#somewhat of a long post with my thoughts

[abibeur]

So. I played Side Order (or rather I finished Side Order, aside from a few completion marks that doesn't offer any spoiler stuff!).

I've been seeing stuff on Tumblr, on Discord servers, on YouTube comments by people who were… Not entirely happy with it. Or rather disappointed. "They could have done more…", "This character was underused…", "I preferred the Octo Expansion…", "Let's re-write it for something better…". And let me tell you, I was (and still am) infuriated when reading these. Not because those comments and posts and messages were unfair, unjust and idiotic or anything (well maybe the re-writing thing was uncalled for), but because I actually loved that DLC. I think that's pretty normal to be angry with seeing a thing you love being shit on, even if I get what all of you meant. But I still wanted to share my own thoughts (because why not, I like saying what I think).

First and foremost, let me just say that I have a pretty different relation with Splatoon than most people. I was in since the release of the first game. I didn't play it due to a lack of Wii U, but I watched a lot of videos. And I liked it! I even had Splatoon OCs, I could be considered a fandom veteran at this point! But after some years, I put it at the back of my head as something I loved. When the Switch came out, I didn't have the money for it and no one would buy me one, so I continued to be a PC gamer. And when I saw the news of a Splatoon 2, I dismissed it like it was something silly, "what can you say more about Splatoon!?" I knew there was some new idols, some stuff about a DLC, Callie being kidnapped, but that's all. I dismissed all of this, and as a result I don't have much of an attachment for it. But in 2021, when I saw the news about a third game, I was ecstatic again. And in 2022, when I finally could afford it, I bought a Switch. Not just any Switch, the Splatoon themed one, and I pre-ordered the game. And when it came out, I spent less than a day to finish the story mode, and it was one of the best day of my life, I played Splatoon for 16 entire hours. Splatoon 3 is now my most played game on the Switch, more than 300 hours (that can seem not that much for some of you, but I'm a casual gamer, I don't play every day, so that's still a lot!). I even bought Splatoon 2 and the Octo Expansion after that. Splatoon 2 story mode was incredible, because that's the game I never got to play but more mastered. Octo Expansion was incredible, because it was… incredible. But I still liked Splatoon 3 story mode better. Is it because I've played it before? Because I hadn't the one year of unskippable Off the Hook news to make me like them before the DLC (to be fair I didn't know much of Deep Cut too!)? Because it clicked more on me? Honestly I don't care. It's not important, because it's still my preferences. But let met tell you, when the news of Splatoon 3 DLC dropped, I was roaring. Every crumbs of news and trailers widened my life expectancy. I was finally sharing the hype that you felt for Octo Expansion. And…

Two days ago, I played it. And I loved it. Why? Why did I love it where so many people seem disappointed? This will not be an analysis, I'm not good at those, just… Here's how I see things. Also there will be huge spoilers so if you haven't censored the tags for whatever reason, I will hide it beneath a read more because I'm nice.

First, the gameplay. When I heard it was going to be a roguelite, I was intrigued, because it seemed interesting. I was wondering how it was going to play out, more like The Binding of Isaac, or like Hades… Okay I only played those two. And it was like Hades. But I think the best thing to come out of this gameplay is… Well, the fact is every mission from all other story modes (including octo expansion) are pretty much the same in that they have an intended way to be beaten. Sure, for OE and S3 you have a choice of weapons, and there's probably unorthodox ways to finish them (including speedruns), but it's still organised around a specific way to deal with the levels. You go at one point and there you're done. And that's why I will never re-play the story modes I already finished. I know the ropes, so… Why? But here… The gameplay itself doesn't change much. It's an amalgamation of most Splatoon gameplay since now, Salmon Run, Ranked Match, Octo Expansion levels… But the way you APPROACH this gameplay is different and that's why every thing changes. Because you are now free to choose. You don't want a stage? Choose another one, the cost of a good chip and membux not being that punishing, you want a specific type of chip? Go for it! There is so much fun combos to do, I have fun at every run! They told us it was going to be replayable. And they haven't failed to give. Because when I want to replay a game, then I know it's good. Aside of multiplayer games and games made to be replayable (TBOI, Dishonored…), some of favourite games are Half-Life 2 (my favourite game in general), Hollow Knight and Mario & Luigi Bowser's Inside Story. Once you've finished exploring it all, well there is nothing else. But I still want to experience it again. And again. I have tens and even hundreds of hours on each of them. So yeah. If a game makes me want to replay it, I like it! And also… The final fight. The "phase 2" of the final fight. It was probably the most satisfying gameplay in all of Splatoon. Every path you took? Every path you didn't take? It was there. And you could experience it all together and finally finish your first run, empowered by it, in-game and outside. This was so good. I really wish we will get updates like more stages, bosses or even chips, because wow.

Secondly, the atmosphere. This point will be much shorter, but holy shit this game was incredible to be immersed into. The cold and sanitised atmosphere of the Spire? Amazing. Obvious Portal and liminal spaces vibes, but hey. And the music… Really the music makes a lot of it. The final fight music is absolutely incredible, one more time, and the credits theme is probably my favourite credits theme of every Splatoon game and DLC (that VIOLIN, that heckin' VIOLIN). I wouldn't be able to say which one of Octo Expansion and Side Order's atmospheres was my favourite. I guess I'm less sensitive to childhood memories and such but hey. Both DLC's atmospheres were incredible good.

Finally… The sore point of everything I guess, the story. I guess we expected more. Even myself, I expected something darker, deeper, more mysterious and esoteric… Have I been disappointed. No. I understand that some people were, but I am not. And frankly, I feel like I don't have to be. Like what do we really wished for? More octoling lore? Marina's past uncovered? Mature themes and dark atmosphere? I am just describing Octo Expansion. We didn't need Octo Expansion 2.0. Every theme that I've seen wished for? Octo Expansion tackled them, greatly even. So did we really need to do the same thing again? I feel like Splatoon 3 was the great conclusion of the other games' story modes, where all marine life finally united against the common enemy: mammals, the past of Earth's life coming back for its great revival. And it was a spectacular conclusion. And Side Order was Octo Expansion's conclusion. But it wasn't that bombastic, it was more of a calm conclusion, an epilogue of some sort. Marina wasn't in great danger or anything (well she was but less than we expected), we didn't need to expand the damsel in distress role for confirming Marina and Pearl's relation (which was pretty much hinted on greatly without it lmao), we already knew that. We didn't need some dramatic story about Marina's departure's effect on the one she was close to, like some people predicted for Acht. I think some fan comics explored this way better and Nintendo telling their own version would have been disappointing either for it or for the fan comics' versions! We didn't need more insights on Eight, because once again Octo Expansion ALREADY did this. Eight seems happy with their new name and identity, so why should we uncover more? They already won a lot with Octo Expansion and their sacrifices would have been dull if there were reveals on "who they really are".

Nah. Side Order, how I see it, is a story about fixing the damage made in the Octo Expansion. It's a story about recovery. About finally confirming your place in the world and accepting that everything will not be like you think it will. Acht is not there to expose Marina's errors, Acht is there to show how this recovery can work. She symbolises every octoling Marina left when she quit the army and ESPECIALLY every octoling she swore to help. And she's also there because it would have been less interesting to see an octoling we've never seen before, especially since she is an octoling we knew got Kamabo Co.'d! Every palette is someone we already know, an anchor to the world of Splatoon, and for Eight, an anchor to their memories, as the locker was their palette. As they know more and more people, they know more and more where their place in the world is. And the end of your first run? The start of the final boss phase 2? Yeah the music is Pearl, Marina and Acht's. But it is Eight's pulse that got everything back together. Their heart beating made the world beating again. They found freedom, now they found their place in the world. They're finally complete. Like you complete your palette with every chips at once. Octo Expansion final fight was their last fight for freedom. But I think this was their last fight for identity.

But outside of that, I think Order/Smollusk is more than that. More and more we advance through completing the palettes, we learn that Smollusk is the result of Marina's wish for order in her life (and her fellow octolings') and especially the other octolings developers dreams. And I think that's really important, because after that, we learn that why Smollusk still fights us is because it's… alone. And Acht seemingly understands that. You know why this is? Why it doesn't understand Marina's intentions by "betraying" it? Because Marina, as opposed to the other developers and Acht, found someone. She found her partner for life, the love of her life you could say, she found someone else that could offer her something great. And I think the other developers didn't find that companionship, so they had other goals with the Memverse, and Acht, left behind by Marina, felt this loneliness too, taking refuge in music, so that's why she understood what Smollusk felt. I think Splatoon story is a lot about isolation, solitude and loneliness. The (Inkadian) octolings were chased from the surface, living in the underground, isolated and forced into military life. When they risked survival, they stole the great zapfish and we sent then back into the dark. So they retaliated by stealing it again and also kidnapping Callie, separating Marie from the person she holds dearest (while Callie thought she could offer them company and finally uniting back the two people). Octo Expansion was also about isolation from the surface, for everyone involved and Tartar… Well the mammal (and adjacent) survivors don't really have it well, huh? Judd was made immortal, a great lonely situation for one of the last mammals, even if the professor give him Lil Judd for that (isolating the latter from self expression, oops!), Tartar wanted finally someone who could understand the knowledge he was bearing, and in his final instants was longing to return to the professor and for Grizz… We saw what happened in the logs! But this is not where it ends. The first final Splatfest was literally choosing between the Squid Sister, separating one from the other. And when the Splatocalypse happened, we thought it would be the same, that both option were going to be negative. A endless world of anomy where nothing makes sense against a cold and dystopic dictatorship. But we saw Chaos rather meant a world of differences where anyone can be what they want to be and still be reunited with people. So now we see what Order meant: reuniting people by putting them on equal terms. And at the end, that's what you and Smollusk agreed on! He'd be a difficult final boss and you'd be a formidable opponent for him! Splatfests weren't meant to be divisive or anything, it's just a fun way to see what do people choose in their life. So to face loneliness and meet new and fun people, what will you choose? Chaos or Order?

I guess I understand if it wasn't the story you wanted to see. But I liked it either way, as I also struggle with loneliness and finding my place in the world. And as I also like roguelites!

[cowardlykrow]

Stop light shenanigans

Extra:

[baking-bugs]

Stop -- Hammer time !

[kagooleo]

happy new years 2025! it's been nearly a whole year since I started posting about fluffyriceshipping here, and my art has changed a lot since then! what better way to start the new year than with some sweet potatoes with their partners 🍠🌅

[ingravinoveritas]

Earlier this year, a new blog was started here on Tumblr with the aim and intention of harassing a group of fans in the GO fandom. I previously made a post addressing this, as I was the initial target of this blog (whose original handle was a dupe of my own Tumblr handle).

I had hoped not to have a reason to revisit this particular subject, but given recent disturbing comments made by both this blog and its followers, and a post written by @nightgoodomens describing the situation from their perspective, I feel compelled to make a post of my own, to talk about what I have experienced and continue to experience at the hands of these individuals.

