#and that has already been updated on her Wikipedia

[the-physicality]

These wnba Wikipedia editors are Fast

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. three

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄,

𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: A single Instagram story accidentally hard-launches something that isn’t even real. Or at least, isn’t supposed to be. A fake date at an overpriced restaurant turns into a game of push and pull, stolen glances, and tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. You tell yourself it’s nothing, but at 3 AM, you’re alone in the studio, writing lyrics you shouldn’t be writing, thinking about her in ways you shouldn’t be thinking. And then Ellie texts. And suddenly, the lines you’ve been so desperate to keep blurred don’t seem so thin. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 7,5k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: smut, top!ellie, sub!reader, fingering (r!receiving), praise, tit play, begging, edging, being recorded, pet names, fake dating, LOTS of cursing, use of y/n, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N AND ELLIE WILLIAMS HARD-LAUNCH—AND THE INTERNET IS IN SHAMBLES! 🔥🚨

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, besties. If you thought Y/N’s infamous walk of shame was the peak of her chaotic love life—oh, sweet summer child, think again. 👀

Because last night? She didn’t just confirm her situationship with Ellie Williams.

Oh, no.

She hard-launched it with the subtlety of a car crash. A 50-car pileup on the freeway of gay panic.

And it was GLORIOUS.

HERE’S HOW IT WENT DOWN:

At exactly 3:17 AM (because of course, the chaos begins at that hour), our favorite pop star dropped the bomb on Instagram in the most unhinged, beautiful way possible. 

The post? Ellie Williams, peak domestic chaos, sprawled on y/n’s couch like she just got evicted from a frat house. Hair a mess, tattoos flexing, wearing nothing but a tank top and sweats, scrolling through her phone like she’s too cool to care. And the coup de grâce? In front of her—a post-Taco Bell battlefield so disastrous it could get them both banned from the establishment for life.

But the caption? Oh, the caption sealed the deal:

“she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.”

And as if the chaos wasn’t already unhinged enough—oh yeah, they were absolutely high. Very high. The kind of high that makes you think posting your girlfriend looking like a hot human raccoon on the couch is a brilliant PR move. 👀🍃

And you know what?

She was right.

THE INTERNET MELTDOWN, A PLAY-BY-PLAY:

Within seconds—literally, SECONDS—Twitter went into full-blown DEFCON 1 over the fact that two of the most famous musicians on the planet had just hard-launched their situationship like it was a surprise album drop.

Hashtags?

🔹 #YNandEllie → #1 worldwide 🔹 #HardLaunchOfTheCentury → A cultural reset 🔹 #TacoBellSponsorshipWHEN → Officially liked by Taco Bell

Fan reactions? 

📌 Gay Twitter? Collapsed.

📌 Stan accounts? Frothing at the mouth.

📌 The straights? Confused, scared, and overwhelmed.

Meme accounts went feral. In less than ten minutes, there were already:

☑️ Fan edits set to indie love songs ☑️ AI-generated wedding invitations ☑️ A Change.org petition for them to adopt a dog or a cat together. ☑️ The Wikipedia page for “lesbianism” updated with the post

Even Netflix got involved:

“This has more plot than anything we released this year.”

Meanwhile, Taco Bell issued a statement:

“Ellie & y/n—free Crunchwraps for life if you let us cater the wedding.”

BUT WAIT— WHAT ABOUT THE WALK OF SHAME?

Let’s rewind. Less than 24 hours before this nuclear-level hard launch, y/n was caught leaving The Four Seasons at sunrise, looking like she had just gone three rounds with fate itself.

And whose hotel was it? Oh, you already know— Ellie Williams’.

And now, here we are. Less than a day later, and these two have skipped the “we’re just friends” gaslighting phase entirely. No damage control. No frantic PR statements. Just pure, unfiltered chaos.💥

We have never seen a sneaky link accept its fate this fast.

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

Absolute radio silence from both of them. Ellie’s only move? Liking a tweet that said:

“The stages of sneaky links: 1) Deny. 2) Get caught. 3) Accept your fate.”

Meanwhile, y/n—aka the woman who just revealed to the entire world that she is down horrendously bad for her formerly alleged situationship-sneaky link-wife-girlfriend?— Probably just vibing with the chaos she just caused.

One thing’s for sure: this isn’t just a fling anymore.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

🔗RELATED: TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

────────────

❤️ 15M — 💬 525,76k

The thing about PR nightmares is that they don’t wait for you to wake up, brush your teeth, and ease into your morning with a cup of coffee and the false hope that today will be a quiet one. 

No. They come in swinging into your life like a wrecking ball, uninvited and merciless, dragging you out of your peaceful oblivion straight into a digital inferno.

By the time you fully grasp the severity of the situation, both of your faces are everywhere. The internet has already devoured every single detail and spat it back out in the form of conspiracy theories and enough memes to fuel an entire generation’s humor.

Twitter is a minefield of hot takes. Instagram is worse—a visual onslaught of dissected moments, captions teetering between adoration and sheer lunacy.

