cocktails taste roughly the same to him, anyways. “Is it? I can get you another one if you want.”

“No,” Vincent says. “I drank from it.” As if that explains everything. And then—a little quieter, as if he’s embarrassed to say it: “I don’t wadt you to catch this.”

Truthfully, the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until Vincent mentioned it. It seems a little endearing that Vincent would be worried about it in the first place—Yves has certainly shared food and drinks with friends who were worse off. “I’m not worried about that,” he says. “It’s just a cold. Didn’t you say it was very tolerable?”

“It’s still…” Vincent trails off, averting his glance with a sniffle. “...an annoyance.” 

He looks like he’s about to say more when his expression goes distant, his eyebrows furrowing.

“HHih’IIIzSCH-uhh!”  It sounds so thoroughly unsatisfying, half-shielded by a hand raised a few moments too late. “hh-HIh-! Hh…” He pauses, his eyes watering, his breath still wavering, and—after a few seconds of nothing—sniffles; a forceful, liquid sniffle that practically emanates frustration. “hIiIIh’kSHhhhh! snf-!”

“Bless you!”

Vincent emerges, teary-eyed, still sniffling. “Case in point,” he says. 

—

He doesn’t see Erika when she gets there. It isn’t until she passes him in the living room, halfway in a conversation, that she makes her presence known to him.

“Hi Yves,” she says, and he looks up. Today she’s wearing a pink dress which cuts off at her knees—a strapless dress, save for a pink rose over her left shoulder which blooms into a sleeve. She is every inch as beautiful as she always is.

He smiles at her, cordial, tight-lipped. “You made it,” he says. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more, and he realizes—with a flash of panic—that he doesn’t know what more to say to her. He hasn’t kept up with her over the past few months. He knows that she’s working as a quantitative analyst, at a company she’d been hired at a couple months after they’d broken up, but he doesn’t know if she likes her work, if she likes her coworkers, if it’s been busy as of late. If she works long hours, if she’s taken up any new projects. “Glad you found time. I assume work’s been keeping you busy,” he says,  

“Are you kidding? It’s Francesca,” Erika says. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

And there it is—that decisiveness. That same resolve that, back then, made everything with her seem so easy. Erika and Francesca have always been close—through college, back when they met during crew, and even after, when all of them had been still settling into their jobs or going off to grad school or moving halfway across the country; when seeing each other no longer meant just a fifteen minute walk across campus. 

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I know.”

They don’t speak, after that. Yves thinks it’s probably for the best—he doesn’t have anything to say to Erika right now. Back then, he could talk to her about anything, even if it was pointless or insignificant or of no real importance, and she’d make the conversation fun. 

These days, he only tells her things on a strict need-to-know basis, and—given that the only times he sees her these days is at events like this—there’s not really all that much to talk about. 

It had been difficult, at first. He’d wanted to share everything with her, still, back when his work schedule had settled enough for him to take long walks downtown, to start to go to concerts and bars again; when he’d redecorated his apartment, when he’d gotten someone to mentor at work, when he’d gotten back into cooking. For some time after the breakup, it still felt instinctual to turn to her, to text her about something interesting that’d happened, to ask her to try out something new that he’d found. 

But he hadn’t. Something about feigning normalcy seemed worse, even then, than accepting that she was really gone.

Perhaps her avoidance of him tonight is merciful. It’s easier, when he’s not thinking about her, to slip into the familiarity of talking to everyone, to enjoy all of it just as himself. 

It’s only when he excuses himself to get another drink that he runs into Brendon.

Yves has always been civil with Brendon. 

Brendon is—well, to say that Brendon isn’t someone he considers a friend is a vast understatement. The less of Brendon Yves sees, the better. Yves avoids him when he can, but he is good at holding up small talk, when it’s necessary, and on most days, Brendon has enough good sense to not start a fight.

Today, it seems, is not one of those days.

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest.

Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

“I guess I’m surprised,” Brendon says. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it to last.”

“Well, I’m happy to have exceeded your expectations,” Yves says. “Though it doesn’t sound like they were very high.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Brendon says, waving a hand. “It’s just—new relationships can be fairly unreliable. Especially when you’re dating around.”

“Maybe in your experience, that’s the case,” Yves says. “But personally, I tend to date people I can see myself with long term.”

“That’s the thing,” Brendon says. “I’m surprised you can see yourself with him.”

Yves sets the drink he’s holding down and turns to face him properly. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

Brendon scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you two are very different people.”

“So people can only date their clones,” Yves says flatly. He’s already tired of this conversation. “My bad. I must’ve missed that rule somewhere in dating 101.”

“Obviously, I don’t mean it to that extent. You’re blowing it out of proportion. I just mean that you can only be so different from someone before you’re incompatible. ”

“I agree,” Yves says. “And I don’t think we’re incompatible.”

“Are you sure?” Brendon crosses his arms. “This isn’t his scene, is it? Cocktail parties? I mean, he’s practically married to his work. Does he even like parties?”

Vincent doesn’t like parties—Brendon is right about that point. But hadn’t Vincent been the one who’d agreed to come here in the first place? To imply that he’s only here because Yves has dragged him along seems somewhat disingenuous.

Yves says, “If Vincent didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here.”

“Sure, but from what I’ve heard from Erika—” Yves doesn’t like this implication that Brendon and Erika talk about them behind their back, but he supposes it’s to be expected. “—he’s not exactly the type of person you’ve tended to go for in the past.”

That sounds awfully like an accusation.

“What exactly are you getting at, here?”

“I’m saying that it sort of looks like you just picked the most convenient rebound you could find,” Brendon says, quiet. “But usually people are honest with themselves when that’s the case.”

That startles a short, indignant laugh out of Yves. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Do you really not think that’s the case? Wouldn’t you say you’d usually go for someone more personable?”

“Personable?” Yves repeats. “Personable? Don’t make me laugh. Do you know how many clients I’ve seen Vincent talk down to a pleasant resolution because he’s so good at negotiating? Do you know how many conferences I’ve been in where Vincent is the one people come to after to privately compliment, because he’s so good at knowing how to talk to people?” he thinks to Joel’s housewarming party—to how compellingly Vincent had lied for him, then; to how good he had been at conjuring up a sense of history between them, of warmth. “His ability to answer difficult questions on the spot, with virtually no preparation at all, is something I can’t even begin to comprehend.”

He’s not sure why the accusation from Brendon makes him so upset, only that it does. Only that he wants to do nothing but tell Brendon just how wrong he is. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m settling for him, don’t patronize me,” he says. “Vincent is one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I know. Do you seriously believe I’d be dissatisfied with someone who holds himself to such a high standard?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been in months,” he says, resolute. “Because of him.”

Through the adrenaline, Yves realizes, faintly, that he hasn’t lied about any of it. He certainly could have—after all, Brendon would be none the wiser—but everything he’s said about Vincent is something he really, genuinely believes.

“Ah,” Brendon says, knowingly, as if he has it all figured out. “I got it wrong. This whole time I thought you were the one that felt lukewarm about him. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so sure he’s the one that you’re willing to overlook all of your obvious differences,” Brendon says. “Have you ever stopped to consider whether he feels the same way?”

“Presumably, he does,” Yves says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Brendon says, as if Yves should already know this from past experience, which—if Yves is being really honest—makes him want to punch him.

Instead, he takes in a deep breath, schools his expression into a smile. “Usually, people in relationships aren’t still looking for other options.”

“Yes,” Brendon says. “Unless they’re unhappy.”

“Yves!” 

When Yves turns to look, Vincent is standing in the doorway. How long has he been here? Just how much of the conversation has he overheard?

“Sorry for the wait,” Yves says sheepishly. “I was getting us drinks.” Evidently, he’s been away long enough for Vincent to come check up on him, so he’s already spent unreasonably long getting drinks, and now he doesn’t even have the drinks to show for it. “Or, I guess I got a little sidetracked, but I swear that drinks are on the w—”

Vincent leans in, unprompted, and kisses him. 

Yves’s brain grinds to a complete halt.

It’s only a moment later that Vincent pulls away, but the decisiveness with which he’s carried it out, the broad confidence on his face as he smiles, unwavering, is—

Fuck.

“Oh,” Yves all but stammers. His face is most certainly red right now, and he can’t even blame it on the alcohol. “Um. Did you need anything?”

“No,” Vincent says. There’s something telling to his expression, some sort of quiet acknowledgement. “Just wanted to see what was takidg you so long.”

Suddenly, it makes sense.

Vincent must have heard. Everything Brendon said—or at least, the last part of it; the implication that Vincent isn’t as invested in this relationship as Yves is; the implication that their attraction towards each other is somehow one-sided. Vincent is doing this to cover for him, because he wants to make it excruciatingly obvious that Brendon is wrong.