By now, some of you may be familiar with the blog in question. In my prior post, I did not mention this blog's name publicly, and I have no intention of doing so at this time, either. Yet I think it's important to be clear about what this blog's specific intentions were, which were made evident by its original creator on Twitter at the end of May:

It was only a few days after writing this tweet that the author did exactly this, and created this main blog. I feel that this has somehow become obscured over time, as given the negative response that this blog's initial posts engendered, the original creator apparently retired from the blog and gave the reins to someone else, and the blog's focus soon pivoted to defending Georgia and Anna. Prior to this, however, the blog began publishing Anons attacking me, including one that seemed to be threatening to doxx me:

What particularly perplexed me was seeing a gradual distortion of my own words and writing here on Tumblr, as well as people buying into it so readily. I also noticed one particular blog that became friendly with this main blog--they've changed handles a number of times, but at the time they were known as michaelsheendaily (then michaelsheensource, then thesheenantbergs). For months prior, they talked specifically about how awful the things I/others were saying about Georgia and Anna, and then seemingly joined forces with this main blog.

…Yet one year ago this very month, that same person (michaelsheendaily/thesheenantbergs) felt similarly to many of us and had sent me an Ask wanting to know if I thought Anna was being abusive to Michael. This Ask was sent from their (at the time, now deleted) main blog, but they helpfully DMed me from michaelsheendaily to make sure I had seen their question:

I answered this question (as I try to do with every Ask/Anon I get) straightforwardly and honestly, and firmly said "No" in response, as well as how serious it is to accuse someone of abuse, and that it is not up to any of us to try and break up a relationship, as Michael has people he can turn to if he needs to do so. I have also previously defended Georgia on my blog (and provided rationales and examples for why my perspective has gradually shifted over time), but it seems that the people harassing me have conveniently chosen to ignore all of this/have never looked at my blog beyond a cursory glance.

As this main blog continued its posting, and despite having Anons turned off, I began to receive a number of hateful Asks, which culminated with another blog suddenly coming into being about a month after these initial incidents. This blog claimed to be Michael Sheen (using a handle of his from Facebook), and published this despicably homophobic and noticeably un-Michael-like post:

The aforementioned main blog immediately drew attention to this post, and claimed that they had "proof" of this being the real Michael:

It soon became apparent that this blog was a fake, and despite its prior insistence that it could possibly be him, the main blog backtracked quickly as more people pointed out how obviously this was not Michael. Yet even the notion that someone would think this was acceptable--to pretend to be Michael, to (poorly) attempt an approximation of his writing style, all for the sake of attacking one person, and despite the fact that we know Michael already has a Tumblr that he hasn’t posted on in years--is just absurd beyond words.

But clearly this ill-conceived post inspired others, as only a week after this post appeared (and subsequently disappeared, along with the blog itself), I received an Ask from yet another recently-created blog of someone claiming to know Michael personally, saying that he would "destroy" me:

Which brings me to the present day, and how these themes have presented themselves yet again, in an even more unpleasant fashion.

Over the last four months, this main blog and its followers have continued to obsessively read my blog (despite how very easy it would be to simply block me) and screenshotted my posts in order to add their own vile commentary. I have not wanted to draw attention to any of this, but one particular instance has now made me change my mind.

I've recently talked on my blog about my upcoming trip to London, where I will be seeing David in Macbeth. A few days ago, it was brought to my attention that the main blog screenshotted one of my posts--which was a reblog of a video of David with Jodie Whittaker--along with my tags talking about the way David was sitting. One of the blog's followers commented this in response, and subsequently received a reply from the OP:

The "daggers" commenter currently runs several blogs dedicated to worshiping/defending Georgia and Anna (at least one of which is run in tandem with the original creator of the main blog). Numerous accusations have been levied at me and others from these blogs, one of the most outrageous of which is homophobia...yet this is their response to me simply saying David might not be 100% straight, and which eerily echoes the tone of the post from "Michael" three months ago. And while there are a lot of things about the last few months that have rankled me, nothing does so more than the hypocrisy I have witnessed, such as this.

The thing is, though, that when I saw these comments, all I could honestly think of was how sad I felt.

Because here I am, just days away from going on my trip--a trip I have been so anxiously awaiting, that is my first non-work trip in a very, very long time--and now the thought of, "Could someone try to attack me?" has crossed my mind. Yet my sadness is less for myself and more for the person who thinks it is acceptable to wish or even encourage violence against another human being. My sadness is that this person feels so unsafe or discontent in their own life--a feeling I know all too well--that their chosen course of action is to make someone else feel unsafe. To assuage their own sense of powerlessness by going after someone they perceive as having power.

My sadness is at these people being so sure that the celebrities they are a fan of would agree with them, yet needing/wanting those people to act in a way that aligns with who they want Michael and David to be, rather than who they actually are. I know that the Michael and David I became a fan of are two of the kindest, most intelligent, warmest men you could imagine, and that there is no part of me that wants or needs them to scream at or dislike the same people I do for the sake of my own self-serving purposes.

To that end, I have also been distressed by the apparent frenzy that was recently generated in the form of a "rallying cry" against myself and others in this group of fans facing ongoing harassment. But what I've tended to see as a response to said frenzy is some variation of, "People are saying these terrible things. I haven't actually seen any of these posts/comments, but it must be terrible, so I'll block this person/people." I am no stranger to fandom chatter/gossip, but every time I hear something, my first impulse is always to find the receipts. To learn more information what is being claimed so that I can make up my own mind. And that is the very same ethos I have espoused on my blog for years, because I would much rather people think for themselves than "fall in line" because they are being told to do so/threatened with being "cancelled" if they don't.

So if you want to find out something about my opinions or takes, it is all here on my blog. Everything going back five years since I joined the GO fandom, tagged and catalogued. I have not privated anything or deleted anything, nor do I have multiple blogs or side blogs--just this one. And if after reading what I actually have to say you still want to block me, you are certainly welcome to do so. I would just much rather you block me because of the truth, not because of someone else's personal vendetta and agenda.

To say that dealing with all of this for months on end has been surreal and stressful is a profound understatement. Especially because I have never once engaged with this blog, never replied to any posts of theirs, nor sent them an Anon or made threats of any kind (despite receiving numerous threats myself). Nor have I replied to the multiple incendiary Asks and DMs I have repeatedly received from the blog's original creator.

Again, I have not wanted to draw any further attention to these people, but the staggering awfulness of the most recent comments finally made me feel that enough is enough. I truly shudder to think what the response would be if someone made a similarly threatening comment toward these individuals...yet it's somehow completely fine to say these things about me. To make me and others into the "villain" that you need us to be to justify saying these heinous things in the first place. And while these individuals and anyone else are free to dislike me and to express their dislike in a public forum to their heart's content, that freedom of expression ends where my right to not feel that my personal safety is in jeopardy begins. A line that should never have been crossed has been crossed, and we as a fandom and as human beings are much the worse off for it.

No one should ever have to feel this way. Not even these people. And by talking about all of this and bringing these incidents into the light, my hope is that no one else ever will.

[fumifooms]

What if we were both magic prodigies and it otherized us in different ways and we devoted ourselves to protecting a family member who has general other goals & priorities. What if we both did self-sacrifical devotion in opposite ways.

What if we were dark mirrors of each other and where I've grown overcontrolling you've grown complacent. What if, bought as a servant into a pretty loving home, ownership and control is what love looks like to me, and to you neglected and lonely growing up, love is gratefully taking any scraps of it you’re lent.

By belonging to someone, even if she comes back injured or fails at finding Delgal, she feels like she belongs and is cherished, by owning someone he feels safe in them not leaving him.

She’s what’s tethering him do you see… And he’s the only thing giving her direction and purpose in her state. She needs a compass and he needs a support.

They’re both so out of it 😭 It’s the weirdly intense and unearned mutual trust and reliance on each other?? They’re each other’s weird little comfort codependent teddy bear. Or at least they were headed towards that before SHE DIED THEN HE DIED THEN THEY BOTH FORGOT ABOUT EACH OTHER AND NEVER MET EVER AGAIN. Though she’s also the guard attack hound keeping him safe… And vice versa he heals her and can rewrite her very being with just one wave of his hand. They’re both so so mentally and physically vulnerable both but they cling onto each other. They can’t perceive things accurately but despite it all someway somehow they stumble into something closer to resembling companionship just before they both die. Falin is just that kind and Thistle is just that lonely. Overworked.

We both haven’t lived for ourselves in a very long time, haven’t we.

They both have a similar devotion to the people they love but again the difference is that Thistle starts overtsepping while Falin is self-effacing. The other difference between them is that people care about Falin <3 People have given up on Thistle long ago, and he has given people reasons to, while people refuse to give up on Falin. Yaad has a mini arc about it dw about it it’s ok he’s not all alone in the end 😭😭 He reached out for Marcille’s hand but they already all wanted to help him, they just had to be given the chance to, Yaad just had to be given the chance to, it’s okay I’m okay

Hey what if we learned to get in touch with our own identity and the world around us and living in the present again through being in the worst codependent situationship ever.

Falin and Thistle sitting in a tree, sucking on flowers together because they’re h-u-n-g-r-y 💕💕💕

I bet he’s only ever thought of flowers as useless ornaments. Weak weeds. But she shows him they’re tasty and useful and good and pretty in their own right too and deserve existing without proving their worth and waaa <33 Thistles…... Did you know thistles taste sweet if you remove the thorns and eat them?

"Even as a chimera, her kind nature remains" you can’t suppress her in the way that matters. You can’t soothe him in the way that matters. It’s doomed. You’re doomed. It’s all doomed. Save me.

[sleepymim]

Ok so this is going to be my attempt to put all of my thoughts about Silco and Vander and their relationship and how they might achieve reconciliation into one coherent post because I cannot! stop! thinking about them!

As we see in s2e7, reconciliation between them is definitely possible. However, I think it definitely wasn't easy, and it wasn't motivated by a single event like Silco finding Vander's letter or Vi dying. I think a million little things needed to perfectly align for them to find back to one another. As others have already said, and I agree with this, I think the "happy" timeline is a statistical anomaly for them.

So what was needed for them to find back to each other? And like, disclaimer that this is obviously only my own interpretation of events.

First of all, I think one of the prerequisites for reconciliation is that Silco doesn't start working with Singed and doesn't get into Shimmer, which is supported by his eye having healed normally in the alternate timeline.

I also think that Vander's letter could only ever be a starting point for their reconciliation, something that would get them in the same room to talk again. After that, I think they'd still need a long, long time to get back to how things were.

Vi's death imo has absolutely nothing to do with whether they reconcile or not, because in the alternate timeline she dies during what would be Act 1. Silco is already past the point of no retunr here, he doesn't give a shit about Vi or the other kids, he's deep into his Shimmer business. He's literally planning to kill all the kids in episode 3. He would not give a fuck if Vi died in that explosion. If Silco and Vander are to reconcile, it needs to happen pretty soon after the betrayal.

But I think the most important aspects for their reconciliation are violence and ideology.

Obviously the actual betrayal is horrifically violent and traumatizing. Vander actively chose to drown Silco which is just like, such a brutal way to die. He does this because he puts the blame for the bridge fight escalating on Silco. This is unjustified, and the show wants us to know that Vander was in the wrong here. Vander himself admits in s1e3 that he has regretted what he did to Silco since it happened. In general episode 3 in my opinion very clearly communicates that Vander overreacted and that what Siclo did (throwing the first molotov) does not justify Vander's reaction (violent murder).