The gossip pages have lost all chill—headlines range from mildly invasive ("Is This The Couple of the Year?"),  to outright deranged ("Leaked Timeline of y/n and Ellie Williams’s Secret Romance—Are They ALREADY Engaged?!").

And then there are the memes.

Oh, God, the memes. You want to be mad, you really do—but some of them? Undeniably hilarious. The internet, when motivated, can be disturbingly creative. You’d probably laugh your ass off if your life wasn’t currently being sacrificed at the altar of social media hysteria.

You don’t even realize you’ve been doom-scrolling until Ellie’s voice slices through the thick silence of your apartment.

“You look like you’re watching your own funeral.”

You jolt so fast your phone nearly goes flying out of your hands. Spinning around, you find her standing in your kitchen, barefoot, sleep-mussed, and nursing a cup of coffee like she hasn’t just casually walked into the eye of a social media hurricane. The mug in her hands—the one she picked out of your weird mug collection—boldly declares: “Lesbians Fear Me, Bisexuals Love Me, Straight People Think I’m Just Going Through a Phase.”

Goddamn it, that’s one of your favorites.

You groan and collapse face-first onto the couch, voice muffled into the cushions. “Ellie, we are so fucked.”

She snorts, padding over with the kind of calm that only someone who thrives in chaos can pull off. “Nah. We just need to, y’know… do something before Rachel bursts into flames.”

Oh, right. Rachel.

Your manager has texted you no fewer than a hundred times since sunrise. The last message, sent precisely at 6:12 AM, had been chilling in its simplicity:

Rachel: Fix this.

Easier said than done.

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back, phone clutched to your chest like it might explode. “This is a disaster.”

Ellie, looking entirely unbothered by the world-ending-level of public meltdown currently unfolding, plops onto the couch beside you. She stretches out, propping her feet on the coffee table—your coffee table, in your apartment.

“Look,” she says, reaching over to steal a cold fry from last night’s half-eaten takeout “we only have one option: owning the narrative.”

You press your hands over your face, groaning.

The problem is, she isn’t wrong. If you lean into it—carefully, tactfully—you might actually steer the storm instead of getting swallowed by it.

Ellie, still lounging like this is all some elaborate joke for her own amusement, nudges you with her foot. “We should make a post.”

You blink at her. “Like… an official statement?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. Something like that. Vague, casual. Let people read into it however they want.”

Your stomach twists. The internet already thinks it knows what’s happening—does it really matter what you say at this point?

“And if it backfires?”

Ellie chews thoughtfully. Swallows. Shrugs again. “Then we fake-break up in, like, two months and traumatize the entire internet.”

You snort despite yourself, the first crack in your anxiety. “Jesus Christ.”

She grins, eyes glinting. “That’s the spirit.”

“Fine” you mutter. “Let’s write the damn thing.”

With a sigh, you sit up and pull up Instagram. Ellie shifts closer, propping her chin on your shoulder, watching as your fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard. The warmth of her breath against your skin is distracting.

Ellie reaches over, steals another fry—practically from your lap this time. “Make sure you put something about Taco Bell sponsoring us. I spent more than a hundred bucks last night.”

You roll your eyes but start typing.

OFFICIAL STATEMENT March 10, 2025 Regarding Recent Speculation So, yeah. We’re together. Hope that clears things up. What started as an unexpected friendship has grown into something we both value deeply. While this wasn’t exactly how we planned to share our relationship with the world, we appreciate the love and support from those who have been kind and respectful. As for the rest, go touch some grass. Please. At the end of the day, we’re just two people trying to live our lives, except with a few more cameras in our faces and significantly less chill.  From here on out, we’d like to keep the focus on what actually matters to us: music, minding our own business, and continuing to order unreasonable amounts of (pls sponsor us) Taco Bell. Much love,

y/n & Ellie🤍

The second you hit ‘Post’ on the Instagram story, your phone practically detonates.

Notifications flood in like a tsunami, buzzing so aggressively it might just explode in your hand. Your screen lights up in a relentless cascade of likes, retweets, and absolute chaos. Tweets skyrocket in real-time. Comments pour in at an overwhelming speed. Chaotic posts multiply by the second, some so unhinged you can’t even begin to process them. Already wildly inaccurate headlines spread like wildfire.

Ellie, still beside you, scrolls lazily through them, smirking. “They’re losing their minds.”

You groan, dropping your phone onto the couch and pressing your palms into your eyes. “This is so unhinged.”

Ellie tilts her head at you, the picture of nonchalance. “Eh. Could’ve been worse.”

You peek at her warily. “How?”

Her grin is pure mischief, eyes glinting with the kind of chaos that should come with a warning label.

“We could’ve gone live.”

You roll your eyes and smack her with a pillow.

Ellie was half-draped over her couch, the cigarette dangling from her lips two seconds from ashing onto her hoodie. She was strumming the most butchered, off-key version of Stairway to Heaven the world had ever suffered through—on purpose, because it was funnier that way.