The fact that he would go to such lengths to make a point makes something settle in Yves’s chest.

“It’s actually good that you showed up,” he says, playing along. “I don’t know what kind of drink you want. I was just going to get you something generic.”

He heads over to the ice box on the other side of the kitchen, and Vincent follows.

They’re far enough that they’re separated from Brendon by the granite island—and, beyond that, the cushioned high stools lined up next to it, but not so far that Brendon can’t still see them. 

So he certainly can see, Yves thinks, this:

Yves leans in, reaching up a hand to cup Vincent’s jaw, and closes the distance between them.

It’s nothing like the kiss at the New Year’s party.

That one had been all nerves—brief, impulsive, all adrenaline. This kiss is much more involved—Yves presses in closer, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from Vincent’s skin, so close that he can smell the faint, not unpleasant smell of laundry detergent on Vincent’s shirt collar. So close that he can feel the breath that Vincent exhales, warm on his cheek; can feel the softness of Vincent’s hair as he shifts. He feels Vincent’s hand settle on his chest, feels his fingers curl inwards to rest on the fabric of his shirt, and—

On the other side of the kitchen, Brendon is watching, and Vincent is here—here, present, in the flesh, looking as put together as always, looking like someone out of a goddamn magazine—so Yves kisses him like he’s used to kissing—greedily, as if he’s been wanting this for ages. It’s been awhile since he’s kissed someone like this. Back then, there was university—the people at parties who he’d met and kissed out of momentary attraction, or out of alcohol-induced courage—though of course back then, neither party had harbored any delusions about how impermanent that connection was, or how little it meant. And then there was Erika, who, for the longest time, he thought was going to be the last person he’d ever kiss like this.

For months after they’d broken up, he hadn’t looked for anything. It felt wrong to subject others—even strangers, to which he had no allegiance—to the messy remnants of his feelings, to attempt to get into something he knew could only be half-hearted, at best, when there was a person in his mind who lingered so sharply.

But Vincent crowds up every corner of his mind, as if to say, pay attention, and Yves finds that for once, he’s not thinking about Erika at all.

When he feels the small hitch in Vincent’s breath, he thinks nothing of it.

Except, then—abruptly, and with barely any warning—Vincent is wrenching away, craning his head over Yves’s shoulder to let out a sudden, uncovered—

“hh-hIIIH’hH-IIKTshHuh!”

Their proximity to each other means he feels the way Vincent’s body jerks forward under his hands, his chest tensing. For a moment after, the rigidness of his posture doesn’t dissipate, tension still strung through the line of his shoulders.

“Bless you,” Yves says, surprised.

Then Vincent curses under his breath, drawing away with a sniffle. “I’mb sorry,” he says, sounding really, honestly panicked—a reaction which Yves finds both disproportionate to the situation and a little endearing. “That was— sorry, I should’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yves says, with a laugh; “I honestly couldn’t care less.” Impulsively—and maybe to prove just how little it bothers him—he leans back in.

Vincent is less hesitant, this time around, when it seems to register to him that Yves really doesn’t mind. He’s a surprisingly good kisser—Yves probably isn’t the first person he’s kissed, and he probably won’t be the last, but the second Vincent’s mouth works around his, Yves feels himself nearly go weak in the knees.

Fuck. Yves can’t say he expected to spend this evening making out with his very attractive coworker-slash-fake-boyfriend, but at the same time, he isn’t complaining. Yves thinks he could do this for hours, given the chance. He kisses Vincent as if to say, thank you—for the New Year’s party, for going along with this, for lying on my behalf—and Vincent kisses him back as if he wants this just as much.

It registers to him, faintly—as Vincent pulls away with a sharp gasp before he pitches forward, smothering another abrupt, wrenching sneeze into the palm of his hand—that he’s probably dooming himself to Vincent’s cold ten times over. But it occurs to him, too, that if he were really dating Vincent—if, after the party, they’d head back to Vincent’s place together; if they were really close enough to share car rides and food and drinks on the regular, to see each other frequently both in the office and outside of it—he would’ve almost certainly caught this anyways.

Something about the intimacy of it, the false closeness it seems to imply, is a little intoxicating. 

When he finally pulls away, Vincent is breathing a little heavily, his glasses askew, his hair slightly unkempt from where Yves had—mid-kiss—run his fingers through it. Yves looks over his shoulder to see that Brendon has, at some point over the last few minutes, slipped off. Presumably, he’s gotten the point, then.

It’s a relief. Yves is glad to not have to talk with him for any longer than he has to. 

“God,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Where did you learn to kiss like that, anyways?”

Vincent smiles. “I’ve had some practice,” he says, which Yves thinks must be a massive understatement. “Do you think it was convincidg?”

“I don’t know what kinds of standards Brendon has,” Yves says, lowering his voice so that he’s certain no one outside of the kitchen will be able to hear. “But I’d definitely be convinced.”

“He seems strangely idvested in our relationship,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “I think he was just trying to make trouble. How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“Just the tail end of it,” Vincent says. “I—”

His gaze goes distant, which is the only warning Yves gets before he’s turning away, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth with a forceful:

“hH-! hhH-hH’iiKTsSHH-uhh! Hh-! Hih… HIIh’IzsSCCHh’hhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent is quiet for a moment, his expression still hazy, the irritation evident on his features, before he’s ducking away again.

“hIiih’GKTTSHh-uhHh!”

The sneeze is loud enough to scrape against his throat. It leaves him coughing a little, his eyes watering.  

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis. He takes a small stack of napkins off of the kitchen counter and hands it over to Vincent, who eyes it for a moment. There’s a slight flush to his complexion—whether it’s from the alcohol, or from embarrassment, or from slight fever, Yves can’t tell.

“I hope you dod’t regret this in a few days,” Vincent says, carefully extricating one napkin from the stack to blow his nose softly into it. “You—” His breath hitches, sharply, and then he’s pitching forward into the handful of napkins with a muffled, “hiiHh’IZSSCHh-uhh!”

He emerges, sniffling, looking a little apologetic. “You’ll almost certaidly catch this.”

Yves laughs. “It’s fine. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I’m glad you stepped in.” He kneels down, at last, to procure two drinks from the long-neglected icebox. “A cold was a small price to pay for getting out of that conversation.”

He hands Vincent a drink. “Can I have a sip of yours? Now that I’ve doomed myself to it already, I suppose you don’t have to try so hard to keep me from catching it.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Vincent says, but he lets Yves try some, nonetheless.

Brendon is suspiciously quiet for the rest of the evening. Neither he nor Erika so much as look Yves’s way, which Yves thinks is better than another confrontation. Vincent looks happy—a little tired, a little tipsy, but happy. At some point into the evening he resorts to crossing his arms as a means to keep warm (“Is it too cold in here?” Francesca asks, passing him from where he’s sitting on the couch, to which Vincent shakes his head quickly, his face flushing red. “I’mb just slightly under the weather,” he says. “The temperature’s perfect.” to this, Francesca brings over a quilt from one of the closets and drapes it over his shoulders. “Your friends are very nice,” Vincent says, pinning the quilt in place with one hand, and Yves laughs).

At some point, Francesca brings out a cake (“earl gray with buttercream,” she says, “Erika and I made a smaller one as a test run last week, and it was a little too dense, so we’ll have to see how this one turned out.” which Yves thinks is very impressive—he’s certainly better than average at cooking, but that expertise does not transfer well to baking—truly, he’s not sure he’d be confident in his ability to pipe frosting in a straight line. When he tells Vincent this, Vincent laughs and says, “I’m sure people would forgive you as long as it tasted good,” to which Yves says, “I think you’re underestimating how bad I am at decorating.”) She’s piped small blue flowers around the periphery of it, and leaves that curl around the edges of the cake. Diane says, “this is way too pretty to eat,” and “are you sure you want us to destroy it,” while Kenneth—their year’s Crew captain—helps Francesca with setting up the candles around the periphery of the cake and lighting them one by one.

Francesca laughs when Erika tells a story about a series of errors pertaining to their last grocery store run and tears up when Marin gives a speech about how Francesca is the main reason she stayed in Crew. After that, everyone sings—for a brief moment, the clamor in the living room becomes strictly unified. Then she blows out all the candles in one go, and everyone claps.

All in all, it’s a good evening.

—

It’s really not a surprise when Yves wakes up a few days later with a sore throat.

It’s not a surprise, either, when his nose starts running shortly after, or when—a couple hours later—a harsh, wrenching sneeze catches him off guard at work.

It’s as if that first sneeze has opened the floodgates. After that, he finds himself muffling sneezes into his elbow, scrambling for tissues from the rapidly depleting stash—a travel sized tissue pack that he keeps in his briefcase, just in case. The persistent tickle that settles in his nose seems impossible to appease, no matter how many times he sneezes, or how diligently he tries to ignore it. Worse, the sneezes are forceful enough to leave his throat feeling tender and painful, and violent enough that he finds himself coughing a little after.

