Reblog If Your Short Term Memory AND Your Long Term Memory Are Both Shit And Wildly Selective

reblog if your short term memory AND your long term memory are both shit and wildly selective

How I simultaneously avoid and indulge in dumb internet drama.

✨TWINK POLL GRAND FINAL✨

Howl Jenkins Pendragon (Howl's Moving Castle) vs Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

IT'S FINALLY HERE, GANG! You know who they are, you have your biases, you have your propaganda ready...

VOTE FOR THE ULTIMATE TUMBLR TWINK!

Edgin: Xenk, what are we to each other?

Xenk: What do you mean?

Edgin: I mean… We just had sex. What are we to each other?

Xenk: We’re gay for each other, of course. What else would we be?

Edgin:

ha ha ha I’m fine why do you ask?

“Each Starday I pay visit to the ill at the temple hospital,” Xenk said. “The clerics of Eldath allow me to provide succor where I can.” 

Edgin squinted. “Okay. But what do you do for fun?” 

“Fun?” Xenk echoed. It seemed that he had never conceived of this word before, relating to himself. After a worrisomely long pause, he confessed. “I have been known to read for pleasure.” 

“That’s … something I guess,” Edgin sighed. “Let me guess - courtly poetry? Epics of ancient battles?” 

“This, I recently finished.” Xenk reached into his pack and retrieved a well-thumbed book bound in cheap parchment. Emblazoned over a painting of a half-elf bard, shirt torn to his navel, being bent over by a knight in full armor - The Paladin’s Wicked Oath. 

Edgin raised his eyebrows. “Well … I didn’t expect that.” 

“Despite the title, Ser Gervassius’s intentions are not wicked at all,” Xenk said reassuringly. “Though perilous forces throw them together, Robinet and  Gervassius share a deep and earnest bond. The author - Goodwife Isobelle - does not correctly represent a paladin’s oath, but she has such understanding of men’s souls.” With a lingering sigh, Xenk placed the book in Edgin’s palm and clasped both hands around it. “It is nothing short of stirring. I implore you to read it.” 

“Really, it’s okay,” Edgin mumbled. “I don’t need …” 

“What’re you two still doing out here?” Holga walked up. “Oh hey. It’s Edgin’s book.” 

“It is my book,” Xenk answered, confused as Edgin looked at Holga with a frantic expression, shaking his head.

“Edgin’s book,” Holga emphasized. “The one he wrote. Under that stupid penname.” She took the book from Edgin’s slack hand. “Goodwife Isobelle,” she snorted. “Edgin’s never been a good wife a day in his life.” 

“Well!” Edgin clapped his hands, determinedly not looking at Xenk as his ears burned. “Holga is right. What are we still doing out here? Time to get a move on … !”