Her phone buzzed against her stomach. She groaned, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly saw last week, took one last drag from her cigarette before grinding it out in an old mug, and checked the caller ID.

Rachel.

Ellie groaned harder, the sound escalating into something inhuman as she debated the pros and cons of throwing her phone across the room. Ultimately, she answered, pressing the speaker button because lifting her arm was simply too much work.

“How the fuck did you both get my number—”

“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. You and y/n. Dinner. Pick her up. Fancy but not too fancy. Cozy but not too cozy. Like honeymoon phase but still fresh. Got it?”

She bulldozed through her sentence like a freight train on a tight schedule, and Ellie hadn’t even had time to think before it was over. She let her head thunk against the back of the couch, guitar sliding off her lap with a lazy thud.

“Rachel.”

“Ellie.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. And even if you did, you’d still be going to dinner with her tomorrow because you both decided to play pretend lovers of the century for the internet three days ago, and now, surprise! You have to commit.”

Ellie groaned dramatically, flicking her lighter open and shut. “Well, at least I’ll get a free meal out of it.”

“You’re paying.”

Ellie sat up so fast she nearly rolled off the couch. “Excuse me?”

Rachel hung up.

Across town, you were lying flat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating whether or not it was worth the effort to grab the water bottle sitting a mere three feet away. You had accepted that dehydration might just be your fate when your phone rang. You blindly reached for it, barely checking the caller ID before answering.

“No.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, unphased. “Dinner. You and Ellie. Tomorrow night. Be charming. Look in love. Don’t do that thing where you act like you physically cannot be perceived while eating in public.”

You blinked. “Why would I do that? Why would I ever do that?”

“You did it last time.”

“That was different. That was 2 AM takeout.”

“Regardless,” Rachel pressed on, clearly unimpressed with your excuses, “wear something nice. Order a fancy wine. And the paparazzi will be there, so make it look good.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting being alive. “How good are we talking?”

She hummed, like she was debating how much pain to inflict. “Comfortable. Playful. A couple of lingering touches, a cute moment or two. Laugh at her jokes like she’s the funniest person you’ve ever met.”

“She’s not that funny.”

“Then pretend.”

You scoffed, throwing an arm over your eyes. “Anything else, director?”

“Yes. And please, for the love of God, don’t give the paps the middle finger this time.”

You sat up, deeply offended. “That was one time.”

“It was three times.”

“Okay, but in my defense, they deserved it.”

Rachel wasn’t amused. “Tomorrow. Eight. Don’t be late.”

And then she hung up, leaving you staring at your phone, deeply unprepared for the fact that you now had a very official date. With Ellie.

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed with all the enthusiasm of a medieval poet dying from heartbreak.

“Well…” you muttered to yourself. “A date is a date.”

The restaurant was the kind of place where secrets were whispered over candlelight, and fortunes changed hands beneath the weight of silk napkins. Dim lighting pooled in golden circles beneath chandeliers, casting flickering shadows against dark wood paneling. It was designed for intimacy—hushed conversations, stolen glances, the illusion that the outside world didn’t exist.

But tonight, that illusion was paper-thin.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt it. The shift in the air. The subtle tightening of shoulders at nearby tables. A murmur of recognition stirred beneath the soft clinking of glasses, and just past the curve of the bar, someone’s phone tilted, camera lens catching both of your faces.

Ellie noticed it too. Her fingers brushed the small of your back—light, steady, deliberate. Not quite possessive, but close. Just enough to send a message, though whether it was for you or the watchful eyes around you, you weren’t sure.

“Looks like they already caught on,” she muttered, her breath warm against your ear.

You didn’t turn, just reached for the menu as you slid into the booth. “Let them watch.”

Ellie smirked, leaning back into the seat across from you. The leather creaked under her weight. She stretched, lazy and unbothered, but her gaze never left yours.

“So...” she said, voice edged with amusement. “First official date.”

You snorted, flipping the menu open as a distraction. “Yeah. Fake dating my one-night stand. Super fun. SUPER normal.”

Ellie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to lean in to the chaos.”

You glanced up at her, lips twitching. “Yeah, well. Maybe I didn’t think it through.” 

Ellie smirked, setting her glass down. “That makes two of us”

The waiter appeared before you could argue, cutting through the tension like a knife. Orders were placed. The conversation settled into something almost comfortable—almost. Beneath it, a charge still hummed, too close to be ignored.

You hated how good she looked.

The loose black button-up, sleeves rolled to reveal the intricate ink winding around her forearms. The way the candlelight flickered against her silver rings as she toyed with the rim of her whiskey glass. She looked effortless, unfairly so, like she wasn’t aware of the effect she had on people. The effect she had on you.

She caught you staring.

“What?” Ellie’s lips curled slightly, eyes flicking over your face.

You shook your head, feigning indifference. “Nothing.”

Ellie didn’t buy it. She leaned in, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping into something lower, smoother. “You sure about that?”