Vincent was right. The cold isn’t particularly miserable—aside from the sore throat, he’s a little tired, but he doesn’t feel strictly worse than usual. It is irritating, though, to deal with—and irritating, too, to be at the office as it settles in.

It’s probably not worth taking a sick day for. It’s more an annoyance than a tangible inconvenience. Besides, he has only a couple days left of work before it’s the weekend, when he can catch up on sleep.

He’s scheduled himself for a morning’s worth of back to back meetings—two meetings with clients, one with a coworker he’s been working with to go over her findings, another status update meeting to review the work they’ve all done over the past few weeks.

Yves is prone to losing his voice when he’s ill. It’s one of his most embarrassing tells—it’d certainly garnered more attention than he’d wanted in college whenever he was under the weather—but in a work setting where his participation in meetings is non-negotiable, with every meeting he takes, he can feel his voice get closer and closer to unusable.

His second meeting ends a few minutes early, which is a relief. But when he heads to the break room to make himself a cup of much-needed tea, he finds that the hot water machine is out of order.

Just his luck.

He pours himself a cup of cold water and looks through some of the storage cabinets for tissues, though he has no luck with that, either.

The office is always turned a notch too cool—air conditioned to keep everyone awake in the afternoons—but today, it feels brutally, unnecessarily cold. He really should’ve dressed warmer. Yves heads to the conference room his next meeting is booked in, speaks on the material he’s prepared, and tries his best not to shiver too visibly. His meeting before lunch runs over, too, which is not uncommon, but today it just feels like insult to injury.

All in all, he’s exhausted. He eats a quick lunch in the cafeteria, downs two glasses of water, and goes through an embarrassing number of cafeteria napkins.

“Coming down with something?” Stanley, one of his coworkers, asks him.

Yves smiles at him sheepishly. “I wish it wasd’t so obvious,” he says.

“It’s just the season for it, I think. Vincent was just sick last week.”

“Oh, was he?” Yves says, feigning ignorance. His cold is definitely, most certainly not related to Vincent’s. “I was just goidg to grab a bottle of hand saditizer to keep at my desk,” he says, with a small cough. “I thidk there’s somethidg going around.”

Thankfully, the afternoon is—for the most part—just occupied with work. Still, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on the financial statements in front of him, the slew of emails he has pulled up.

His nose is running fiercely, the trash can at the foot of his desk is close to overflowing, and the stack of napkins he’d taken from the cafeteria—certainly not an ideal solution, but it’s the best one he can come up with at the moment—is almost entirely gone.

He grabs one off the top of the stack—he’s only able to unfold it partially before he’s jerking forward with a wet, spraying, “hhEHh’iiiZZSCHh’EW!” 

Fuck. The napkins, while infinitely better than nothing, are not as soft as tissues would have been. Given the frequency with which he’s been using him, he’s almost positive that his nose is redder than usual.

The next sneeze nearly catches him off guard. He barely has time to lift the napkin up to his face again before his breath hitches again, sharply.

“Hhehh… HEHh—’IIDDSCHhiew! hEHH’iITSSHh’Yyew!” 

His nose is still running fiercely, and worse, the sneezes are loud enough to scrape against his throat. He thinks his voice is never going to recover if he keeps this up.

From behind him, he hears someone clear their throat.

Yves freezes. His first thought is that he’s probably being disruptive. His second thought is that even if he isn’t, whoever’s behind him must have been waiting to speak to him for some time—he’d just been too caught up with sneezing to realize, which is a little embarrassing.

His third thought is—whoever it is, he wants to face them looking at least marginally presentable. He’s almost certain that right now, he doesn’t.

He blows his nose into the napkins he’s holding, runs a hand through his hair, and pivots around in his office chair with a smile that is admittedly a little forced. “What’s up?”

He expects to see Cara, who he’s been working more with, or perhaps Laurent, who he’s been shadowing. But standing there, looking every inch as formal and as put together as he always does, is Vincent.

For a moment, Vincent just stares at him, as if he’s cataloging Yves’s appearance in silence.

Yves tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. “Did you ndeed anythidg?” 

In lieu of responding, Vincent steps past him to set a box of tissues down at the edge of his desk. 

“I figured you’d want this back,” Vincent says.

It’s the same tissue box he’d handed off to Vincent last week, he realizes, when Vincent was the one who had a use for it. Vincent has taken care to set it down at the same spot where it was initially: at the right edge, next to his monitor.

“Thadk you,” Yves says. “I’ll treasure it.”

“This, too,” Vincent says, setting a mug down in front of him. Whatever’s in there is hot enough to be steaming.

Yves muffles a cough into his hand. “What?”

“Tea,” Vincent says, as if that explains everything. “Chamomile, if it matters. I didn’t know if caffeine would keep you up.”

“Oh.” Yves stares at it. “You got the hot water machide workidg. It was broken this morning. Or maybe I’mb just really bad at using it.”

“Actually, no,” Vincent says. “I got this from the third floor.”

“You walked all the way up here from the third floor?” Yves says, a little surprised.  He’s about to say more, but then—in a progression that he should probably be used to by now—he finds himself succumbing, with little warning, to another sneeze, which he muffles into a perhaps-too-generous handful of tissues. At this rate, he might run out of them, even given Vincent’s generous contribution.

“It was just two flights of stairs,” Vincent says. 

“Still,” Yves says, lowering the tissues from his face so he can take a sip. The thought of Vincent precariously taking the tea up two flights of stairs, careful to not let it spill, just to get it to his desk is so endearing that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you.”

Vincent blinks at him, as if he wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “I don’t think it will keep you from losing your voice,” he says, at last. “But it might help with your sore throat.” 

Yves doesn’t remember mentioning that. “How did you kdow I had a sore throat?”

“How do you think?” Vincent says. “I had the same cold a week ago.”

Even so, the idea that Vincent already probably knows, and knows intimately, how he’s feeling right now, even though Yves hasn’t said anything about it, feels a little incriminating. Yves is under no illusion that his current affliction is subtle, by any means, but at the very least he’d thought that the less visible parts of it—his sore throat, the growing exhaustion, the pressure he feels building at his temples—were things that no one else would have to think about.

“Was it this bad for you?” he says. “I’d feel terrible if I mbade you talk to all my friends if your throat was already— Hh- heHh-! hHEH-heHh’iSSSchh-Iiew!”

It’s a good thing, Yves thinks, hazily, that he’s still holding onto the tissues from earlier. His nose is running again, and the tissues feel traitorously soft as compared to the napkins he’s been using all day.

“No,” Vincent says, frowning. “I think you just wore your voice out at work.”

“That mbight be the case,” Yves says. “I had a lot of meetidgs this morning. Ndow it’s pretty much just heads-down work, thankfully.” He muffles a yawn into one hand. Vincent is probably here for a reason—but Vincent is usually very conscientious about the work he passes onto others, so whatever he needs Yves to do for him, Yves doesn’t expect it should take too long. “Did you ndeed me to look over somethidg?” “I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Vincent says, which is not the answer Yves expects.

Yves blinks at him. “How did you find out I was sick?”

“I heard from Cara.”

“Ah.” He probably owes Cara an apology—he’s sure that she’d probably prefer to work somewhere quiet, and his cold is certainly making that difficult. “Yeah, she would kdow. I’ve been like this all day—well, sidce this mording, I guess.”

“It came on quickly for me, too,” Vincent says. “Can I get you anything?”

“It’s just a cold,” Yves says with a laugh. “I’ll mbanage.” He means for it to be reassuring, but Vincent just frowns, looking off to the side.

He looks… strangely upset, Yves realizes.

“It’s ndot really all that bad,” Yves insists, backtracking. “And the weekend’s coming up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep when I get the chance.” Now is a really inopportune time to have to cough. He raises an elbow to his face to cough as quietly as he can, though the effort only seems to prolong the coughing fit—it leaves him slightly breathless, blinking away the tears that surface in his vision. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, quiet.

“For what?”

“For giving you my cold.”

“I dod’t think you can even take credit for that,” Yves says. “I was the one who kissed you.”

Vincent does smile, at that—a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Even so.”

Yves wants to tell him that he would do it again, if he had the chance to. He wants to tell Vincent how easy it had felt to kiss him, how right.

How it felt to forget about Erika, and Brendon, and all of it—even if just for a moment—to feel so perfectly grounded in someone other than himself. To let himself experience the sort of closeness he’s been scared of seeking out, after the breakup, after Erika, in fear that no one would ever fit quite the same. To lean into the warmth of someone who still, even now, continues to be kind to him for reasons he can’t quite rationalize. 