However! Vander also clearly still thinks Silco is dangerous and despite regretting how he reacted still puts some form of blame on Silco.

In the apology letter, he says the blood is on both their hands. The letter in general is shit considering the weight of what Vander did, and what it shows is that even though Vander feels bad about what he did, he does still put the blame for the bridge fight on Silco.

In act 1, Vander also says there are worse things than enforcers in the Undercity while looking at his brace that covers the scar Silco gave him while escaping. This is, presumably, before he knows Siloc has been funding Shimmer development and getting into human experimentation. He thinks Silco is worse than enforcers based on whatever happened between them in past. With s2, this is explicitly Silco's escalation on the bridge.

So obviously despite the time that has passed and the fact that Vander can admit what he did was unjustified, he does still believe Silco is dangerous based on their differing ideology. Benzo, too, obviously still holds a grudge against Silco for what happened.

So really the crux is that even though Vander feels sorry, he does not change his stance on non-violence being the right way forward for the people of Zaun, and thus he can never truly forgive Silco for what he did on the bridge - he still believes that Silco is responsible and that his own way is the right way.

I think as long as Vander keeps his ideological stance, reconciliation between them isn't possible. From both sides, because Vander thinks Silco's ideals are dangerous, and from Silco's side because he thinks Vander is a coward and a sellout.

Then let's look at Silco's side of things a little bit.

I think there's two aspects to his forgiveness/reconciliation with Vander: the violence and the ideology.

Canon pretty much tells us that Silco is willing and able to forgive the violence Vander inflicted on him. We see this not only in the alternate timeline, where they're obviously close again, but I think s1e3 tells us the same. Silco kidnaps Vander, but still offers him the chance to join him in the fight against Piltover again. I don't want to talk here about Silco's methods at this point in time, but he's obviously willing to put the murder attempt behind them IF Vander is willing to switch to his side again. He even says that his hatred for Vander passed with time. I think this implies that, somehow, eventually, with time, in a nicer timeline Silco could really forgive Vander for trying to kill him.

However, and I think this is the much bigger issue for them, there's still the matter of ideology. Vander betraying their shared goals, turning towards a pacifist, more passive approach to revolution and ultimately striking a deal with Grayson is what really drives the wedge between them.

This is what Silco despises Vander for: For turning his back on violence. Silco encourages Vander's violent tendencies, he wants him to become the person he used to be again, wants him to embrace that part of himself again. I think this supports the assumption that Silco would forgive the violence inflicted against him much easier than Vander abandoning their shared dream. Until the end, he wants Vander to embrace that violence again.

And a Vander who is committed to non-violence is a Vander who stands in the way of Silco's goal of a free Zaun. So as long as Vander stays firm on his ideological stance, Silco is always eventually going to get rid of him. There is no way for them to find back to one another if they remain on opposite sides of the struggle they used to fight together.

This is, I think, the crux of my interpretation of them:

Reconciliation doesn't only depend on Silco coming back to Vander and forgiving him for the violence Vander inflicted upon him. It also depends on Vander coming back to Silco, internalizing that the bridge figth was not Silco's fault, and being willing to compromise his non-violent ideology and take action again for their shared dream.

It's about the two of them coming back to each other.

[suddencolds]

Atypical Occurrence [2/?]

hello!! 10 drafts and (exactly) 3 months later, I am finally back with part 2 of Atypical Occurrence 😭 You can read part 1 here!

This chapter is a little personal to me. I don't tend to linger on writing scenes like this (in part because they are a little difficult for me), so it took awhile to hammer out the dynamic I wanted. That said, here it is at long last!!

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves. Here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! :)

—

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit, and certain revelations)

—

There’s a grocery store that’s a ten minute drive from Vincent’s apartment. Yves picks out ingredients for chicken soup, two different kinds of cold and flu medicine, a new pack of cough drops, a few boxes of tissues, a small thermometer. All in all, it’s less than a thirty minute excursion—something he’s done many times before in uni, where everyone seemed to catch something in the middle of exam season, and a house visit was just a short walk away.

Chicken noodle soup isn’t difficult. He’s made it a hundred times—he’s experimented with a dozen different variations of it. He puts the groceries in the fridge, washes the vegetables, and gets to work.

While the soup cooks, he half watches it, half busies himself with cleaning the apartment—loading up the dishwasher and hand washing everything that doesn’t fit, stocking the fridge and the medicine cabinet with the groceries he’s gotten, vacuuming the floors with a vacuum cleaner he finds tucked behind the fridge.

Then he shreds the chicken, chops a round of fresh vegetables to add to the broth, and waits.

 It’s comfortably quiet. Outside, rain drums steadily on the windowpane. It shows no signs of stopping soon. It’s dark enough outside—the sun fully set, the clouds heavy overhead—that the lit interior of the apartment kitchen feels like a warm reprieve.

Yves likes cooking. He doesn’t actively enjoy doing chores, but there’s something comforting to how mindless they are. It’s an appreciated distraction. 

The rain outside is loud enough that he doesn’t hear the footsteps, approaching, until Vincent clears his throat from behind him.

Yves jumps.

“You’re up,” he says, spinning on his heels to face him. Vincent looks a little worse for the wear—his hair a little messy, his shirt slightly rumpled from sleep, his glasses perched haphazardly in place.

Yves watches him take everything in—the pot on the stove, the chopping board set out on the counter, the empty paper bags from the grocery run flattened and stacked into neat rectangles.

“And you’re still here,” Vincent says.

“I made soup,” Yves says, by way of explanation. “It’s chicken noodle. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for trying something new.” He reaches over to lift the lid off of the pot of soup. Steam wafts up from it, carrying with it the faint scent of the aromatics he’d added—thyme, bay leaf, garlic, peppercorns. “Actually, you picked a good time to wake up. I just added in the noodles, so it’s almost done.”

Vincent eyes the pot, his expression unreadable. “Did you leave to get groceries?”

“Earlier, yeah. You weren’t kidding about your fridge being empty.”

Vincent frowns. “I can pay you back. Did you keep the receipt?”

In truth, the price of the groceries is the last thing on Yves’s mind right now. He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It must have taken a long time.”

“Soup is pretty forgiving. You just toss everything into a pot of boiling water and wait. It’s barely any work at all.”

Vincent stares at him for a moment longer. Then he says: “That’s an oversimplification.”

“Not really. Besides, I enjoy cooking,” Yves says. “Thanks for letting me use your kitchen—though, technically, I guess I’m asking forgiveness instead of permission. I’ll clean everything up, by the way.” He’s done dishes along the way, so there isn’t really much to do besides rinse off whatever’s left, load up the dishwasher, and store whatever’s left of the soup in the fridge.

“You don’t have to,” Vincent says, before turning into his elbow with a few harsh, grating coughs. “I can clean up. It’s my apartment.”

“If you think I’m letting you do household chores while you have a fever—”

“It’s not that high,” Vincent interrupts, perhaps a little stubbornly. Yves lets out a disbelieving laugh. He leans over the counter, shifts his weight forwards on his feet to press the back of his hand to Vincent’s forehead.

It’s concerningly hot, still, which isn’t a surprise. Though perhaps the way Vincent blinks, a little tiredly, and leans forward into Yves’s hand is a giveaway on its own.

“It’s definitely over a hundred,” Yves says, withdrawing his hand. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll have you know that I bought a thermometer.”

For a moment, Vincent looks surprised. Then he sighs. “That was an unnecessary purchase.”

“Are you admitting that I’m right?”

Vincent just frowns at him, which—Yves notes—isn’t exactly a denial. “Fever or not, there’s not much I can do except sleep it off.”

“You can go back to sleep after you’ve had something to eat,” Yves says. “What was it that you said? That you haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday?”

“...You won’t leave unless I eat, then,” Vincent says. He says it evenly enough that it barely registers as a question.

Yves smiles at him. It’s not a wrong conclusion. “Exactly,” he says.

—

In between the hallway and Vincent’s kitchen is a small dining area, furnished with a high table and two high chairs. Yves waits until the noodles are cooked just enough. Then he turns off the stove, unrolls a placemat to lay out on the dining table, and carries the pot over.

He gets everything he needs: two bowls, two spoons, some of the fresh parsley he’d chopped earlier, for garnish—and lays it all out.

“I can help,” Vincent says, for maybe the third time. 

He’s seated on one of the chairs, which Yves had pointedly pulled out for him, looking like he’s perhaps a few seconds away from getting out of his seat and doing everything himself. It’s just like Vincent, Yves thinks, to offer to help—even at work, aside from all the work he takes on, it feels like he’s always finding some way or other to be useful. 

Yves says, “When you’re not running a fever, you can ask me again.”

When everything is laid out, he pulls up a chair for himself, so he can sit across from Vincent—who is still perched on his seat, though he looks a little less like he wants to get out of it. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” Yves says.

Vincent blinks at him. “It would have been rude to get started on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Yves says. “I made it for you.”

He takes a bite. The soup tastes fine. That is, it tastes the same as every other time he’s made it—light and comforting. It’s just one of those recipes Yves thinks he can make in his sleep. Nothing about it is particularly inventive. Still, he hasn’t cooked for Vincent before—not formally, at least, other than the dish he’d bought to Joel’s potluck—so it’s a little nerve-wracking to watch Vincent take a bite. 

It’s worse, still, to watch his eyes widen by a fraction. For a moment, Yves wonders if he’s done something wrong—if perhaps, it isn’t to Vincent’s taste, after all. He sets his spoon down. “Is it okay?”

“It’s really good,” Vincent says. “I can see why Mikhail said what he said.” 

“What?”

“That your cooking was half the reason why he roomed with you.”

Yves laughs. “So does that mean you’ll forgive me for trespassing?” 

Vincent smiles back at him. “I’ll consider it.” Now, with his glasses off, Yves can see his eyes a little more clearly—they’re slightly red-rimmed, his eyelashes long and dark, his cheeks flushed brighter with fever. There’s a little crease at the edge of his eyes which shows up when he smiles.

Yves is caught off guard, for a moment. The tightness in his chest is nothing, he tells himself. Certainly not a crush that he shouldn’t be allowed to have. 

A crush. That’s new, too. It’s ironic, considering the terms of their fake relationship. He thinks it’s probably supposed to make him better at this—what better way to feign romantic interest than to not have his feelings be so fake, after all?—but instead, he finds himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words, finds himself stumbling over the most basic of pleasantries. 

Of course, he has no intention of acting on his feelings. Vincent is attractive, yes—but he’s also considerate, and attentive, and hardworking enough to go early and stay late, to take on work he doesn’t get credit for. He’s thoughtful enough to entertain Yves’s friends, to have lunch with Yves’s siblings, to fly all the way to France to meet Yves’s family.

But all of that is inconsequential. None of it is going to amount to anything, because Yves knows how to keep his distance. Because Yves needs this—the perks of their fake relationship—more than he needs to indulge in any inconvenient crush. Because he knows enough to know how things would turn out if he were to say something.

That’s the thing. Vincent isn’t cruel. It’s for that reason, precisely, that Yves knows that he’d drop this arrangement immediately if he knew. Vincent would never string him along knowingly, and that’s what makes this so much worse—Yves has gone and gotten himself stupidly attached. 