You exhaled. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before someone posts a blurry picture of us with a dramatic caption.”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Probably already happened.”

She wasn’t wrong. Your phone, face-down on the table, had been buzzing intermittently all night. And yet, for once, you had no urge to check it. No urge to confirm what you already knew—that the world was watching, dissecting every look, every movement, every stray touch.

But for a fleeting second, you let yourself forget.

The laughter and conversation had faded, leaving behind something heavier—something unspoken. Ellie was watching you again, fingers drumming a lazy rhythm against the table.

You exhaled through your nose, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip. “You’re staring.”

Ellie didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pretend to look away. If anything, the weight of her gaze intensified, dragging over your face, your lips, the way your fingers curled around the stem of your glass.

“Can’t help it,” she murmured, voice low, rough at the edges. “You’re really selling this whole madly-in-love-with-me thing.”

The words sent a sharp jolt through you—annoyance, something hotter, something dangerous. You set your glass down with a quiet clink, leveling her with a look.

“You’re insufferable.”

Ellie leaned in, elbows resting on the table, her smirk deepening. Her voice dropped just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“And yet,” she drawled, “here you are, madly in love with me.”

It was infuriating—the cocky glint in her eyes, the way she was too close and somehow still not close enough.

You wanted to shove her away. You wanted to yank her closer.

Instead, you inhaled, slow and measured, smoothing the irritation from your face. You reached across the table, your fingers sliding over hers—warm, steady, deliberate. Your touch lingered, just enough to watch her expression shift.

Ellie’s smirk faltered. Just for a second.

Good.

You leaned in, voice sweet, syrupy, laced with something lethal.

“Of course, baby,” you cooed, lacing your fingers through hers. “You’re the love of my life.”

Ellie stilled. Her eyes flickered—just briefly, just enough. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, her thumb grazing over your knuckles.

Her smirk curled back into place, but now? Now, you could tell it wasn’t quite as easy as before.

“Damn right” she murmured.

It was nothing. A move for the cameras. A game you’d both agreed to play.

So why did it feel like something was shifting?

Outside, cameras flashed.

Inside, the world felt smaller, quieter, like the space between you had its own gravity.

Ellie never posted much.

Not about herself. Not about anyone. But tonight? Tonight was different.

The Instagram story went up without warning. No buildup, no context, just a single photo.

You, mid-laugh, wine glass in hand, bathed in candlelight. The kind of effortless, unguarded moment that made it impossible to look away. Shadows curled along your cheekbones, the soft glow making you look almost unreal, like something out of a dream.

No tags. No emojis. No overcomplicated caption. Just four quiet, devastating words:

"yeah, i'm done for."

A confession disguised as nothing. A moment so simple, so fleeting—yet it hit like a seismic shift.

The internet, once again, was in shambles.

The studio smelled like stale coffee and old vinyl, the air thick with the kind of silence that only existed at this hour. It was late—too late. The kind of late that blurred the edges of logic, where exhaustion made everything feel heavier, where thoughts you’d spent all day avoiding started creeping back in.

You hadn’t meant to be here. Hadn’t meant to sit in this chair, pen in hand, staring at the blank page in your notebook like it held the answer to a question you weren’t ready to ask.

But here you were.

Another night. Another week. 

Another failed attempt to convince yourself that this wasn’t a problem.

The guitar rested against your thigh, its weight grounding, familiar, a piece of you as much as the heartbeat in your chest. But every chord you strummed felt wrong. Off. Like the melody was trying to tell you something you weren’t ready to hear.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face before picking up the pen. The words came before you could stop them.

It’s 3 AM and the moon looks different Or maybe it’s just my state of mind Tried to leave you somewhere distant But you keep slipping between the lines

You stared at them, heart pounding harder than it should have been.

I shouldn’t be thinking about you

You hesitated, then scratched it out. The fuck was that?

Outside, the city pulsed—neon signs flickering, distant laughter spilling from bars, car horns and sirens blending into the night like white noise. The world kept moving, unaware. Unbothered.

Unlike you.

Because inside this room, in this quiet that felt too sharp, it was just you and the ghost of someone who wasn’t even here.

She was probably asleep right now, tangled in sheets that smelled like her and not like you. Peaceful, unbothered, unaware of the fact that you were wide awake in a room that suddenly felt too small. That you were trying, and failing, to put whatever the hell you were feeling about her into words.

You exhaled sharply, leaning back in your chair.

This is stupid.

And yet—

Your fingers twitched, your grip tightening around the pen, and before you could stop yourself, you wrote.

You leave fingerprints on my skin Like I was meant to be touched by you Like you knew me in a past life And kept coming back just to haunt me

The words sat there, and suddenly they weren't just lyrics anymore.

It was her.

The way she looked at you—too intense, like she saw through every excuse, every careful lie you told yourself.

The way her voice settled in your bones, low and lazy, curling around the edges of your thoughts when you least expected it.

The way she touched you—casual, careless, like she didn’t even realize she was leaving pieces of herself behind. But at the same time, she was taking parts of you too, until you weren’t sure where she ended and you began.