How long has it been since he’s been able to place his trust into someone, blindly, in the way he trusts Vincent to keep up this act of theirs, to lie on his behalf? Vincent is nothing if not competent, but Yves hadn’t expected that competence to extend to this arrangement of theirs. How long has it been since Yves has been able to lean on someone the way he’s leaned on Vincent, to trust someone to meet him where he is?

“For the record, I dod’t regret it,” Yves says. He finds that he really means it.

[tamelee]

I love the way you write, you're so articulate, I wish I could write like that 😭 I'm guessing you get good grades in school? Do you have advice on how to write articulately and clearly while also sounding professional? Like in essay writing?

Huuuu, that’s very kind of you 🥹;-; I’d never imagine anyone saying that to me… ever. 

Well, my grades are good, I have my last exams soon ^^

I do have a few tips! Or rather, there are things I’m still currently learning that may be helpful to you as well📝: 

(Sentence) Structure: I read a book called ‘elements of style’ by William Strunk (revised edition) recently and I learned that no matter how grammatically correct your sentences are, there are still ways to improve its structure. (I had to learn it all over again in English -.-) This is a big topic so I'll name a few specifics you can dive into.

Learn the difference between active and passive voice (passive isn’t bad and sometimes necessary, but active is almost always preferred). Don’t mind all this on your first draft though. It’ll only hinder you.

Study MRU (motivation-reaction units), often used in Fiction writing, but it helped me for essays as well. It is the logical pattern of cause and effect introduced by Dwight V. Swain and I read about it in 'techniques of the selling writer'. Here's an article on the topic as well.

Mind paragraphs. There are different rules for this depending on what you’re writing, but it helps its readability. For Essays especially it’s always good to keep topics separate and lead the reader to your conclusion in a way that makes sense. (It's sorta like holding their hand and going like "because of this... there is this... and therefore... and so.... that's why....") This may need some reorganizing of your premises/subjects at times. I especially need to organize my thoughts before I even start writing.  

Understand what it is that you need to write about and delete everything that isn’t relevant. If you’re like me and you get a ton of new ideas once you delve into a subject, then it’s good to keep a folder (or something similar) for these new ideas. Often these are entire topics on its own and including these into another will only make both unclear and your conclusion muddy. So, ask yourself whether it strengthens your point, or if it’ll make it more confusing. If it won’t make a difference then delete it anyway or save it in your folder for later.  

I always learned that objectivity is important in order to sound professional, though it depends on the kind of essay you’re writing. If you need to convince the reader of something then transparency about your own opinions can help your conclusion be more honest, but be careful of sounding preachy as well. I had to learn all these things when I still studied marketing/communication in entertainment, but it often makes me feel slimy because it’s all very manipulative. (Hence, I quit that path.) It's in fiction as well. Some authors let their own views bleed through their characters in such a way it becomes uncomfortable because it doesn’t argue for the story nor adds to the character— it attacks the reader’s personal morals which possibly gives them an ass-spanking while they’re at it which just really isn’t necessary. Emotional language is fine I think. Sometimes I got compliments from teachers especially because I didn't sound too professional, it requires a bit of knowledge when you can get away with it probably. Just make sure you can back up your arguments/statements and possibly add different views as well. In a way it's more about the confidence in which you present an idea than sounding professional and not being able to understand all the 'why's' I believe.

This one isn't that relevant for school-essays, but sometimes when writing one the question isn't clear. It helps both you and the reader to reformulate it in the beginning. Essays as well as stories are often nothing more than a problem you need to give an answer to. Even if there's no question, it helps to make one anyway so you don't wander off endlessly and drown in a sea of possible subjects you could write about.

Something that may help you as well— I created a roadmap for myself and the different types of things I have to write. That way I always know what to do first and it helps me structure both the essay and my process as I can get easily distracted otherwise. Making more decisions than necessary makes me freeze up, but with a roadmap I don’t have to do either.

Uuh, I've probably picked up on tons of helpful things lately, but I think these are great to start with. I hope they are helpful to you.

I always wanted to (story-)write, but gave up on it and decided to learn how to draw instead. Then, I sort of realized that I was being an idiot, because that desire never left and I had to write other things anyway— like this for example, and simply accepting the fact that no one can understand the load of incomprehensible rubbish I wrote, just wouldn’t do. You can check my older posts… it’s awful. If I ever intentionally want to give myself another headache, I’ll go and read those. 

It’s definitely not perfect now, but hopefully I improved though. I think so. Sometimes I still get scolded as I tend to ping-pong between thoughts suddenly and I can hardly tell the difference between BrE/AmE. (As I grew up I learned English mostly through a sort-of-aunt figure from Canada that always forced me to watch British tv with her.) But, the past few months I especially had to write many essays and (argumentative) case studies so I decided to learn and become better in writing. If that translated back to Tumblr then I'm happy and you’ve made my day >< 

[waywardmongergoopzine]

OK so idk if somebody feels the same but here we go. Something about ep 6 that caught me off guard

(KEEP IN MIND THAT I HAVE STARTED THIS SERIES THINKING THAT NUZI IS CANON BUT THEN AS THE SERIES PROGRESSED AND SAW HOW CLOSE N AND V ARE AND THE MOMENTS BETWEEN THEM AND HOW UZI HAS A LACK OF FRIENDS/SUPPORT I STARTED TO THINK THAT MAYBE V IS N'S LOVER AND THAT I SHOULD TAKE THIS INTO CONSIDERATION BEFORE SHIPPING THEM SO I ENDED UP NEUTRAL ON THE TOPIC SINCE EP 5) (ALSO I LOVED THE NEW EPISODE BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING THAT I DIDN'T PERSONALY LIKE)

So we all saw how NUzi is now canon right?

Well upon thinking about/rewatching the episode I concluded that the ship moments are kinda out of place (NOT THAT I HATE THEM)

While NUzi moments can be found in the previous episodes, I think they were idk a little short? vague? (Except in ep 5 and perhaps 3) and now in this episode they were MORE prominent (Basically I think that It was like really abrupt)

I think that Liam could've just left the episode without any ship moments and It would've been better.

I WAS SURPRISED WHEN UZI STARTED HOLDING HANDS WITH N BECAUSE IT JUST FELT SO WEIRD??

I feel like they have just like bombed us with that

You know?

Like there wasn't really enough build up for the reveal. (Ofc you can say that this is wrong and Its ok)

I feel like even though I knew about this possibility and It sounds good, it still caught me off guard and feels out of place.

I watched the previous episodes and thought more about Uzi's character and her behaviour and her relationships and like someone else on here said, I think that Uzi is like Cyn for N, a little sister. I THINK THAT UZI IS A PARALLEL TO CYN.

N, like with Cyn, seems to be the only one that understands her and wants to help her. THIS IS WHY I STARTED TO THINK THAT MAYBE IN THE FUTURE ENVY GETS CONFIRMED and this thing becames more evident.

OF COURCE THERE IS THE POSSIBILITY THAT THIS NOTION APPLIES ANYWAYS TO THE STORY BECAUSE N LOVES BOTH (AS A LOVER AND AS A BROTHER)

LET ME BE CLEAR I DON'T THINK THAT LIAM 'KILLING' V OFF WAS TO MAKE THE SHIP CANON

Also I do realise that V did drive N away because of trauma and that N has been (In my opinion) really hard to understand (like what he is thinking) in ship moments.

NUzi is cute and I love them and their dynamic very much BUT what about the PLOT?? WHAT ABOUT THE STORY?????! I'M AFRAID THAT THE STORY WAS TEMPERED IS SOME WAY

IS THIS LIAM'S DECISION FROM THE START? WAS HE ALWAYS PLAYING WITH THE SHIPERS AND LIKE ALWAYS INCLUDED 2 SHIPS IN AN EPISODE TO MESS WITH US?

DID NUZI GET CANONISED BECAUSE OF THE TOXICITY?

DID WE FORCE LIAM TO CHANGE HIS MIND?

IF THIS IS THE CASE THEN DID WE MESS UP AN IMPORTANT PART STORY COMPLETLY??

I ALSO REALISE THAT LIAM COULD'VE WANTED TO MAKE NUZI CANNON FROM THE START OR MAYBE HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND LEFT A LOVE TRIANGLE AND WAITED TO SEE WHICH ONE IS MORE POPULAR AND THEN MAKE IT CANON!!!

(Though I doubt it since he knew the plot from the start)

Ofc maybe Liam will resolve this problem or maybe he already has everything under control. But who knows we'll just have to wait for the next episode!

It personally feels like a lot of things have happened in one episode and my mind is still blown away. So many answers. So many questions.

Maybe this post isn't the best in terms of explaining how I feel/think or you don't agree with what I just said but I want to know if you have something say

[justonemorechapternicercy]

Can you love someone you've never met? Someone you never talked to in real life? Percy wondered as he logged in to his profile and was greeted with the bright red sign of a new message.