Now that they’re sitting across from each other, in Vincent’s apartment, having dinner, Yves thinks—a little selfishly, perhaps—that this is the best that he can ask for. It is all that he can ask for. Far better to keep up the pretense entirely, far better to pretend that this is all just for show. When they put an end to this arrangement—someday, inevitably—Yves will thank Vincent for everything, and then they’ll go their separate ways. He already knows how it will go. There is no need to complicate things.

It’s quiet, for some time. Yves finishes his bowl first, heads over to the sink to rinse it off, and positions it neatly in the lowest compartment of the dishwasher. When he gets back, Vincent is spooning more soup into his bowl. Yves allows himself to feel a little relieved to see that he has an appetite.

“It’s been awhile,” Vincent says, after some time. “Since anyone’s done this for me.”

“Made you chicken soup?” Yves says, a little puzzled. “If you want the recipe, I can give it to you. I make it all the time.”

“No,” Vincent says. His expression is unparseable. “Just— since anyone’s looked after me, in general.”

“Oh.” Yves finds his mind is spinning. “How long have you been living alone?”

“Since university. I had suitemates, in my second year. Then I got an apartment of my own.”

“Because you like the privacy?”

“It was just simplest.”

Yves thinks back to his years, rooming with Mikhail—the conversations they’d have to have to figure out groceries, to alternate cooking dinner and doing dishes, to manage transportation. He has a studio apartment now, too, but he’s over at his neighbors’ house frequently enough, or otherwise at home with Leon and Victoire for dinner, so it doesn’t really get lonely.

“You have a pretty spacious kitchen,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind that I used your pots and pans. I’ll wash them, I swear.”

Vincent takes in a small, sharp breath. Yves looks up just in time to see him twist away from the table, tenting his hands over his nose and mouth.

“hhIHh’IIKTS-HHuhh-!”

“Bless you!” Yves exclaims. Judging by the way Vincent keeps his hands raised over his face, he assumes that there are going to be more. He rises from his seat, heads back into the kitchen in search for—ah. Six boxes of tissue boxes, stacked neatly into a block. He tears off the thin plastic film around them, removes a box from the pile, and pulls off the tab.

When he gets back to the dining table, Vincent is ducking into steepled hands with another—

“hhih’GKKT-SHHh-uuUh! hh’DDZSChh-HHuh! snf-Snf-! hhh… Hh… hh-HH-hh’yIIDDzsSHH-hHUH-!!”

The sneezes seem to scrape painfully against his throat, for the way he winces in their aftermath. He twists away from Yves to cough lightly, after, into his shoulder, his eyes watering. “Bless you!” Yves pushes the tissue box towards him. “Here.”

Vincent takes a tissue from the box, blows his nose quietly. When he emerges, lowering the tissue from his face, his eyes are a little watery. He eyes the tissue box. “Did you buy these earlier, too?”

“I did,” Yves says. “I picked up some medicine, too. I didn’t know what flavor you wanted, so I got a couple different kinds. And some other stuff—your fridge was getting pretty empty, by the way—in case you needed it.”

Vincent lifts his head to study him, as if there’s something he’s trying to understand. Finally, he says, “Do you do this for all of your friends?”

“What?”

Vincent frowns, as if the subject matter should be obvious. “Cook for them. Get groceries. Clean their apartment.”

“Sometimes,” Yves says. He’s certainly no stranger to stopping by to help—sometimes with homemade soup, or tea packed tightly in a thermos, or something else. Then again, that was easier to do back in uni, when everyone lived within a twenty minute radius. “It depends on what they need.”

“So this is just a Yves thing.”

“What? Showing consideration for my friends?” 

“Showing consideration is one thing,” Vincent answers. “You could have left after dropping off the files. You would still have been showing your consideration.”

“I guess that’s true. But at that point, I was already here,” Yves says, with a shrug. “It seemed logical to check up on you.”

“Well, now you’ve checked up on me,” Vincent says. “So you can go.”

Yves supposes this is true. 

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

Vincent says, “It’s late. I assume you have things to get home to.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Yves says.

Vincent says nothing to that.

But Yves gets the message, even without him saying it. If Vincent is the type of person who prefers to be alone when sick, Yves won’t take it personally. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome—arguably, he’s already stayed for much longer than Vincent had invited him to.

There’s leftover soup in the fridge—enough to last Vincent a couple days, hopefully through the worst of this—and Vincent’s apartment is reasonably well-stocked now. He has something to take if his fever gets any higher; he has all the basic supplies Yves could think of off the top of his head.

And Vincent is a lot of things, but he isn’t irresponsible. He’s shown himself to be self-sufficient more times than Yves can count. There’s no reason why Yves should have to stay and look after him for any longer—no reason, perhaps, aside from the fact that seeing Vincent ill has left him more worried than he’d like to admit.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go. But at least let me clean up first.”

He does dishes, leaves the cutting boards and the pot out to dry on the drying rack, transfers the soup to smaller glass containers to store it in the fridge. He returns the vacuum cleaner to the storage closet he found it in. Then, as promised, he gathers his things—not much, just his phone and his car keys—and heads toward the front door.

Vincent follows him to the door, presumably to lock it after he leaves. 

Yves steps outside, lingers for just a moment on the doorstep. The car is parked close enough that he hadn’t bothered to grab his umbrella, but now it’s dark out, and it’s raining just as hard. 

“I left new cough drops on the kitchen countertop,” Yves says, biding his time under the overhang until he inevitably has to get rained on. “The medicine’s in your bathroom, behind the mirror, with the thermometer. Everything else is either on the counter or in the fridge. Don’t come back to work until your fever’s completely—”

It happens in a moment: Vincent stumbles. Yves is looking at him, which means he sees the exact moment when it happens. Yves doesn’t think, just reacts—he reaches out to grab his arm to keep him from falling entirely. 

“Woah,” he says, steadying him. “Are you—”

Vincent’s hand is concerningly warm, even through the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, he leans into Yves’s touch, though this seems less intentional as it is inevitable. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes tightly shut, his shoulders rising and falling not as soundlessly as usual.

Yves swallows past the alarm he feels percolating in his chest. Had he been about to pass out? Just how high is his fever right now? “Vincent—”

“Sorry,” Vincent manages, through gritted teeth. He makes an effort to regain his balance, to move away. He sways on his feet, and Yves feels the panic in his chest rise anew. 

He reaches up and slings an arm around his waist. “Hey,” he says, trying for reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

Vincent doesn’t say anything, to that. He just stands there, perfectly still, his eyebrows drawn together, his shoulders a little stiff under Yves’s touch. 

Without letting go of him, Yves shuts the front door gingerly behind him, toes his shoes off at the door again. “I think it would be best if you laid down,” he says. “Do you think you can walk?”

Vincent nods, slowly. Yves tracks the bob of his throat as he swallows. 

“Sorry,” Vincent says, again. “I… didn’t expect it to be an issue.”

He’s frowning, hard, as if he’s upset with himself, though Yves can’t quite piece apart why he’d have reason to be. “Hey, no apologizing,” Yves says. “Save your energy for walking.”

Vincent seems to understand that their current arrangement will not change until he’s in bed, so he lets Yves steer him towards the bedroom. It’s a short walk—down the hallway and then off to the left—but Yves spends half of it distracted by how warm Vincent is. Like this, he practically radiates heat.

It’s not until Vincent is settled on his bed, the blankets pulled loosely over him, that Yves allows himself to let go.

Truthfully, the last thing he wants to do right now is leave. But it isn’t about what he wants, and perhaps Vincent would sleep better if he did.

“Are you warm enough?” Yves asks. The words feel heavy on his tongue.

A nod. 

“Do you need me to get you anything else?”

Vincent shakes his head.

“Okay,” Yves says. “I guess I shouldn’t overstay my welcome, then.”

Vincent will be fine, he tells himself. At the end of the day, they are only coworkers, and Vincent is one of the most independent people he knows. If Vincent doesn’t want him here, the best Yves can do is comply with his wishes. He straightens. “Text me if you need anything, I mean it.”

He lets go of the blanket, rises to his feet. Only, then—

There’s a hand on his sleeve, tugging.

Yves goes very still.

When Vincent notices what he’s done, alarm flashes through his expression, and he pulls his hand away as if he’s burned. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, again. And just like that, he’s back to how he always is—his expression perfectly, carefully neutral, in a way that can only be constructed. “I’m sorry.” But Yves doesn’t forget what he’s seen. “You can go.”

Yves’s heart aches. He settles back at the edge of the bed, reaches out a hand, settles it gently at the edge of Vincent’s forehead. At the physical contact, Vincent’s breath catches.

And for a second, Yves wonders if he’s made a mistake—if maybe Vincent doesn’t want to be touched, right now. If he’s misread the situation; if Vincent wants him to go, after all. He opens his mouth to apologize.

But then Vincent shuts his eyes. The tenseness to his expression eases, almost imperceptibly, his eyebrows unfurrowing. Oh, Yves realizes. His head must hurt—Yves suspected as much—but if he’s not mistaken, the expression on Vincent’s face right now is…

Relief. Cautiously, Yves traces his fingertips lightly over the edge of Vincent’s temple, combs them slowly through his hair. Vincent’s eyes stay shut, but the furrow to his eyebrows loosens, and his jaw unclenches, just a bit. The change is minute, almost imperceptible. If Yves weren’t paying close attention, he might’ve missed it.

As if he could pay attention to anything else, right now.

Tentatively, Yves cards his fingers through Vincent’s hair, traces slow circles into his scalp, slowly, carefully.  He does it until the heartbeat he feels thrumming under his fingertips—quick and erratic—slows. Until Vincent’s breathing evens out, until the hurt in his expression dulls. Until the tension in his shoulders eases.

By the time he finally withdraws his hand, Vincent is fast asleep. Yves fetches a new glass of water for his nightstand, changes out the plastic bag lining the trash can, and lines the cough drops and medicine up at the edge of Vincent’s desk. He flips through folder 2-A, assessing.

Then he heads back out to his car to get his laptop, and gets to work.

—

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

But when he wakes at Vincent’s desk, it’s to an unpleasant ache in his neck that spreads laterally into his shoulders—probably from sleeping with his head pillowed awkwardly against his arms. He lifts his head. 

Behind him, there’s a weak, uncertain breath, and then the sort of cough that makes Yves’s chest hurt in sympathy. It sounds wrong, somehow—too quiet, for its proximity. Muffled.

It’s dark inside, aside from the faint glow of Vincent’s digital alarm clock, the pale green digits cutting into the black. He hears the rustling of blankets, followed by another short, painful intake of breath.

The sneeze that follows is stifled into something. Even stifled, it sounds uncharacteristically harsh—all force, pinched off into a short, muffled outburst which sounds barely relieving, at best.

“hH’ih’iNNGKkk-t!”

Yves blinks. Then he leans over the desk to flick on the lamp. Dull golden light suffuses the desk, bright enough to cast Vincent in form and graying color. 

“Are you okay?”

At the light, Vincent’s eyes widen. He looks—stricken, somehow. Then his expression shutters, and he frowns. “Did I—” he stops to cough again into his fist. It sounds as though each breath he’s taking in is an effort of its own, shallow and unsatisfying. When he speaks again, his voice sounds noticeably hoarser. “—Did I wake you?”