And you hated it.

Hated that no matter how many songs you wrote or how many sleepless nights you spent thinking about her, she still lingered in every corner of your mind. Hated that no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself this was fake—just a fleeting thought, just a name, just a PR stunt—it never felt fake. And even now, even here, your fingers betrayed you against the chords of your guitar, tracing a slow, aching melody.

Something soft and low.

Something that sounded too much like her.

You let the song take shape, let it spill out in half-finished lyrics and messy scribbles, in chords that felt like confessions you’d never say to her face.

And when the song finally ended, it wasn’t careful.

It wasn't filtered through logic or reason or the rules you were supposed to be following.

It was just the truth.

The sharp vibration of your phone against the wooden table nearly made you jump. The sound cut through the quiet hum of the studio, through the half-finished melody still hanging in the air.

You stared at the screen, pulse quickening before your brain could catch up.

Ellie.

Her name glowed against the dim light, as if you had summoned her with thought. An interruption, a warning—an inevitability.

You hesitated, fingers twitching against the notebook, the unfinished lyrics glaring up at you like they knew something you didn’t. Like they were daring you to answer.

A part of you wanted to ignore it. To pretend you hadn’t seen it.

But your resolve had never been strong when it came to her.

Your thumb hovered before unlocking the screen. The message sat there, simple, unreadable.

Ellie: you up?

You exhaled slowly, rubbing at your tired eyes. Of course, she knew. Knew you couldn’t sleep. Knew exactly how your mind worked, how it never let you rest.

Another vibration.

Ellie: don’t lie

A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t a question. She already knew the answer.

You tapped the keyboard, typed, erased, typed again.

You: why?

The ellipsis appeared immediately. Then, a pause. A hesitation.

Ellie: idk

Ellie: just thinking

Your stomach twisted. That was the thing about Ellie—she never said too much. Just enough to get inside your head. Just enough to make you wonder.

Ellie: can’t sleep

You should’ve said something simple. Something easy, something that didn’t open doors you weren’t ready to walk through.

But this was Ellie.

And maybe you were tired of pretending.

You: me neither

The words felt like an admission, but it still wasn’t enough. Something about the silence between texts, the space where she was waiting for more, made your fingers tighten around your phone.

The air in the studio felt heavier now, thick with the quiet things you weren’t saying. The song in your notebook was unfinished, just like this—whatever the fuck this was.

You stared at the screen, heart knocking against your ribs.

Fuck it.

Before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—

You: come over

A pause. Too long, too quiet. You held your breath.

Then, finally—

Ellie: omw

The knock on the studio door nearly sent you out of your chair.

3:47 a.m.

Another knock—sharper this time, more impatient.

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the desk before pushing yourself up. You rolled the tension from your shoulders, stepping over half-crumpled lyric sheets.

Ellie stood in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, hands buried in her pockets, wearing that kind of expression that made your stomach clench.

“Wow” she drawled, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. “You look like shit.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting responding to that fucking text. “Nice to see you too, Ellie.”

“Always a pleasure, sweetheart” she shot back, smirk widening. “You gonna let me in, or should I start serenading you from the hallway? ‘Cause I will. And it’ll be bad.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped aside. “It already is.”

Ellie snorted as she walked in, the scent of her—faint cologne, cigarettes, something familiar—stirring something restless in your chest. She wandered over to your desk, eyes sweeping over the chaos of half-filled notebooks, your laptop, empty coffee cups, and a sad little pile of crumpled snack wrappers.

“Jesus” she muttered, toeing at a discarded water bottle. “You been here all night?”

You ran a hand over your face. “Yeah. Some of us actually have to work.”

Ellie scoffed, dropping into the chair across from you, arms slung over the backrest. “Some of us are also working. I’ve got an album to finish, remember?”

You huffed out a tired laugh, rubbing your eyes. “Oh, so you came here to, what, steal my ideas?”

Ellie smirked. “Maybe.”

“Now” she continued, tapping her fingers against the edge of your notebook, “do me a favor and tell me if this song sucks before I embarrass myself.”

You blinked. “Wait—you’re actually asking for my opinion?”

Ellie placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “I know. Huge deal.”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Ellie grinned, pulling out her phone, scrolling through her files. A moment later, a raw, unfinished melody drifted through the studio speakers—soft guitar, steady beat, her voice coming in a little rough but unmistakably hers.

You leaned back, listening. It wasn’t what you expected. It was slower, almost hesitant, the kind of song that didn’t just sit in your chest—it settled there, heavy, like it wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

When it faded out, Ellie glanced at you, fingers drumming idly against the desk. “Well?”

You exhaled, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s… different.”

Ellie huffed a laugh. “Wow. Incredible feedback. Thank you so much.”

You shot her a look. “No, I mean—it’s great. But it’s you in a way your other stuff isn’t. Feels more…” You searched for the word, something that wouldn’t make this moment feel like a confession.

“Personal?” Ellie offered, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded. “Yeah. Personal. Like you actually mean it.”