His heartbeat quickened, he knew who it was from. Angelofdeath, the person who can build him up with a few words, and tear him down by not reacting immediately to something he sent.

Percy sighed. He knew he wasn't in the best headspace, he wasn't sure of his own feelings, own thoughts. He just knew he wanted to be close to his friend, he wanted to see him, compliment him, love him, kiss him and hold him close. He hated when Nico didn't talk to him for days, he hated the jealous churning of his stomach when he saw Nico interacting with others.

Shaking his head in an attempt to get his mind out of the downward spiral, and clicked on the message.

Angelofdeath

lol

no, I don't think you want to go there

because it's clear I would win

italian cuisine is there *shows the top of the mount everest* and american is somewhere there *shows the mariana trench*

anyways, i hve to go

sleep well

love you ♥️

Percy couldn't stop smiling, but at the same time, his heart felt heavy and painful.

"Love you too," he whispered into the silence of his room.

Seastar

pff… you clrly never tsted the NY style pizza

that's just 👌

beats your tiny no carb no grease thing

good luck for your exam!!!

ilytoo ♥️

He noticed that he got an ask too, from a familiar anon.

anonymous asked you:

I’d be happy to keep you warm ;)

-🖤

It was probably a reaction to his previous post where he complained about the weather. He was coming home from school, and even in the warmest, fluffiest coat he owned he was freezing, and he just had to make it into his followers' problem too.

He didn't really expect this, but he should have. As always, he briefly entertained himself that maybe his favorite flirty anon was Nico, but he shook it off. Nico probably would have commented. It was probably one of his followers teasing him or maybe they were too shy to flirt off anon.

He answered back with an

"Anytime, babe, I'm here, waiting for you ;)💙",

and closed the tab. It wasn't like the one person he wanted to talk to was available. Either he was in the middle of his exam, or celebrating his success with his classmates.

Thinking back the first time he interacted with the Italian, it was funny that they reached the point where they felt so comfortable with each other that there was no day - except for those days one of them was too depressed to log in - they didn't talk.

He still remembered that ask from a righteous Nico after he posted "Steter>>>>>Sterek".

Angelofdeath asked you:

sTetEr iS bEtTeR tHaN sTeEk HOE DARE YOU?! (yes, it's hoe, because you are a HOE!) I followed you because your TW edits are 👌 but your taste… 😬

Percy remembered the indignation he felt as he wrote a 3k+ reply to why Steter was better (because of Peter's V-neck, obviously, but also, because of Peter and Stiles are both fucked up similarly).

He got back a similarly long essay on why Sterek was better, and that was the start of their little competition.

As they tried to one up each other with their respective ship, they started to talk. And love the other ship too. And soon, instead of being the worst enemies, they became the biggest supporters of each other.

Nico became a very important part of Percy's life. Bad or good, Nico was always there for him, being the loveable sarcastic asshole he became so dependent on. Their interaction, while still involved fandom talk, turned into just talking, sharing stories and feelings. Nico told him about growing up with his mother and sister who died way too early. Percy talked about Gabe, the stepfather he had when he was young, how he left both physical and emotional scars on him. They bonded over having absent fathers and shitty school lives. Percy was the first person Nico came out and Percy still felt touched and soft at the knowledge he made Nico feel safe and comfortable enough to do so.

He opened the hellsite again, not able to resist the temptation. There were two notifications - a message and an ask.

He opened the ask first, knowing he would spend the rest of his night talking with Nico.

Anonymous asked you:

I wish you'd mean that…

-🖤

Percy stared at it, uncomprehending. The anon was always flirty, teasing… lighthearted. He liked the black heart anon, they were lovely, but he never thought…

He thought he was the only one having an unrequited online crush. He never thought somebody had an unrequited online crush on him.

He didn't reply. He couldn't. He kept it in his inbox, hoping that in time, he would know what to do with it. For now, he clicked on his messages, finding a string of swear words, keymashes and threats in Italian still coming from Nico because he dared to mention the "abomination that has no right to call itself pizza".

Percy laughed, already knowing he would get this reaction. He knew Nico. And that was why he was afraid of doing anything. He knew Nico, and he wanted to keep knowing him, being friends with him. He didn't want to lose him.

But maybe one day… maybe one day he'll have the courage to say something to him- but until that, he was content to be his friend. Because being in love with Nico wasn't overruling his love; the romantic feelings just complemented the platonic ones. And maybe he would get a clue on what to do with his flirty anon. Because as much as he loved Nico… he kinda liked the anon too.

[emblazons]

Listen I like Duffers and I don't doubt that they are successful writers, but I have to be honest here that some of the writing choices they made were poor. Like I get the 'reason' behind them, to an extent, but if those overall writing choices resulted in poor takes and when pretty much more than half of your audience doesn't get the message? I think it kinda shows that the message was not delivered well.

Like people still thinking to this day that Will was being childish for wanting to play DND and that he should just grow up...? The message clearly wasn't delivered lmao. And I get that you can say the audience ''doesn't get it'', but isn't part of the writing making the audience get that, to portray your narrative so it tracks with the show. It's not always the audience's fault. Ofc the majority of the audience is not going to think Will is an important character when he receives the least screentime/focus each season and he's painfully sidelined in the narrative, this also is connected to LGBT characters and narratives on the show because they're given minimum care at best and that's also partly why people think Byler won't become canon. These are all connected and I just wish we can criticize them more because it ultimately put a hindrance on the narrative, ultimately. Yeah, they are still fixable to an extent and the writing in S5 can make up for it, but there is also the issue that these takes would not have been there in the first place if the buildup/narrative writing was different.

I mean I can agree with you to a point, but…I feel like I won’t be able to say “you did a bad job because the audience doesn’t understand” or even “you could have done xyz better” until the story is finished, and it’s because they’ve literally told you up front that it isn’t done—and with this show, recontextualization is key.

I think the real problem isn’t that people don’t understand, or aren’t capable of understanding—it’s that they are under the impression that the seasons stand alone, and that the duffers aren’t leading to a specific point. When you look at stranger things as a series of independent seasons—seasons they made up as they went, just exploring the characters and finding a random monster, as most people believe the show is—it’s easy to misunderstand intent, believe a character has been sidelined, and that “they don’t know what they’re doing…” because it’s not interconnected.

I can't say I agree that they "should have done it better" because a lot of the audience didn't catch it either, because in truth a lot (and I do mean a LOT) of even this nebulous "GA" people talk about did—down to my 60 year old relatives, who saw clearly what was happening with mlvn v byler and didn't bat an eye at it, because it's actually not even remotely subtle...unless you insist on looking at things through a heteronormative or even homophobic lens. Not to mention (when it comes to the DnD point) lot of people don't agree that "you should take your nerdiest interests into adulthood" as a message is true in real life—which is why I'm not surprised they missed the point they're leading to in the show lmao.

Still, to your point about "the writing choices being poor," I don't agree—not yet, and especially not about why they 'sidelined' Will or the leadup to byler, given the build-up to byler is literally the same exact sort of build up they've done for "Henry/One/Vecna" being The Main Villain—something that there have been hints of across seasons, that came to a clear !!!! moment of question in S4, and will be finished in S5. People were smart enough to back-connect how the Demogorgon and MindFlayer could fit into that storyline (and even some of its foreshadowing) despite us not yet being done with the show...and no one bats an eye at it despite it being just as subtle as byler because it wasn't challenging their heteronormative or "everybody needs to grow up & out of their 'childish' interests" value system in any way.

In my opinion, Byler's writing being just as subtle as their other plots is a feature and asset, not a loss solely because people don't see it (especially given that they do—literally not one soul I've met whose seen Stranger Things isn't aware there's at least something happening in "The Byler Corner" even without a single moment spent in this fandom). The problem isn't the writing's subtlety, but rather that people don't want to acknowledge the upending of classic expectations for nerds winning over "adulting" as much as they don't want to see the clear build up of a queer relationship over the heterosexual one, which means they're going to try to interpret the events of the show through a value system entirely different than The Duffers...solely because the show is popular.

Essentially: Most of the "the audience is missing the point" comes from a value system difference, not a skill one on the part of The Duffers...which goes back to that whole "Stranger Things was made for a specific audience and expanded past that" thing I've talked about a million times over now. If you like your shows more blatant, I'm sure that would be irritating—but for someone like me, that's almost the entire appeal.

I can accept and fully agree with criticism that maybe The Duffers took a deep dive transition with S3 that was rather dramatic given the previous tone of the show. That's just a fact, and the tone change really did put people off of understanding what their primary themes were hard enough that S5 will require some really blatant and potentially heavy-handed "smack you over the head" moments to make its point. That's probably why they say they regret indulging fan service and maybe even giving "The Netflix Look" to their show, even—and why they say they're not doing that for the final season. That, to me, is a very valid criticism.