Yves opens his mouth to respond. Before he can think up a convincing excuse, Vincent shakes his head dejectedly, as if he already knows the answer.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was - cough, cough - tryidg to be quiet.”

Quiet. As to not wake Yves, presumably. The revelation causes an ache to settle somewhere deep inside of him, heavy and inexorable. Yves is more than certain that this flu is already miserable enough on its own, even without the added challenge of having to be quiet about it. He wants to say, do you really think that’s what matters to me? He wants to ask, how long have you been up dealing with this on your own?

“You don’t have to be quiet,” is all he manages, instead.  It’s a miracle that his voice manages to come out as evenly as it does.

Vincent looks like he’s about to say something. But before he has a chance to, he twists away to cough harshly into his shoulder. Now that he doesn’t make an attempt to muffle the coughing fit, Yves can hear just how harsh it sounds. 

It’s the kind of coughing fit that just sounds exhausting—forceful enough to leave tears brimming at the edges of his eyelashes, his breaths coming in shallowly. 

“Can I get you anything?” Yves asks, when Vincent is done coughing.

Vincent just looks back at him, unmoving. In the dim light of the desk lamp, he looks perhaps more exhausted than Yves has ever seen him—really, he looks as though he hasn’t slept at all. He’s seated with his back against the headboard with a blanket pulled around his shoulders. One of his hands is clenched loosely around it, pinning the corners in place. 

“Tea?” Yves offers, because it’s better than saying nothing. “Water, cough drops. A cold compress?” Vincent doesn’t say anything, but Yves thinks, a little helplessly, that there must be something he can do. “Extra blankets? Tissues? Ibuprofen?”

“Water… would be nice,” Vincent says, as if it takes a lot out of him to admit it. Yves blinks, surprised—he had half expected no answer at all. At Yves’s split second of hesitation, Vincent’s frown deepens, his grip around the blankets tightening slightly. “...If it’s not too much trouble.”

Yves has never gotten out of his seat faster. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” he swipes the empty glass from the nightstand and heads out into the hallway.

It’s dark. There aren’t many windows in the hallway to let in light from outside, but once he gets to the dining room, it gets easier to see. Judging by how dark it is outside, there are probably a few hours left until sunrise. It’s still early, then. Early enough that it’s quiet, around them—no traffic out on the streets, save for the occasional car, headed to who-knows-where; no neighbors going about their early morning routines; just the steady trickle of rain on the windowsill. Yves rinses the cup out in the sink, shakes it dry, and fills it again.

When he makes it back to the bedroom, it’s unusually quiet. Vincent is still sitting at the edge of his bed, looking like he hasn’t moved at all since Yves left the room.

Yves crosses the room to hand him the glass. Vincent blinks up at him, a little blearily.

“I got you water,” Yves says, unnecessarily.

Vincent takes the glass from him with both hands, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to hold it with just one. Yves looks away as he drinks.  

When Vincent lowers the glass at last, Yves takes it from him and sets it back into place onto the bedside table. He straightens, turns to face Vincent again. “Any better now?”

Vincent nods. It’s quiet, for a moment. Outside, the rain has nearly stopped—the room is soundless, aside from the thin whirring of the air conditioning. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.” 

Yves hums. “To be honest, I didn’t either.” He stifles a yawn into one hand—he’s still a little tired. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You must be tired,” Vincent frowns, looking him over. “You came right from a full day of work to check on me. Does your neck hurt?” 

“What?”

Vincent inclines his head towards his desk. “I’ve fallen asleep there before. It’s not very comfortable.”

Yves thinks he shouldn’t be surprised, at this point, that Vincent has picked up on something so subtle. “It’s not that bad,” he says, reaching up with a hand to massage his neck. “My neck would probably be sorer if I’d slept through the whole night. I should thank you for waking me.”

“You could’ve taken the couch instead,” Vincent says, a little disapprovingly. “It would probably have been wiser.”

“I wanted to be here so I could keep an eye on you,” Yves says, because it’s true. “Besides, you sat in a chair while I slept in France. That can’t have been comfortable either.”

“It’s not just about that. You—” Vincent raises a hand up to his face, ducks into his wrist for a sudden: “hh-! hhiH’GKT-sSHuh! snf-!” He sniffles, then presses the wrist closer to his face, his expression shuttering. “Hh…  hh’IIDDZshH’Uhh-!” 

“Bless you!” Yves says, startled.

Vincent blinks, a little teary-eyed, turning over his shoulder to muffle a few harsh coughs into his wrist. “You shouldn’t have slept so close to me. I really don’t want you to catch this.”

He’s frowning, as if it really is a big deal. As if even now, even shivering and feverish, it’s somehow Yves that he’s more worried about right now.

Yves isn’t particularly concerned about that—he has no shortage of  sick time to take off of work, in any case. If he does manage to catch this from Vincent, he’ll just stock up on essentials before the worst of it hits. It would be nothing he hasn’t done before. Still, Vincent looks so—well, so tornby the mere possibility of it that Yves wants to say something to comfort him.

“How about this?” he says. “If you’re so worried about it, you can buy me cough drops next time I come down with something, deal? Then we’ll be even.”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s a terrible deal for you.”

“I’ll get sick at some point in my life, anyways,” Yves says, with a shrug. “If this means I get free cough drops out of it, I’d say it’s a win.”

He moves the desk chair over so he can sit down at the edge of Vincent’s bed. Vincent watches him, uncertain. He looks like he’s resisting the urge to say something—to tell Yves to move further away, probably.

“Relax,” Yves says, reflexively. “It’ll be fine, seriously. I know what I signed up for.” 

He leans forward, presses the back of his hand against Vincent’s forehead. Vincent closes his eyes. A slight tremor passes through his shoulders at the contact, but aside from that, he stays perfectly still.

“Your fever’s worse than before,” Yves says, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s not.” Vincent’s eyes are still shut. “The temperature is just higher because it’s night time.”

The suggestion is so far from comforting that Yves almost laughs. “You know,” he says, “that’s not very reassuring.” The blanket around Vincent’s shoulders starts to slip, so Yves reaches over and snags an edge of it, fluffs the whole thing outwards to lay it neatly around Vincent’s shoulders, like a cloak. Secures it with a loose knot. “Are you feeling any better than before?”

Vincent does open his eyes, now. He looks as though he’s trying hard to figure out how acceptably he can lie. “I…”

“You can be honest.”

Vincent’s jaw clenches. He reaches up with one hand, his fingers curling around the blanket Yves set down around him.

“My head feels heavy,” he says. He screws his eyes shut, his eyebrows furrowing. “And my chest hurts.” He lets out a short, frustrated breath, as if every sentence is a new and difficult admission. “I’m… not used to getting sick like this.”

Yves’s hands still. “Like what?”

“In any way that would necessitate taking time off from work,” Vincent says, looking away. The discomfort sits, plainly and indisputably, in the way he holds himself—his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched—everything a little too tense, despite his exhaustion.

Yves stares at him for a moment, considering. In the end, it’s the small, impulsive thought that wins out.

He takes a seat at the edge of the bed, next to Vincent. The mattress dips under his weight. 

Vincent has always been taller than him, but sitting down like this, they nearly see eye to eye. It’s a risk, of course, to offer this. He and Vincent haven’t been physically intimate outside of the times where they’ve had to prove their relationship to an audience. But when he thinks back to how Vincent reacted to Yves feeling his forehead, or Yves carding his hands through his hair—if he hasn’t misread, it almost feels like—

Yves opens his arms out in offering, tries on a smile. “I’ve been told I give good hugs. Good enough to cure all ailments, obviously.”

For a moment, Vincent stays perfectly still. Yves has five seconds to overthink all of his actions over the past twenty four hours. 

Then Vincent inches closer, ever so slightly, to lean his head on Yves’s shoulder.

Yves curls his arms around him. There’s the slightest hitch in Vincent’s breath, at the contact. Then the stiffness seeps out of his shoulders, and he presses a little closer—as if he’s allowed himself permission, at last, to let go.

His whole body is concerningly warm. “You’re burning up,” Yves says, softly. He reaches up with one hand to run his fingers through Vincent’s hair.

“...I figured,” Vincent says. The next breath he takes comes in a little shakily. “Whoever gave you the review was right. You are a good hugger.”

Yves laughs, a little surprised. “Careful. You’re going to inflate my ego if you keep talking.”

“I can’t help it if it’s true.”

Yves has hugged a fair share of people in his life. He doesn’t think he’d be able to list them all if he were asked to. It’s different, though, being so close to Vincent—so close that Yves can reach out and let his hair fall through his fingertips. He can lift up his palm and feel the rigid line of his spine, the slope of his shoulders; he could reach out and trace the dip of his wrist, the form of his hand. Vincent’s chin digs slightly into his left shoulder. His nose is turned slightly into Yves’s neck—like this, he is almost perfectly still. Yves can feel the warm brush of air against his neck whenever Vincent exhales. He is so close that Yves is afraid, for a moment, that he might hear how badly his heart is racing.

Would dating Vincent be like this? Would this kind of exchange be given and received as easily as anything? Yves wills himself not to think about it. This is nothing, he tells himself, but a simple offering of comfort between friends. To think otherwise would be disingenuous.

They stay like that for some time. Time slows, or perhaps it expands or collapses—really, Yves would be none the wiser. The whir of the ceiling fan and the light rain on the rooftop a constant. When Vincent pulls away at last, it’s to turn sharply off to the side to muffle a sneeze into his sleeve.

“Hh-! hhIH’IIDZsSHM-FF! snf-!” 

“Bless you,” Yves says, blinking. The sudden absence of warmth is a little jarring. But Vincent isn’t done.

His eyebrows draw together, and he ducks tighter into his elbow, his shoulders jerking forward. “hHIH’iiGKKTsSHH—! Sorry, I— Ihh-! hHHh’DZZSSCHh—uH-!”

“Bless you again,” Yves says, reaching past him to hand over the box of tissues on the nightstand. He holds out the box for Vincent to take.

Vincent turns away to blow his nose. When he returns, he’s a little teary eyed. The flush on the bridge of his nose hasn’t gone away.

“When I asked you to come over,” he says, “I wasn’t expecting you to stay.”

Yves blinks. “Is it so strange for me to be here?”

To that, Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Yves looks out the window, where he can see the skyline, off in the distance, the dark form of the apartment building across the streets, the street in between lit dimly with golden streetlights.

“A little,” he says. “When I was young, if I got sick, it wasn’t really a big deal.”

At Yves’s expression, he amends: “That’s not to say that my family didn’t care, because they did. No one spent too long in my room—better to not risk catching it, if they could help it—but back then, if I didn’t have much stomach room, my mom always cut fruits for me to leave on my desk. Sometimes she made ginseng tea, too.” he shuts his eyes. There’s a strange expression on his face—something a little more complicated than wistfulness.

“We had a habit of keeping the heat off, in the winters, and closing the windows. But if I was running a fever, my brother always made sure to keep the heat on.” His lip twitches, almost imperceptibly. Then: the smallest of smiles. “Sometimes he’d stay outside my door to talk about his day. He was the class lead, back when he was in high school. It was always something inconsequential, like which of his classmates he liked and which ones he held a grudge against, and why. Almost always for the smallest reasons, like someone borrowing a pencil and forgetting to give it back, or someone tossing the ball to him in gym class.”