Ellie clicked her tongue, leaning back in the chair, stretching her arms above her head. “Great. Can’t wait for the internet to rip me apart for being emotional.”

You snorted. “Oh, please. Sad Ellie is about to be everyone’s favorite genre.”

Ellie groaned, tilting her head back. “God. Kill me now.”

You grinned. “Nah, you gotta live long enough to suffer through your own album rollout.”

Ellie shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Then, her gaze flicked back to you. Sharper now. Intentional.

“So” she said, nodding towards your notebook. “What about you?”

Your pulse kicked up. “What about me?”

Ellie tapped a finger against your laptop. “You working on anything good, or just staring at the screen and contemplating your entire existence?”

You hesitated.

The ghost of the melody still lingered on your fingertips, the kind of song that would give too much away. You could still feel it under your skin—like the ink hadn’t dried yet.

Ellie was still watching you. Waiting.

You exhaled, pressing your palm against the notebook, shutting it.

“Nothing finished.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying you. “That was a suspiciously vague answer.”

“And yet, I’m not elaborating.”

Ellie's eyes flicked to the notebook under your hand. “Must be something good if you’re guarding it like the nuclear codes.”

You exhaled, pressing your palm a little firmer over the cover. “It’s just not finished.”

Her gaze lingered for a beat, unreadable, before she leaned back.

"Fine. Keep your secrets." But her smirk remained, teasing, knowing. “I’ll just wait for the album, then.”

The silence stretched, thick and charged, pressing against the walls of the dimly lit studio. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city outside and the slow, steady breaths neither of you seemed willing to break.

Then Ellie moved.

She stood with a lazy stretch, her hoodie riding up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. It was an afterthought, a fleeting moment—except that it wasn’t. Not to you.

You noticed everything. The shift of her muscles. The way her fingers flexed at her sides, like she was resisting the urge to touch. The flicker of something unreadable in her eyes when she caught you staring.

"Y’know" she murmured, voice dipping low, rich with something that sent a slow, simmering heat curling in your stomach. "This studio’s got some nice acoustics."

Your heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"

Ellie’s smirk spread wider, slow and confident—full of something dangerously playful. “What do I mean?” she repeated, stepping closer. "I mean… it’d be a damn shame not to test ‘em out."

Your breath caught before you could stop it.

“Ellie...” you warned, the sound barely a whisper.

Her gaze flickered, something sharp and amused dancing behind her eyes. “That’s my name” she said, her voice turning husky, deliberately dragging out the words as she tilted her head, clearly savoring the tension she was building.

“Try not to wear it out, yeah?”

You gripped the edge of the desk harder, trying to steady your shaking hands as she closed the distance between you. Like she had all the time in the world. Like she hadn’t just walked in here and rewritten the air.

Then her hands were on you. Her fingertips barely grazed the edge of your shirt, a feather-light touch that was more maddening than anything. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Ellie caught it, of course, the satisfaction lighting up her features.

“You gonna let me play, superstar?” she murmured, voice thickening, growing darker, heavier with something far more dangerous. Her eyes danced across your face, settling on your lips, tracing the way your breath had turned sharp, uneven.

You swallowed, every part of you on fire. "That depends."

Her brows lifted slightly. "On?"

You exhaled, heart hammering, every nerve in your body locked onto the press of her fingers against your skin.

"Whether you’re any good at it."

Ellie’s smirk shifted, something wicked flashing behind her eyes as her hands slid lower, gripping your waist and pulling you against her. The heat between you became unbearable, the space between you vanishing entirely.

“Oh, babe,” she whispered, her lips brushing against yours as she lowered her head, the words dripping with heat and promise.

“You already know the answer to that.”

And before you could fire back, she kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn't careful. It was a collision—desperate, reckless, the kind of kiss that burned straight through you. Her hands tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against her as she deepened it, tilting her head just enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

A low sound rumbled from her chest, vibrating against your skin as she pressed in closer, like she wanted to drown in you.

"Ellie—"

"Shh," she breathed, lips ghosting over yours. "Just let me."

The desk dug into your back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way Ellie’s fingers curled under your shirt, skimming higher, dragging heat in their wake. You gasped into her mouth, and she took the opportunity to bite your lower lip, a smug little hum vibrating against your skin when your knees nearly buckled.

"Fuck," You murmured, fingers tangling in the front of her hoodie, trying to pull her even closer, even though there was barely any space left between you.

It wasn’t a protest. Not really. She heard it for what it was. A warning. A plea. 

Ellie grinned against your mouth, infuriatingly cocky. "Told you." 

Your response was a hand fisting in her hoodie, yanking her back in. The studio air grew heavier, filled with the soft, urgent press of lips, the wet sound of mouths parting and meeting again.

The heat between you thickened, each kiss deeper, hungrier, as if neither of you could get close enough. Ellie’s hands mapped out familiar territory, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine. 