That said...I would rather have a chance to dig and think about my media here than have something that just tells me everything I need to know to get the point on first viewing, or that didn't require me revisiting it to understand the point it was trying to make. To me, that's boring, weak storytelling, even if it makes sense to "the majority" of the audience...and I'm almost positive the Duffers would view it the same way. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Thanks for the ask!

[cienie-isengardu]

My RepCom Musing: Vau’s cover up story

"Sergeant Vau!" he barked. No Walon, then. "What in the name of the Force happened to Skirata? I've just passed him."

Vau was the only being Scorch had ever seen who could come to a halt grudgingly. "He's fine."

"He is not fine. He's badly injured. He can't even stand up straight."

Vau inhaled slowly. "We were having a philosophical discussion, as Mandalorians often do, and I asserted that the only demonstrable reality was individual consciousness, but he insisted on the existence of a priori moral values that transcended free will. So I hit him."

Zey didn't even blink. "You think you're so witty."

"No, I think you should stay out of Mando clan business. It's for your own good. Now, do you want a report, or not?"

Zey gestured Vau into a side lobby. So the old chakaar really had been spying on Skirata. Scorch was actually surprised, and even a little disappointed but Zey had a point; and it was an inarguable order. Scorch stood to one side, trying to look-and feel-as if he wasn't listening intently.

"I see that arrests have been swift," Zey said.

"Some stupid clerk, General," said Vau. "So Skirata is not your traitor, even though he is a light-fingered little scumbag who'd steal your teeth if you smiled at him. But I don't think you'll see a continuation of his dishonest habits, because he now understands the error of his ways."

Scorch translated into plain language. So Vau had given Skirata a good hiding for causing trouble, and made him swear not to rip off Republic funds and kit again. That was . . . unexpected. Scorch had always had Skirata down as the alpha Mando, even if he had to stand on a box to head-butt Vau.

"I'm relieved." Zey nodded shoulders relaxing visibly. "I didn't want to think I was that far misguided about his motives."

Republic Commando: Order 66

One of reasons why I love Vau so much is because the man is so witty. But also the way he solves problems is worth of notice. Like in the fragment above. Walon made a story to cover up what happened between Darman and Kal. Which is 2 in 1... or maybe even 3 in 1 type of solution, come to think about that. One, saving Darman’s ass for assault of the higher rank, as sergeant Skirata is in fact his superior first and foremost in military hierarchy then a father (if even this could be acknowledged by non-Mandalorian personnel and GAR bureaucracy, as the clones do not have civil rights and they are property of Republic, so how one could adopt them in the light of legal laws?). Because of Vau’s story, Darman won’t be held responsible and thus, Etain’s relationship with clone commando and their child is not put into picture, as there will be no investigation that could dig up so far into Darman’s reasoning for assault. And lastly but no less important, Vau’s story made Zey - and Scorch - to think it was him who beat Kal for breaking rules thus he cleared Kal of charges, since it was Zey who asked Vau to keep an eye on Skirata to make sure he isn’t working against the best interest of Republic. By Vau taking all the blame, he made Kal, Darman, Etain and little Kad safe for time being and Zey to be reassured  everything is now ok-ish.

However the one big complain I have about this scene is

partially about

why the hell Scorch would think Kal is the alpha Mando and call Vau the chakaar?  And yes, this word was used through the story as general insult even if its at the core a term for thief, grave robber [as was explained in Triple Zero’s little dictionary added at the end of book]. This word here does not sound right for me.  Calling Vau an old bastard? Sure, bastard always fits. Old Psycho? Vau was called this one too. But chakaar? Geez, Mando language is supposed to be full of “insults” but we operate all the time on the same, worn out terms. And worse, Scorch even being disappointed a bit by Vau “checking out” what his fellow buddy is doing? When TC and O66 made it pretty clear Deltas aren’t even sure if Kal and his precious Nulls are still on their side? Disappointed that Vau “solved” a problematic Kal’s behavior without dragging outsiders (and Deltas) into this if Skirata presumably stole GAR stuff intended for clones to use during missions? And even if the money were meant for clones’ best interest, Skirata’s illegal activities placed Deltas and other commandos in an awkward position. So.. Do we really need Deltas/Scorch being such a fan of Kal's when they weren’t his boys and had plenty of doubt about the man’s loyalty in the first place? How that even makes sense, I wonder...?

and partially

why the hell the books have this weird notion of Alpha Mando (Skirata), Alpha between Nulls (Ordo), Alpha Female (Besany). Like, really? Who even looks at people and puts them into such categories? Okay, one character’s fine, a specific way of said person. But at least three different POVs / narratives (four, if we count Ordo’s POV about himself and Kal) went with True Colors, Order 66 and Imperial Commando: 501 and I totally hate those kinds of terms.  

[quirrelli]

So, I finished Killing Eve S4 and I'm...

...just gonna pretend I do not see it. S3 wasn't amazing but its ending still works way better as the ending of the show than the actual ending, so I think I'll just be having that, thank you.

No, but seriously, how did they manage to have this much lesbian activity for four seasons and still end up with bury your gays lite?? Did literally no one in that writer's room have even a cursory look at tvtropes.com or talk to like one gay person??? Make no mistake, I was fully expecting one or both of them to die, especially since I was aware – without knowing any details – of the finale's negative reception. There are always going to be people who hate an ending and by extension the whole show simply because it killed off their favorite character, irrespective of context or execution. I am not one of those people, so I want to be crystal clear here when I say there were ways to make a tragic ending work for Killing Eve, a few fairly obvious ones even, and so I thought surely there was no way they would fall into that specific trap again.

The most generous interpretation of this (non-)ending I can come up with is to apply Hanlon's razor, in which case it might be be seen as a symptom of the general loss of focus the series suffered beginning with S3 and exponentially more so in S4. By which I mean they let the emotional core (the V/E dynamic) diverge wildly from the plot (finding the 12).

Never lose sight of the emotional core. I find you can get away with almost anything; technical faults, dodgy performances, plot holes (especially plot holes), even a meh ending, as long as the emotional core stays exactly where its name says it should stay.

Helene is an easy means of illustration for this point. Helene in S4 is basically less chaotic Villanelle, both in her function to the plot (murderous fancy bitch whomst is important as the key to a bigger bad) and in her relationship with Eve (gay, aggressive, lethally hot), which makes me wonder why they didn't just let Villanelle play that part??? It's driving me mad bc it's the most obvious thing and would have fixed so many problems in an instant.

By which I don't mean get rid of Helene btw, just make better use of her, as an actual member and face of the 12 or a double agent or sth. Give V the quest to hunt down the 12, it's already perfectly aligned with her motivations and capabilities at the end of S3! I mean she wants to impress Eve by showing her she's trying to be better and to start a new life, right? Cool, ok, therefore, in Villanelle's moderately disturbed mind it makes perfect sense to do this by violently hunting down a bunch of bad ppl ~ for Eve ~ . (The fact that she's also high key horny for murder is just a bonus, don't worry about it, baby.) If not that, then do sth else entirely with her, do the church thing (properly this time, not squeezed into two episodes and then entirely forgotten) but don't give hunting down the 12 to Helene, a character that already feels vaguely like a replacement for Villanelle while she's off doing character growth or whatever.

If they had done the thing that makes sense, it would have also meant that for once V and E's goals would have aligned, (though they might not have realized it immediately, you know, for spice,) which would have given us an opportunity to delve into a new dynamic: Partners in crime. Not S2 V tenuously working for E bc horny but actual challenging "we want the same thing except oh no, all this history and unresolved tension" cooperation. Obviously it would have gone horribly wrong in some fashion (I'm thinking Carolyn shenanigans), but at least it would have gone wrong for a reason that actually involved them bc the plot would have actually been their plot again. Incidentally, if you're going to have them hook up, this would be a great time for that, so it doesn't feel quite so backhanded if/when one/both die at the end.

The only reason I can imagine for not going down this route is that it would be too obvious, to which I can only say: [Insert tired comparison to Game of Thrones here.]

Seriously, hunting down the 12 is a natural conclusion to the story. It makes sense, was built to from the beginning and should have been a slam dunk in terms of plotting. Thus I am flummoxed as to how the writers managed to drop the ball so spectacularly that it hit every single one of their teammates square in the tits.

Well, I say that, the show does maintain a few of its strengths, first and foremost the cast of course, consequently some of the dialogue (Carolyn and V's interactions are delightful) and I do like the idea of both Gunn and Pam and also V getting shot by an arrow. Just wish the cupid/angel motif hadn't been so muddled and included Gunn more (who shouldn't have been called Gunn. It's a bad joke.)