“Were you and your brother close?” Yves asks.

“Close is relative,” Vincent says. “I never really knew how to—inhabit his world, I guess. When I moved to the states, and when I decided to stay here, part of it was out of some sort of defiance. I didn’t want to have to follow in his footsteps, because then I could only ever be focused on doing things differently.”

He shuts his eyes. “But I felt close to him, then. When he stood outside my room and told me those stories. Even if they were things I wouldn’t have cared about had they happened to me, I guess. It’s strange how that works.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Yves says. He’s always had a good relationship with Leon and Victoire, though that doesn’t mean they’ve always seen eye to eye on things. “Sometimes it’s less about what they say, and more about the fact that they’re saying it.”

Vincent nods. “They all cared about me in their own way,” he says, at last. “I don’t think I appreciated the extent of it at the time. When you’re a kid, you tend to take everything at face value.”

“Do you regret it?” Yves asks. “What?”

“Not appreciating them more, back then.”

Vincent smiles. “I was just a kid. I suppose it’s natural that I didn’t know better.” Yves has a feeling that that statement is perhaps further reaching than Vincent is making it out to be. “I didn’t think much about it at the time.”

“Do you ever miss being part of a large household?”

“It’s peaceful on my own,” Vincent says, at last. “I usually don’t mind it. I usually have other things to worry about.”

He hasn’t asked if the information is useful to Yves, Yves realizes, a little belatedly. Back then, at Joel and Cherie’s potluck, Vincent had seemed to believe that the only way Yves could possibly be interested in him was if the information could serve their fake relationship, somehow.

The realization settles him. Perhaps Vincent has shared this because he knows Yves cares.

“Your apartment is nice,” Yves says, trying to ignore the insistent beat of his heart in his chest, which all of a sudden seems to want to make itself known. “I can see why you would like living here.”

Vincent tilts his head up towards the ceiling. “It’s not the same, of course. As home. Though that’s a given.” Yves notes the usage of the word: home. Here, instead of home, the clarifier salient, even though Vincent’s done nothing to emphasize it. Could it be that after all these years, Vincent still considers Korea to be home, for him? “When I’ve had people over, it was just for dinner. Not for…”

He looks over to Yves, now. Yves knows what he means, knows how to fill in the rest of the sentence: not for the reason you’re here, now.

“I know I’ve intruded a little,” Yves says, with a laugh.

Vincent frowns at him, his eyebrows furrowing. “I wouldn’t consider it an intrusion,” he says. “You’ve helped me a lot. I just—I’m a little embarrassed that your first time over had to be under these circumstances.”

Your first time over. Yves ignores—well, tries to ignore—the implication that this could be the first out of many. That he might have another opportunity, in the future, to swing by. Vincent hasn’t confirmed anything, and it’s not likely that their fake dating arrangement would warrant another house visit, out of the public’s eye. Yves tells himself that the warmth he feels in his chest is misplaced.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I like seeing you,” Yves says.

Vincent raises an eyebrow at him. “Even bedridden with a fever?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Of course.”

“I’ve been terrible company,” Vincent says. “And even worse of a host. I recall I fell asleep yesterday, only for you to spend two hours cleaning my apartment?”

“Vacuuming is therapeutic.”

“You said that about cooking, too,” Vincent says, narrowing his eyes. “Am I supposed to believe that you enjoy doing all household chores?”

“It’s not like you made me do them. I just wanted to be useful, and your vacuum was easy to find.”

“I’ll be sure to hide it thoroughly next time,” Vincent says, deadpan.

Yves laughs. “It’s like I said,” he says. “I like spending time with you. Even—” To steal Vincent’s words from earlier. “—bedridden with a fever.”

Vincent huffs a sigh, a little incredulously. 

“Though, I promise I won’t intrude for much longer,” Yves tells him. “I’ll probably head out in the morning.” He’s almost done with the work Vincent has on his desk—he’d fallen asleep checking over one of the income statements for discrepancies. A few hours should be enough time to make sure that everything is in order. He still has work at eight—he’ll probably be a little tired for it, considering how late he’d slept, but that’s nothing new.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, averting his glance. He frowns down at himself, as if he really is apologetic. “You must’ve had other evening plans.”

None as important as taking care of you, Yves catches himself thinking. He can’t say things like that if he wants to keep this—well, this unfortunate recent development, i.e., his feelings for Vincent—to himself.

“It wasn’t just for you,” he says, instead.

“What?”

“I didn’t just do it for you.”

Vincent blinks at him, a little confused. “Are you going to say you get personal gratification out of seeing my apartment clean?”

“It’s like you said,” he says. “I’ve never seen you this unwell. You said this doesn’t happen often, right? When you didn’t show up at work, I…” The next admission feels a little too honest—but there’s a small, unwise part of him that wants to get it across, regardless. “I was really worried. Even though you said you had everything covered, I wanted to make sure you were fine.”

Vincent nods. “I get it. It would be an inconvenience if I were unfit to be your fake—”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Yves interrupts him. His heart hurts a little, with it. “I wanted to see that you were fine because I care about you. To be honest, I think I would’ve spent the entire night worrying if I hadn’t come.” He laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “It’s a little selfish, I know.”

Vincent’s eyes are very wide.

“Anyways,” Yves says, with the sinking feeling that he’s said too much, “you should try to get some more sleep.” He rearranges the blankets around Vincent, a little unnecessarily, fluffs the extra pillow that’s leaned up against the headboard, and turns away. “It’s still really early. If you’re planning to be back in office next week, it would be best to keep your sleep schedule intact.”

“Yves,” Vincent says, from behind him.

“Hmm?”

“...Thank you.” 

When Yves works up the courage to look over, Vincent is smiling, unreservedly, as if something Yves has said has made him very happy.

Yves’s heart stutters in his chest. Fuck.

(On second thought, it might not be so easy to live with these feelings, after all.)

—

At daybreak, Yves drives home to get changed, takes a quick shower while he’s at it, and heads off for work. He yawns through half his morning meetings, adds an extra espresso shot to the coffee he snags from the break room.

The text arrives halfway through the day, just before he’s intending to head downstairs for lunch.

V: When I asked you to bring folder 2-A, I didn’t mean for you to complete my work along with it.

Yves smiles. He’d emailed Vincent the completed work from yesterday’s late-night work session before he’d left. Vincent must’ve seen it.

Y: some genie i met told me your wish was to have your work done before the deadline

V: What are you talking about?

Y: he also told me you were very stubborn about not redistributing your assignments to anyone else  Y: so you can’t blame me for taking matters into my own hands

V: Yves.

Y: feel free to check it over for errors :)

[dewwshi]

TRANSFEM DRIZZT MASTERPOST

breaking my usual “only art posts” rule on this blog to write a dissertation on a thought that has been on my mind since literally homeland. LISTEN. i'm gonna proselytize i’m honestly shocked i haven't seen anyone else say this before. i think drizzt do'urden is transfeminine coded, specifically trans lesbian coded. and i have EVIDENCE. (WALL OF TEXT UNDER CUT)

for the record i'm gonna use he/him pronouns for drizzt in this largely because that's what he uses in canon but i feel like he would for sure switch to she/her or something if he did transition. but i feel weird talking abt characters with pronouns other than canon ones

i'm transmasc so for transparency when i speak abt transfem experiences it's from what i have heard and learned from transfems and take all generalizations with a grain of salt blah blah blah nuance vanilla extract be normal please

also i'm currently only on spine of the world. i have no idea what happens in later parts of the series so my evidence is only from books i’ve read + be forgiving if you know smth i don't + try not to spoil too much thank you BUT ALSO I WANNA KNOW what people think on this sooo yea tell me :heart:

OKAY NOW after all those qualifiers. i'm sorting my evidence into a couple categories:

character evidence (about how being a girl would fit into drizzt’s narrative)

relationship evidence (about how drizzt’s relationships are enhanced by/contribute to his girlitude)

and miscellaneous meta stuff & wording evidence (aka wishful thinking)

CHARACTER/NARRATIVE EVIDENCE

firstly. we MUST discuss the backstory. the childhood trauma.

drizzt's primary backstory, i.e. his childhood in and abandonment of menzoberranzan society, places him in the position of someone who is “too soft” and “too weak” for their society and thus becomes ostracized and outcast. this is a REALLY transfem coded position to be in.

in our world transfem kids get ostracized for not being masculine enough and for being a “sissy.” the situation is obviously pretty different in matriarchal menzoberranzan (“girliness”/femininity is not considered a flaw there the way it is in prevailing attitudes in our world) but the parallel still holds

i'm sure everyone remembers the “you’re a dancer” scene. despite excelling in combat, drizzt (at least pre-melee-magthere) is considered too weak and soft for menzoberranzan even by zaknafein, again framing him as being (by surface standards) more traditionally "feminine" than the rest of menzo men

and YES "you're a dancer" is a complicated scene with a lot of emotional shit going on for both characters but my point is specifically that drizzt's alienation from his society REALLY resembles the alienation that a lot of transfem children experience

for the record he is also very autistic. 100% autistic i’m on that wagon all the way. just to put it on the table

but anyway the queer coding is extremely strong here. the other way you could read the “dancer” gncness drizzt exhibits is as gay coding (many of the same tropes and narratives apply to young gay boys as do to young transfems). i have a couple reasons i prefer the transfem reading though

gayness is not treated the same in menzo. bg3 confirms romantic relationships between women are standard fare in menzoberranzan; my hc is that the same is true among men

that's an explanation from the world's perspective though, not from a meta/writing perspective. to me drizzt's infatuation with women (We'll Get To That) makes him read more like a transbian than a gay man though

anyway back on topic. something the books (the ones i’ve read so far at least) don't really talk about but SHOULD is the relationship with gender (and women specifically) that drizzt would have been left with from his upbringing.

menzoberranzan culture holds that women are above men and that men are inherently worse. you can't just forget something like that after living in a place where that's simply a fact of life for 30 years. lots could be said on that and i think it must have had an effect on how drizzt views women

however to focus on the trans thing let's state the obvious: menzoberranzan gender roles are RIPE for transmisogyny. it’s a society of terfs. the gender roles are SO defined and SO exclusive that an assumed boy even trying on feminine clothing would probably get physically abused. not so different from parts of our world shrugs forever but for a different reason like i mentioned; it's not “girl shit is gross what are you, gay?” it's “how dare you, a filthy man, attempt to partake of womanhood, which you would sully with your very touch” AND AGAIN. THAT SOUNDS LIKE TERF RHETORIC DOESN'T IT?

i think drizzt would have been left with a deep-rooted sense of shame and self-consciousness about gender (as he was about basically all parts of his identity for the record) and i specifically think that a clear parallel can be drawn between those feelings and the transmisogynistic ideas common in our world, in particular the idea that trans women “steal/appropriate womanhood.” in menzoberranzan’s case the idea is more like that “womanhood is a privilege to which men (who are lesser) have no claim.” 

drizzt seems to generally feel like he doesn't deserve to have things he wants, he doesn't deserve to be happy etc etc. and i think it would make peeeerfect sense for that to extend to gender. that he has to learn that he can and is allowed to express his gender freely

then there's the graduation ceremony.