She pushed your back against the desk, her body hovering over yours as a half-empty cup of coffee tipped over, spilling across the surface—but neither of you cared. Ellie’s lips trailed down your jaw, then to your neck, her mouth hot against your skin as she found that sweet spot just beneath your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, your hands fisting her hair, pulling her closer as a gasp slipped from your lips.

Just as you fully sank into the desk, your hand fumbled, accidentally pressing a button.

A red recording light pulsed steadily.

Your stomach dropped. The realization hit like a shock to the system, but before you could react—before you could even think to stop it from recording the audio—she leaned in, voice dark with amusement.

“Oh” she murmured, eyes flicking to the glowing light. “Now that’s interesting.”

She didn’t stop. If anything, the revelation only seemed to fuel her, slow and deliberate in the way she moved. Her fingers traced the edge of the desk, knuckles grazing your skin.

“You know,” she continued, her voice almost thoughtful, almost teasing “most people would just turn it off.” A pause. A smirk. “But you’re not moving.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, each passing second like an eternity. You should’ve said something, anything—but her eyes were already locked on yours, reading you like an open book, watching every shaky breath, every tremor in your body.

“Interesting” she said again, softer this time.

She figured you out. The thought of this moment being recorded turned you on.

She leaned in, mouth just barely brushing your ear.

“Let’s give it something to remember.”

Her fingers skimmed up your thighs, grazing the hem of your waistband, teasing, before slipping beneath to touch your cunt through the damp fabric of your panties. The touch was barely a whisper, just enough to send a jolt of anticipation straight to your core, every nerve in your body lighting up in response.

“Fuck,” she murmured, voice rough against your ear. “Already so wet f’me”

The studio felt impossibly hot. The low hum of the equipment, the distant flicker of the red recording light—it all blurred around you as Ellie’s fingers pushed your panties to the side and brushed against your soaked cunt, teasing. 

You shivered, biting down on your lip as her fingers stroked slow, lazy circles on your clit. You let out a breathy moan, the sound almost embarrassingly loud in the empty room.

She exhaled a soft chuckle, the sound amused, low. “So sensitive…”

Her fingers traced lazy shapes, barely there—enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy. Your head tipped forward, your forehead pressing against her shoulder as you fought to steady your breathing, determined not to let her see you unravel so easily.

Instead, you pressed your lips to the delicate curve of her neck, nipping gently at the skin. The action pulled a breathy, low moan from her throat, followed by a soft hitch in her breath, a dark mark forming where your lips had just been. The sound of her pulse quickening beneath your mouth sent a thrill through you, making it harder to hold back as the tension between you both grew.

Her free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you pinned. Then, with a slow shift of her weight, she adjusted just enough to quicken the pace of her movements, to send jolts of pleasure racing up your spine. Each thrust had you arching, desperate for more as white-hot waves of pleasure surged through you.

A loud moan ripped from your throat.

“That’s it,” she praised, lips skimming your neck, her voice nothing but smoke and heat. “Don’t hold back.”

Your body tightened as she kept up that slow, torturous rhythm. Each stroke was precise—she knew exactly how to break you, exactly how to keep you teetering right on the edge, without letting you tip over.

The tension in your body coiled tighter, hotter, ready to snap—

And then she stopped.

You gasped, hips jerking back involuntarily, chasing the pressure that was suddenly gone. A desperate noise clawed its way up your throat, frustration burning through you like wildfire.

She laughed, low and smug, her breath ghosting over your skin. “Patience, baby.”

Fingers tangled in your shirt, swallowing your sharp inhale with a kiss that left no room for hesitation. It was frantic, untamed—teeth scraping, tongues tangling, breaths ragged as she pressed herself flush against your legs, completely between them.

Hands gripped your thighs, rough fingertips tracing slow patterns against your heated skin, dragging the anticipation out until you were squirming beneath her, hips canting forward, seeking friction.

Her smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and dominance as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear.

"You’ll have to beg for it, pretty," she purred, her voice low and rough, each word a silk-wrapped snare. "Tell me just how badly you want it."

And you were already too lost to even think of denying her.

"Please, Ellie" The words tumbled out, a raw, desperate plea. "I need you... so fucking much..." The vulnerability stung, but it felt right, like a surrender you couldn’t fight, even if you wanted to.

Her lips grazed your jaw, teasing with a scrape of teeth. "Fuck..." she hummed, savoring the way you shivered.

"It's impossible to say no to you," she breathed, her mouth trailing down your throat. "Why would I even try?"

Her hand moved, slipping beneath fabric, slow and unrelenting, fingers pressing into your clit in one smooth, devastating motion again. Your head fell back, a broken moan breaking free, and that was all the encouragement she needed.

The red light kept blinking.

The track kept recording.

And neither of you gave a fuck.

Two fingers eased their way inside, stretching you open, curling just right. It dragged a choked gasp from your throat, the pleasure overwhelming as she finally gave you what you wanted.

A quiet hum of amusement left her lips. “That’s it, baby,” she murmured, her voice all smoke and satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Like you had a choice.