Speaking of, many have rightly decried the lackluster supporting cast but as I see it, that is largely a holdover from S3, which killed off/wrote out basically everyone but the core four and failed to introduce any new characters that stayed past the season finale (besides Helene) bc it was too busy not moving the plot forward. You gotta have side characters in your show, so they made some new ones for S4 and gathered together whatever scraps they could (Hugo prettyboy and Martin the therapist). Idk if there was a good way to solve this problem exactly, but they could have certainly woven the new lot into the story better. Especially Pam. Pam could have been so much more. Oh and fuck the way they wrapped up Irina's story too. Complete waste.

With bad plotting comes shitty pacing. Again, that already started in S3. However, I will say in defense of S3 that it being a bit slower and introspective is very much the sort of thing that could have felt kinda ok, even needed in retrospect, if S4 had Risky Businessed into the room champagne in one hand, gun in the other, ready to party. Instead it made S3 look worse by turning it into a prelude to an even more plodding experience, now with bad editing!

For real, there's some really poorly constructed scenes; shots that feel disjointed, unfocused, repetitive. No idea what that's about, could it be the lingering effects of Covid-restrictions? Or maybe they just needed a better editor. Regardless, while not super dire it is absolutely noticeable and contributes to the general lack of cohesion, not to mention the tonal dissonance.

What am I saying, that's an excellent thing to mention. An ideal candidate to put the show and this too long note on my phone out of its misery in fact.

Killing Eve is supposed to be fun, you guys, remember that? S1 was at all times like two smash cuts away from becoming a full on comedy and it was amazing for that. It was the show's most unique feature, what took it from very good to transcendent as far as I'm concerned. Walking that line is hard, no doubt about it, and I get that different show runners have different visions and of course you can take on a more serious tone between seasons but then you actually need to make everything else match that shift. Integrate the absurdity into your writing or discard it, the way I've discarded the idea of ever writing a proper conclusion for anything. If you really want a dramatic, played entirely straight spy thriller conclusion with conspiracies upon conspiracies and doomed passions, that's fine. I mean, it’s not really bc you're losing what made Killing Eve great et cetera and so forth but my point is that you can't have your imaginary drag king Jesus and eat him too.

tl;dr: S4 is bad. There are several reasons for this.

[butchviking]

Hello! Per the define transgender q I thought I'd put my 2 cents out there as a trans person. The way I'd define it for me is that the way I "see" myself to be incongruent with how I was assigned at birth. To me its more transition/dysphoria based, it has nothing to do with how I express myself via clothes or mannerisms and everything to do with how I feel about myself internally. Not to say gender expression isn't important, especially in someone's transition and wanting to be recognized as the gender they are, but if you only think of trans people wanting to transition in order to fit a stereotype of the opposite sex then that just reduces everything they do to a performance or an act. And gender expression is important whether ur trans or cis, gnc or not. 

Idk. Being trans is just part of who I am, same way that I have brown eyes. Im not "escaping" from anything nor am i confused. I think because ppl recognize/come to terms with being trans differently is also why they say being trans is different for everyone. Even if there is a clear cut definition, it's still gonna look different based on how or if someone is able to medically/socially transition and how far in their transition they are, and anti-trans laws will affect that as well. Community, activism, and support are important regardless. At the end of the day I just want to be able to feel safe in knowing that if I got in a major car accident tomorrow where I will need intensive medical care, that the medical team will treat me even though the parts I have don't match what it says I should have on my driver's license. 

Hope that makes sense I've been typing off and on at work but just wanted to put my perspective out there. Peace love and ray toro <3

huh okay, it's really interesting that u say it's more transition/dysphoria based to u bc i feel like most trans ppl ive spoken to abt it (might b a reflection of the kind of trans ppl i was hanging out w) definitely put identity before transition status/intent.

definitely with u on the gender expression part - i think its a rly common problem that someone sets out on a transition bc of dysphoria & bc they want to be viewed as & treated as the opposite gender by society but somewhere along the way they end up leaning way too heavily on stereotypes for that and they do find themselves trapped in a performance and end up ridiculously self-concious abt it all (like all the transguys who worry endlessly about if they're walking right if they're holding their drinks right if they're SLEEPING right, that one guy who found himself googling "do men eat oatmeal" -_-)

also v interested in ur statement that how ppl "recognize/come to terms with being trans" affects how they define the concept in general.. im gonna think on that but im not sure i know what u mean 🤔 i think i have to twist that one round a little fr it to make sense 2 me... id agree that people often have different motivations for transition & trans identity and that would affect how they define the term... i think that's sort of the same thing, it's just that u see being trans as smthn inherent to a person whereas i see it as a choice so we'd use different wording.

n yeah ive been thinking more abt where exactly i think legal lines n definitions need to be drawn i think im gonna make another post abt it but ur right that community, activism, & support are important regardless and i think for the most part CAN function regardless. & i understand ur concerns abt getting medical treatment - ppl always talk about 'trans healthcare' just meaning medical transition but that's mostly a whole separate thing to actual trans healthcare which is in a scary state rn (& getting scarier in some places - didn't one state recently pass a law that medical staff are legally allowed to refuse treatment if someone is lgbt?) (yeah i just checked of course its fucking florida 😑) n im sorry u have to live w that. u deserve proper care & treatment u deserve to live safe in the knowledge that u will receive that proper care & treatment.

thank u so much for weighing in!! its refreshing 2 get a different perspective here. peace & love & ray toro 😁✌️ <3

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Isfj. Recently found out that a colleague is anti vax & doesn't believe in sci. I feel rlly conflicted now. I like her, she's not rlly harming anyone + if I step in her shoes I can sorta get why she thinks like that. But every time she's anti research/sci, I get v irritated. I don't like superstitions & dislike when things aren't based on facts. She has a lot of privilege and implies that she's victimized & oppressed over sth she herself chose.

I and my social circle have also always been anti anti-vaxx. I guess I realized I made it my identity to be 'liberal', open-minded, critical thinking, accepting (which ironically includes being anti anti-vaxx). But turns out I'm a lot more judgmental and black and white than I thought. And ok I guess I judge her for her privilege. But I have a lot of privilege too. Idk. Everything I judge her for, I have a counter point for too. My thoughts are a mess. Advice?

-------------------

I don't think you fully understand what it means to be judgmental. You seem to be confusing "critical thinking" and "critical judgmentalness". The two are not the same. It's good that you're sensing a problem here, as that produces an opportunity to learn and grow.

- Critical thinking involves respecting factual information, weighing information objectively, and making decisions impartially. If you are the kind of person who values the truth and acting in accordance with the truth, then you will take on the duty to clarify the facts, be fair-minded in your evaluations, and correct bad decisions that were biased or prejudiced in some way. Does this duty extend to others? Only in cases where harm is being done, and you would certainly need to justify that the moral harm is severe enough to warrant interfering with someone else's autonomy and agency.

- Judgmentalness involves being critical for egotistical reasons, meaning that the criticism is usually unwarranted, excessive, or ultimately pointless. Usually, judgmentalness is a means to cover up a psychological problem such as an inferiority complex, helplessness, or chronic resentment. Being judgmental means you cherry-pick "facts", you manipulate information to suit a narrative of your liking, and you make decisions that favor yourself at the expense of others. If you are a judgmental person, you don't value truth as a high ideal, rather, you only value your own version of the truth and ignore everything else. The main goal is to ensure that you don't have to confront the truth of your underlying psychological problem.

Full disclosure, I'm on your side of this issue, so I can sympathize. However, it's important to acknowledge that controversial issues are confusing because there's a lot going on that needs sorting out, which makes them open for debate. If you were in possession of the "Absolute Final Truth", shouldn't you and everyone automatically bow down to the power of it, because there would be no grounds whatsoever to object to it? But that's not the case, because the issue is not as clear cut as you believe.

In other words, when it comes to debating, both sides usually have some important points to make, regardless of how poorly the participants are communicating them. This is not to say that you must relent, submit, or be friends with people you disagree with. It means that the only way forward is to acknowledge that there might be some merit in what they're saying, even as you disagree with their approach or their final conclusions.

In your situation, you are coming from the standpoint of someone who respects critical thinking and the truth… at first. However, whenever you meet someone you strongly disagree with, you easily spiral into judgmentalness, and then start engaging in social status games. Why? Because you, yourself, equate your beliefs with your identity. This reveals something about your ego development.

This habit of identifying with beliefs creates the problem of being unable to address false beliefs without feeling personally attacked and/or using personal attacks during what should be a calm and reasonable debate. It makes communication very difficult. Being wrong is not the same as being bad, so you can call out falsity without attacking people personally, can't you? Is it not possible to separate a person from their beliefs or behaviors?

Stepping back to be objective isn't easy, because we each have an ego that wants what it wants and leads us to obfuscate the truth. But objectivity is necessary for developing the ability to influence and persuade people in the right way. Additionally, lack of objectivity often reveals a lack of humility that enables arrogance in your own beliefs. Walking around thinking that your beliefs are superior, you'll often find yourself locked into resentments, warfare, or stalemates, with lots of hard feelings to go around. It's not great for your Fe development, is it?