in a journal entry in spine of the world drizzt says the reason he was so uncomfortable with the melee-magthere graduation ceremony was because 1. he didn't wanna do drugs and 2. because Casual Sex Is Bad And You Should Be In Love Before You Do Sex (he's so. repressed. beautiful stupid baby) and while i for sure think those ARE both PARTS of his discomfort, i think i have a bit of extra sauce to add.

consider: the graduation ceremony's purpose (in addition to being a fun light-hearted celebration by drow standards) is to enforce a specific social/sexual gender role onto the young graduates of melee-magthere (clearly the most desirable sexual partners for noble drow women).

that gender role is specifically placed in opposition to womanhood. there's matrons, and then there's patrons, just like the surface world has husbands and wives

i’m thinking that while drizzt is and is written as being HEAVILY attracted to women (again We Will Discuss This), “pretty lady's boytoy” isn't a gender role he's comfortable inhabiting, and so he felt reflexively bad being forced into it.

of course the social role of men in menzoberranzan isn't a nice position to be in even at the best of times but i don't think that was what was on his mind at the time!! what if part of the reason he was so instinctively against partaking was because he rejected the gendered social role placed on him in that moment, a reminder that melee-magthere, and the kind of warrior role he'd been trained for, is for boys alone?

leading from that. in siege of darkness drizzt imagines what catti-brie’s life would have been like in menzoberranzan if she was drow. consider how easily he chooses to imagine her going to melee-magthere instead of arach-tinilith even though the former is boys only. this is SOME kind of gender fuckery for sure. i'm thinking some part of him feels that melee-magthere (and the kind of combat training taught there, which drizzt excels at) isn’t or shouldn’t be for men exclusively. he enjoys being a warrior and he's good at it, but, for him, that warrior role is DISTINCT from a masculine gender, even though in menzoberranzan it wasn't distinct at all.

i find that drizzt being transfeminine boosts the hell out of all of his other “fuck you"s to menzoberranzan society

not only is he an insult to the way of lolth by rejecting it in favour of empathy, but he's going in the face of the entire gender system of menzoberranzan. just totally blasts it. i feel like it adds a whole new layer to his rejection of the lolthite way of life

of course that's an argument you could make of any queer reading of drizzt as a character but i feel like it hits hardest with SPECIFICALLY transfem drizzt. one brave tgirl's Exodus From Terflandia.

but even then when he does come to the surface, he finds himself alone and apart from society. 

in the early books’ world there is no place in surface faerûn society for a drow, it is designed to exclude him the exact same way existing binary cisnormative gender structures are designed to exclude queer people.

drizzt has to start off on the complete fringes of society and then carve a place and home for himself with like-minded people who love him and who he loves. that's exactly what queer people have to do too. is leaving the underdark a metaphor for coming out??? i guess so.

CAN WE TALK about the shit with the mask of disguise in the halfling's gem? THAT SHIT IS TRANS AS HELL!!! again autism coding runs parallel hand in hand here but like.

“you have the choice to suppress who you are in order to fit into wider society. now will you do that, or will you live as someone visibly outside the norms? is it enough to know no matter what, you will still have your loved ones who accept you no matter who you turn out to be, to know that you will be happier if you let yourself express your true self?”

THAT'S THE QUEEREST SHIT EVER.

also drizzt's fixation on personal freedom makes a lot of sense (a lot more sense than it does as in-canon imho) if you read him as trans. in menzoberranzan he would never have had the freedom to do with his body and presentation what he wants.

being able to be the person he wants to be seems to be a central concern in his mind, for himself. he doesn't just have an “i don't want to kill and torture people” objection to menzo culture, but an “i want to be able to choose the life and identity that i want for myself” objection

as it stands in canon the reason why he's so fixated on this isn't clear (so far at least). it makes more sense if he is transfem, and growing up in a system where he was actively prevented from pursuing his own tgirl happiness left him very invested in standing against that

on a meta level the “freedom is the most important thing ever” thing kinda is weird to me (it's very “can you tell the author is american”) BUT it becomes a lot BETTER if reinterpreted as “my old government wanted me dead for being transgender, so i think everyone can do whatever they want forever”

some of the general stuff about drizzt's queercoding in this section is pretty general but i veeery much think specifically transfem drizzt makes the most sense and adds the most to his character and story. and that's what the post is about. so yeah

RELATIONSHIP EVIDENCE

this section is abt drizzt's relationships! wahoo

1. CATTI-BRIE

ok so there’s a lot to say about catti-brie and why i consider their relationship a lesbian one and how i think drizzt's attraction to and love for women reads as extremely trans lesbian in nature.

bringing back that thing about shame from earlier. drizzt has, as he has in all things, a tendency to be ashamed of and suppress his own emotions in terms of romance.

the way he thinks about his attraction to catti-brie reads a lot like the way a transfem with a lot of internalized transmisogyny and lesbophobia might feel abt her attraction to women:

he acts guilty and embarrassed and tries to keep it a secret, to avoid talking about it, to avoid expressing his wants in any way at all

he's also afraid of being punished for it. think back to his stuff about women in menzo. he feels like he's not allowed to feel this way about women OR - HEAR ME OUT - HIMSELF. to me, a fear that he is encroaching on womanhood (both as a participant and as an enjoyer) is a very natural source for that shame

note that it’s specifically when she isn’t looking. ashamed!

drizzt in that excerpt assumes that bruenor would berate him even though he SHOULD KNOW bruenor trusts and likes him enough to fully give them his blessing. also drizzt blushes immediately after this and acts all flustered about it. ashamed!

in siege of darkness (during the "but for now, friends" scene) drizzt does tell catti that he’s in love with her- and follows it up immediately with “it’s no big deal, don’t even worry about it, i can totally just repress it forever if you’re not comfortable with it” (GUT WRENCHING SCENE THAT THREW ME OUT TO THE CURB BTW. AUGH). it's a COPE. he's terrified of being punished or rejected or ridiculed. i think all of those fears tie deeply and specifically into gender- his own, and hers too.

lesbian culture is known for a level of near-rhapsodic adoration for women and i see that in drizzt. the way he talks and thinks about catti-brie is insanely sapphic. basically every time he thinks about her he’s thinking shit like “god she’s the most beautiful and the best and i would die for her and there’s nobody in the world like her” this is truly a kind of infatuation lesbians are famous for. 

are there men who think about women like this? yes of course. is it a cornerstone of wlw culture to a degree that casts even the most cisgender of those men as almost gender non-conforming? i would say yes.

he spends so much of this scene fawning over her that i don’t even know which parts of it to include

i could keep going but listen the point i’m trying to illustrate is that he’s fucking SMITTEN with her okay? and it's EVIDENCE he is a woman i swear to god this is facts and logic and makes sense THIS IS LESBIAN BEHAVIOUR!!!!

AND THE SLOW BURN. the slow burn is lesbian coded as well. wlw stories are LEGENDARY for the extended periods of mutual pining that they often feature. pining is basically a classic feature of lesbian romance.

catti-brie and drizzt spent SIX FUCKING YEARS on the sea sprite together in the time skip between siege of darkness and passage to dawn, the ENTIRETY of which drizzt spent HOPELESSLY IN LOVE with her, and they did NOTHING together. if pining was a song these motherfuckers would have gone triple platinum. and that? oh BABY, is it yuri to me

i could make a whole other post exclusively about a lesbian reading of catti-brie and her relationship with wulfgar being comphet. honestly i could make a lot of posts about catti-brie she's insanely interesting and i have SOOO many thoughts about her. but suffice it to say: i think she’s gay as hell

for the record you may be thinking “okay he’s just in love with catti that’s why he’s like that” true but he is also fascinated with and identifies himself with a lot of the women he meets on the surface. and of course there is The Guenhwyvar Thing

2. THE GUENHWYVAR THING

let's discuss The Guenhwyvar Thing

you guys remember the fucking poem from homeland? about how beautiful and incredible guen is? literally the first time i saw that i was like “this is the most tgirl shit i've ever seen.”

are you guys seeing this??? “you, girl panther, are how i feel inside, i wish i could be you for realsies." reflection from mulan core. on all levels except physical i am a giant female panther

the fact that drizzt is so utterly enamoured with, again, a Female magical panther reads as extremely transfem coded to me. i truly feel like guenhwyvar's gender is a core facet of why drizzt adores her so much.

drizzt's relationship with guenhwyvar is – and was from the beginning – a place where he could freely admire and relate to femininity without shame.

guen’s femininity (by virtue of its animalness and magicalness) is very different from the femininity of menzoberranzan’s matron mothers. drizzt grew up in with an exclusive and abusive femininity that left him as an outsider, always unable to partake of or even genuinely admire womanhood. but he always wanted to and, when he gets the chance, he does. HARD.

i maintain a headcanon that if drizzt were to play dnd with the companions of the hall, he would play a conspicuously female druid every single time and never explain why it had to be a woman. but i know. I Know Why it has to be a woman.

3. ARTEMIS

god the queer reading here is sooo potent. here's my thoughts

artemis and drizzt’s struggle (at least as far as i've read) is one of a person who pursues happiness even under the risk of being outcast or hurt by society, and a person who has suppressed the need for happiness to secure survival. this can be easily expanded to a queer context:

artemis is closeted or stealth, dismissive of his own queerness. he sees an out and proud drizzt, publically living as a queer person, pursuing queer happiness. (not that drizzt is actually out and proud as a tgirl BUT HE HAS THAT ENERGY! LIFE COULD BE DREAM)

in other words artemis sees drizzt living a life that he (artemis) subconsciously decided long ago was impossible, unattainable, something he had to give up to survive. a kind of life that he hates his own desire to have. he hates drizzt for being happy in a way he wants but has decided he cannot have and thus nobody should even try for. he envies him.

you may be thinking “that sounds a lot like the dynamic drizzt and artemis already have in canon” EXACTLY MOTHERFUCKER!!!!

i really enjoy transmasc artemis who's been stealth since age 10 but i'll admit i'm not as dedicated to that headcanon as i am to transfem drizzt. idk where he's getting that beard from. maybe the crime guilds of calimport have access to magic hrt

bet when you started reading this post you weren't expecting kalvin garrah artemis entreri

anyway the point is that artemis’ redemption arc is the journey from he/him transmasc to he/they transmasc. DOESN'T HE JUST HAVE HE/THEY ENERGY?

MISCELLANEOUS EVIDENCE

this section deals a few other little random things that don't mean much but boy do they add spice to my life

UNICORN SYMBOLISM. drizzt's ranger symbol is a unicorn. a symbol of mielikki of course but also perhaps the most feminine of all mythological creatures and he chose it specifically to represent himself as well. and as a ranger/ nature guardian drizzt occupies a very typically feminine role. like who speaks to animals often? disney princesses do. my girl drizzt is a disney princess deep in his heart and i know this to be true.

now last but not least these ones… these are clearly unintended from salvatore’s pov but i find them FASCINATING

supposed to be a reference to his age i think BUT STILL HOLY SHIT? HE SAYS THAT. DRIZZT HIMSELF OBJECTS TO BEING CALLED A MAN. I'M DOING A LITTLE HAPPY DANCE THIS IS THE GOLD STANDARD FOR TGIRL HEADCANON EVIDENCE

let’s parse this okay because it’s pretty weird and confusing wording. the hag says it is “not for any man; it’s for two and only two” and those two are catti-brie and drizzt, implying NEITHER of them is a man.

the second half conspicuously shifts from “man” to “male,” again avoiding calling drizzt a man and implying he may be male (biologically), but he ISN’T a man. it’s also kind of tacked on to the end, to single drizzt out. almost like the hag was like “shit they’re not going to figure out who the other not-man is so let me add this second thing to it”

and yes of course the author-intent reason it’s phrased like that probably has to do with the word “man” which is sometimes used in these books to mean “human” HOWEVER given that everyone there immediately assumed “no man” referred to catti-brie (who IS human but NOT a man in the gender sense) supports the reading that it does mean gender

IN CONCLUSION

i think drizzt do'urden is a tgirl. i’m just about 100% certain this was not RAS' intent but nonetheless i think a reading of drizzt as transfem based on the evidence present in the books both makes sense and adds a lot to his character AND the other characters AND the story and themes. basically he’s a girl. thanks for readingg

[arsenicflame]

ANGELA/SERA FROM THE MARVEL SNAP HERO ANIMATIC

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Erhm sorry about the poor lighting quality on this batch. Kinda spur of the moment conjured them up, but the downside is no natural sunlight available due to it being night hours so everything is very yellow tinted. But depending how you look at it this might help enhance the retro old fashioned feel lol

Also gotta include the online photo inspiration for this Leggy & Mr. Puzzles one. Kinda a strange idea but figured it would be comedic enough concept to warrant some art…and perhaps I think it’s just a little bit cute too. In general I just wish they had more bonding screen time together :3

[deadrocks]

Torn because I want to commiserate a bit about the end of Dragon Age as a series, but I don't want to hit any "if you criticized Veilguard or didn't buy it, this is *your* fault" -style posts. Maybe there aren't any, but I'm not feeling inclined to go find out.

[britneyshakespeare]

Had the extremely upsetting experience of a mutual of like 6 years going off on me for occasionally making posts about supporting Harris because apparently that makes me a g n cide denier who refuses to learn and grow, with all of my views just being assumed not even from what I've told them I believe or what I've posted before, but just because I DON'T post particularly the kind of things they THINK I should be. When I pointed out how much they were just completely assuming about stuff I'd never talked to them about, I was told it doesn't matter what I do in real life or "care" about if I simply disagree with their conclusion and vote for her anyway. Like they were absolutely not sorry for the level of maliciousness they not just assumed of my character, but for some reason thought appropriate to bring directly to me before unfollowing me. No apology whatsoever for how discomforting or upsetting that might be and certainly no acknowledgment that I could disagree with them and still be a good person. I just got another even longer rant about how they fundamentally can't fuck with me because of this one thing, no matter WHAT else I do in my real life (which I pointed out that they do not know), and how I'm directly supporting fascism.

Like seriously what is it about Tumblr that makes people think they know someone based off of occasional posts? There were just such DEEP assumptions they were making of me and going off of very little or absolutely nothing. Around the time I first became mutuals with that person I used to express my personality and beliefs and talk about what was going on in my life a lot more openly, but I've significantly scaled back on doing that in many ways for many reasons. One of my major ones is privacy and the way I've had strangers outside my followers and following circles just find random things I say and dogpile me for it. I was fundamentally changed after some T Fs did that to me like 3 years ago. I also just didn't have many conversations w that person anymore (I message people in general on here like 10x less than I did circa 2018-2019, which I'm somewhat sorry about!). My point is to say I think this person felt comfortable assuming that they knew me, especially who I am in 2024 at the age of 25, much better than they actually did.

One of the specific things they accused me of was being afraid of learning and growing (because I don't perform social media activism on here like they think I should). Like AFRAID to take criticism. When again I've never received criticism from them or had to respond to any criticism on here before as pertaining to my views on... well, absolutely any of the issues they accused me of not caring about. They essentially treated it as if the only thing in the world I cared about was the US election and characterized me as the most out-of-touch liberal they could possibly imagine, because I'm not "pushing" Kamala Harris to be better (Oh?? Should I do that on here?? Does she read my blog??).

And most hypocritically what they said was that I only *sometimes* *vaguely* post pro-Harris things (I often post like 5 or fewer things in a day though?). But here's the kicker. "Because I know I'll get shit for it. And rightfully so."

Really????? Not a single person, anon or not, in my messages or in a tagged post or anything, has ever given me shit before for saying who I'm voting for. I'm actually NOT afraid of "getting shit" for that opinion, I just don't start fights with people who are anti-voting. And why should I??? I genuinely don't believe in trying to change the minds of strangers on the internet about that sort of thing. I'm just not confrontational about it; that is so not the same thing as being "afraid of getting shit." I'm not posting ENOUGH about my support for Harris, therefore I'm afraid. But therefore they can also make all these assumptions about me being their strawman for an ignorant Harris supporter.

I'm afraid of getting shit but I still post anyway? But if I weren't afraid of getting shit I'd be posting a lot more?? This is ALL based on their assumptions of what my blog *should* look like, based on what I really and truly believe. My level of posting every now and then is an accurate gauge of my feelings on complex, sensitive, global issues. Because I'm voting for the Democratic presidential candidate and I'm ok sharing pretty much just that little glimpse of myself.

I really don't think that person knows just how inappropriate and insulting that is to just say all of that to me. Like they really know what's going on in my head. Their first message began and ended with like "I'm sorry I love you I just can't take it anymore" but they clearly weren't sorry enough to try and be more respectful to me, and they didn't love me enough not to default to extremely ungenerous assumptions and attacking me based off of those instead of any actual words I've said that they take issue with.

Online radicalization is real and it's not necessarily bad because your political views can start to fall well out of the contemporary Overton window. The way you find it appropriate to treat people whose views, however common, seem to fundamentally misalign with yours... that does matter. You can't just assume the worst of everyone and then act on that in how you approach them as individuals. And then be shocked that you don't stay friends with them. You can't be confrontational with someone about an issue you've never had an honest conversation about, and then expect them to take your bad faith in them as reasonable well-meaning criticism.

I'm afraid of criticism??? I'm afraid of criticism. No I'm not. This person and I have never had an issue before where they criticized me and I got harshly defensive. It was ALL projection. The entire tone of their messages was as if all their anti-voting posts recently were somehow in communication with the occasional go-vote-for-Harris posts that I make. That's not a conversation. I don't post for your satisfaction. I don't post in "response" to my mutuals I disagree with. I just post what's on my mind, sometimes, about some things. I really again can't stress enough how baffled I am by this

[hellkitepriest]

i want to hear all your elaborate and niche gambits in the tags here people

[hikarry]

Okay children, gather around. It's "Spencer Complains and Acts a Little Mad" Time:

I have been raw dogging life for 1 month without my adhd/depression/anxiety/mood stabilizers medication and without a single Therapy appointment

I haven't left my house in 1 month, I haven't spoken to any of my (in person) friends in over 1 month, I haven't seen my family in 1 month, I haven't seen my bloody cat in over 1 month, I've barely left my bloody room in over 1 month, and I've been listening to my bloody voice almost every day for 1 hour so I can finish editing the bloody podcast for over a month

To top it all of: I haven't had a decent night's sleep in about 4 days now (in which I just don't sleep or I have extremely vivid nightmares with my departed mother and/or scenarios where I die over and over and over again but can't speak to ask for help before it happens - fun for all the family, if you ask me) and I might or might not be completely and absolutely going insane, with only Good Omens season 1 (6/6) and season 2 (5/6) and the existence of Crowley/red haired Fire Pokemon David Tennant Edition being my sole producer of any amount of serotonin

How am I alive? Good question. Beautiful genderfluid demonic content can be some very nice very distracting content for individuals that simp for Fire Type David Tennant Pokemon like myself

I am quite sure my only contact with anything mental health related in the past weeks has been my best friend whom is very very annoying and refuses to leave me the heck alone and whom is a nurse and is working extra time to advice my stupid ass the best she can, bless her heart

So, with my personal nurse's permission, I have doubled my sleeping medication for the night and, as Fall Out Boy once wrote for the song "Alone Together" in one of my favorite albums to have ever been created "Save Rock and Roll": I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead

[creative-hanyou-girl]

I don't know if anyone else feels this way but I think a big reason why I'm so chill about the changes made to the PJO show from the books is because I kind of look at each other as their own seperate canon.

Like, I read a lot of anime and manga, and anime adaptations have a huge habit for changing plot points for various reasons, and as a fan of said anime and manga, I've found that I can enjoy both versions of the same story even with the differences when I look at them as their own universe or canon. That's not to say I don't want them to be faithful or true to the source material, but if a scene or situation plays out differently for a logical or entertaining reason, than I can still appreciate that deviation from the manga even if I still like the other original version of that part more. And I can even like the reversal way if I feel an anime does something better than even the manga. But if I want to, I can look at certain moments as more canon than others because I got 2 different versions of that same scene or moment.

And, I don't know, I kind of apply that reasoning to the PJO series as well, mainly with the books, the show, and even the musical (not the movies put that right back where it came from). So far I'm loving the TV show, and while I miss some of the things they changed (like the pink poodle), this adaptation really is doing a great job with staying true to the heart and spirit of the original book that I personally am not even really bothered by the changes, especially when I remember that the books will always still be there with it's own version, or canon, of events.

Like, I will say 1 thing I adore in the books that isn't really in the show is the fact that a lot of Percy and Annabeth's "rivalry" during TLT has more to do with the rivalry between Poseidon and Athena. I just really like on how this adds a level of "forbidden friendship/love" to their relationship 'cause I personally eat the forbidden relationship trope up, especially when it's done well like with Percabeth.

Yet, even if this isn't really the reason percabeth have beef with each other in the show, I can still appreciate and enjoy that according to the show's canon, they have issues because they genuinely have problems with each other as actual people rather than their parents' rivalry, because at the end of the day, that's the PJO TV show canon, and I can always turn to the books for that version of Percabeth's "rivalry", as that is the PJO book canon.

Same goes for the characters too. I will always have and love my dark haired Percy and blond haired Annabeth in the books, but I can also welcome and love Walker's Percy and Leah's Annabeth from the show. And so far, they along with Aryan are KILLING IT as those characters.

I can love both versions of the characters.

I can love both versions of the same story.

I can look at both versions as they own seperate canon or mix them together if I so wish too (especially since both versions of PJO are written by the same guy)

And that's ok. The adaptation doesn't have to be a complete copy of the books. It doesn't have to have things play out eactly the same way. The characters don't have to look exactly the way they are described as in the books. And that's ok. I will still always have the books to love and appreciate, but I can also start to love and appreciate the new adaptation for it's new spin and twists to the same story that sets it apart as it's own canon while still staying true to the spirit of its predecessor.

Anyway, sorry if I'm not making a lot of sense. I just think the people complaining about the changes in the show are looking at it all the wrong way. The show has it's own canon just as the books have their own canon, or even the musical. At the end of the day, isn't that kind of cool to have different versions of the same story and characters? Doesn't it give you so many more options to look at the story in different ways that you can prefer or choose from? Doesn't it give you new versions of canon that you choose from? And really, as long as the PJO adaptation, or any adaptation for that matter, stays true to the heart and spirit of the original story and characters, do the changes made really matter?