[somuchyoudontknow]

Hi 🙂 Hope you are doing well. Sorry for the delay. I had to take a break from Tumblr because of something personal going on in my life.

get the feeling either you have already met your FS in some way or you are just about to very soon. It’s like your FS energy is around your energy. It is like enveloping yours. You have a very bright and beautiful energy like a candle that is attracting your FS. Your FS is your soulmate and you two will vibe on a level that very few people would understand. It’s going to be a very intense connection. You two will be inseparable. You two don’t seem to be alike in nature but you both will understand each other pretty well. You will be able to read each other’s thoughts easily. You will plan your life goals together. Your FS will always ask for your opinion in making important decisions about your lives together. There is a very nice mutual understanding. I think you will both enjoy dating each other. It will be like you both will like to consume each moment spent together. I see a big circle of people around you both too. Idk if you have a big family and a big circle of friends or FS would have but it seems like a happy social circle. This social circle will help you both to strengthen your relationship.

Feel free to ask more questions, it’s just the start.

/

Hi Sophia, you don't have to be sorry, I totally understand and I hope you find a solution for what was/is going in your life. How are you doing? I keep you in prayers and send you good vibes. ❤ About my FS, I completely forgot about that ask as I had to go into anon mode, because I couldn't send you a private message (now that I see it's possible, I'll reach out to you before I leave tumblr, not about that topic of course. I just find out that there's an application and not only the website tumblr...). So I received a message that I should asked you about my FS; hence the ask. Now that I was checking all the blogs before leaving I saw your post, wow.. This is really kind of you to share that, thank you for your time. It's a confirmation regarding something I felt. I'm not sure who that person is, but I'm definitely not prepared at all for that official meeting. I just started to pray about that topic again, and allowed someone to clean my energy, a week ago only. For real, what a shame, I know since last year that I was supposed to prepare myself correctly.

Have a nice and blessed day/evening. ❤ V. 🥐🌶

Hi Thank you so much. Yes, my problem is solved, thank goodness 😊 and I am doing much better. Thank you so much for the prayers and good vibes. It is just because of you good friends that keeps me going 😊 and coming back here. I appreciate it a lot.

I hope you have clear signs about your FS. It seems difficult to meet your FS but when the time comes everything becomes easy. Yes, keep praying and ask for signs from the Universe/God. I hope you get to clear your energy. Sending you cleansing I hope it helps. Please feel free to ask more questions.

[quaddmgd]

Yesterday, I finally deleted my Twitter account after yet another data leak. Boss Baby's decisions after acquiring this platform made me create this blog and try to move here in the first place, so leaks were only a cherry on top.

My girlfriend helped me with moving to tumblr and the way she talked about it made me think about my social media presence in general. Of course, most users here don't need an explanation as to why tumblr is better and all that, but its merits are what exactly made think about myself.

I realized that I always posted for myself first and foremost. I had a blogspot about handheld consoles, I wrote non-profit reviews for my relative's gaming website, I even started posting screenshots on Steam with some creative descriptions and all that.

Had a short relationship with instagram, but people using it, even my close family, quickly made me hate it for how artificial the world there seems to be. If I didn't spend enough time personalizing my experience, it probably takes too long for my liking.

I got a little bit older, 18 to be exact, when I started to look through twitter. Following my favorite indie game developers and gimmick accounts - had a good time with it. The problem started when I started posting stuff.

Twitter's algorithm is aggressive, to put it lightly. Every time you post something and mention a thing, that thing will flood your feed almost instantly. That's why I would never say anything about, say, a spider I saw. While further personalization improves the experience, you won't ever get rid of things you simply don't want to hear about. On top of that you'll sure get the most liked, commented, quote-tweeted stuff imaginable - it helps with reading news, but it brings a lot of bad takes that sometimes are on the verge of malicious. That way you will never fully control what you see on your feed. Sometimes even filtering keywords doesn't help, mostly with traumas, as there are multiple ways to censor trigger words and twitter users will sure use them all.

A trivial example, but it shows just how annoying your Twitter experience can be. I bought myself a new Xbox console and posted about what I like and don't like about it. While those posts were very occasional, console war zealots from both sides started to appear in my feed on a regular basis - posts that take out all the joy I get from gaming. While I mostly posted about video games without including platforms I played on, I never got rid of console wars.

Even if you never talked about, say, us politics, you'll surely get them on your feed, you'll get notified about voting, you'll get unhinged posts from people who are famous simply for being rich; and you'll see many dramas over stuff that shouldn't matter. That last thing makes you really think about what you post. Even if you won't offend anyone, someone can always shame you for your tastes or you gushing over stuff "too much". Once I even got shamed by a self-proclaimed ✨ Rockstar Games Community member ✨ for playing Red Dead Online, accusing me of "playing it for the sake of keeping it alive".

Back to first paragraphs of this post - a rectification! I didn't start thinking about my social media presence after creating tumblr, but it made me summarize all the little thoughts and irritations that appeared in my head throughout my entire "career". After my gf introduced me to tumblr, it confirmed my belief that I used social media correctly, but, for reasons beyond the subject of this post, most social media websites have irredeemable flaws.

But I post for myself and I will gush over my V from CBP77, my RDO character, Lady from DMC all I want and I'll continue to ramble about stuff no-one will ever take an interest in. It helps me clear my head, it makes me feel fulfilled and I love reading my old posts - it's like a time capsule and, as long as I have the strength for that, I'll continue to fill it with stuff that is important to me!

P.S. As for Twitter's few benefits: I'm using nitter to follow gaming news and game developers without having an account or interacting with toxic people if I'll ever see them. No algorithm there, you have to search for people you already know - no random posts and malicious javascript stuff.

[who-is-muses]

@dcwnthercbbithcle | Shipping Bingo [ ACCEPTING ]

Shipping bingo for OUR Evan/Phiwip disaster ship and mayhaps Carmina and Sally too??

[ MY TURN TO GUSH NOW 🫵👁v👁💙 djdjjdjdjs ]

[ Like obviously I'm going to be biased because these are OUR little freaks, but !!! Evan isn't strictly the macho he-man testosterone fountain a lot of writers (INCLUDING THE DEVS) make him, and Philly is allowed to A) keep his specific intelligence instead of being dumbed down to a himbo that needs Evan to solve all his problems be they major or minor, and B) be a little Deeply Fucked Up instead of an uwu smol bean flavored bad circumnavigation of stereotyping African men. IT'S ABOUT THE NUANCE AND CHARACTER DEPTH!!!!!!! ]

[ And like! Their relationship doesn't have to be strictly perfectly smooth romance and roses because it won't ever be!!! They're both tragic victims turned monsters themselves, and the reality is they are always going to have rough edges! And that's absolutely okay!!! Fuckin hell!!!!!!! In both fiction and reality, healthy relationships experience turbulence! There will be arguments and butting of heads! While Ev and Phil aren't exactly the most healthy, they're gradually learning how to move past their respective limitations and actually communicate, including properly making up to one another after fights- which is also important! Hrhrnrrhrghrnrnrhrhn!!! ]

[ NOW TO COMPLETELY CONTRADICT MYSELF- bdjdjdjdkd not actually, but like. I think part of it is their respective temperaments- Sally's no-nonsense and Carmina's blunt-but-not-necessarily-cruelty- but they’re one of the best cases scenario for a couple to come out of the Fog on any side of the Campfire. Despite being partially and fully mute respectively, I feel like Sally and 'Mina have some of THE BEST communication skills out of the killers and I'd argue even the survivors. Maybe not always in the nicest ways, but they both make themselves VERY clear a majority of the times. ]

[ But at the same time, they're both relatively quiet ladies that lean towards getting lost in projects than large crowds or loud parties. One of my absolute favorite Romance Things is parallel play, being able to exist in a room together without necessarily doing the same thing, just sharing a space with your person being enough to feel their love and send yours to them as well qvq I could absolutely see them having one big ol "common room" type space where they can both work on their projects independently without getting in the others' way, but still sharing a room. (And where Carmina can keep an eye on Sally and bring her food and water when she herself has to force herself to take breaks.) ]

[ There's also. Like. The factor of Carmina's overabundant confidence. She can't fix Sally's body issues or the experiences she's had because of them- nor would she ever want to- but 'Mina can and will try to gradually help (not fix) her image of herself. 'All bodies are good bodies' is one of Carmina's strongest and most important beliefs- both in general, and personally in her life as a transwoman. While she's never been one to force her beliefs on anyone- another strong belief of her- she does her best to make it loudly and widely known that there is never one way to think about something. Body positivity wives qvq ]