Your breath hitched, another moan slipping free as she picked up the pace, slow and devastating. The studio air felt stifling, thick with heat, with want, with the unbearable tension that had been simmering between you for weeks.

And now it was spilling over, consuming both of you whole.

Her free hand slid up your side, tugging your shirt upwards, fingertips ghosting over your ribs and stomach until they found your breast. Her fingers squeezed, kneading, rolling your sensitive bud with so much lust it made your breath hitch.

Ellie’s hands pressed your breast up, and you gasped from the intensity of her grip.

“Easy, Ellie... please,” you breathed, eyes shutting.

“Stop whining” Ellie muttered, slapping your breast.

The unexpected sting sent a rush of heat through you, making your hips instinctively rock against her fingers. Ellie was in cloud nine, watching the way you unraveled, addicted to the way you loved being under her mercy.

Ellie’s eyes darkened, her hand gripping your breast harder and pinching your nipple in a way that made you whine. She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.

“You want more?” she purred. “I can give you fucking more.”

Her fingers went even faster and deeper inside you, wet lewd sounds filling the room. You felt a fresh wave of heat through you, your stomach tightening, thighs clenching around her. You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function with the way she was ravishing you.

The sound of your own incoherent babbling—wrecked, desperate, breaking on every inhale—echoed through the studio monitors, looping back at you in real time. It was sinful. A record of your undoing, caught on tape, permanent.

And you both loved it.

“Bet you’ll listen to this after we are finished.” she teased, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice pure arrogance.

You wanted to tell her to shut up.

Wanted to wipe that cocky expression off her face.

But you couldn’t.

Not when she was this deep inside you, not when your entire body was trembling, not when she was driving you closer and closer to the edge with every relentless movement.

"Ellie! Fuck! Ah! I'm—I'm gonna!—"

Her grip on your thigh tightened, keeping you steady, keeping you exactly where she wanted you. “C’mon, babe” she coaxed, her voice dipping lower, rougher, sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. “Let go for me.”

You had no choice.

With a sharp inhale, your body seized, pleasure crashing over you in a dizzying, uncontrollable wave. Your fingers clenched in her hoodie, pulling her closer as the world around you blurred, fractured.

She didn’t stop.

Not until she had wrung everything out of you, not until your legs shook, not until your nails dug half-moons into her shoulders, not until your breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.

Only then did she slow.

Only then did she press a lingering kiss to your jaw, her touch finally easing, the weight of her body grounding you as you came back to yourself.

The dim glow of the studio monitors casted long shadows over your hands as you hovered over the trackpad, hesitating. The screen in front of you flickering with waveforms—familiar ones, yet impossibly intimate.

The remnants of last night. Of her.

Your body still remembered. The way she pressed against you, the roughness of her hands on your skin, the way she took and took without hesitation. Your thighs still trembled if you thought about it too long. A dull ache pulsed deep in your muscles, in the places her fingers had left their mark, in the places where heat still lingered, ghostlike.

And then there was this.

A single, unnamed audio file.

Your cursor hovered over it, pulse thrumming, heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

But you clicked play anyway.

The second the sound filled your headphones, your stomach clenched. 

Fuck.

It was devastating.

The track captured everything—the sharp intake of breath when her hands disappeared just to return, the way your voice wavered between restraint and surrender, the quiet, broken whimpers that she’d dragged from you, each one edged with desperation. And beneath it all, her.

Her voice—low, teasing, soaked in dark amusement.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You swallowed, but your mouth was dry, your fingers hovering over the delete button.

You should delete it.

You should.

But a wicked idea curled in the back of your mind, taking shape, sinking its claws in.

One particular song of yours was already finished—a sensual, slow-burn of a track, thick with sultry melodies and lyrics soaked in want. It was about sex, no subtlety, no metaphors to hide behind. This was the kind of song that slipped under skin, the kind that made people blush when they heard just how explicit it really was.

And now?

Now, it was going to be about her.

You dragged the unnamed file to the song, heart hammering as you isolated the breathiest, most wrecked parts—the ones that made your thighs press together, the ones that would make her smirk so damn cocky when she realized what you’d done.

You worked methodically, layering them just beneath the chorus, weaving them in so delicately they almost melted into the beat. Almost.

And then, the final touch.

You scrolled through the file, fingers trembling just slightly as you plucked the words you knew would drive anyone crazy.

A soft, broken whisper—"Fuck..."

A cocky drawl—“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.” 

The one that made something deep inside you clench—"Tell me just how badly you want it."

And then, the final touch, almost at the end of the song. A phrase that made it unmistakably clear where all those sounds had come from. Low and rough, a whisper edged with recognition so distinct that anyone who had heard it once would know—those were your moans, and this was Ellie fucking Wiliams voice.

“Bet you’ll listen to this after we are finished.”

You pressed play, listening to it slip seamlessly into the bridge, into the build-up, the anticipation tightening, tightening, until goosebumps prickled along your skin.

A slow, wicked smile curled at your lips as you saved the file.

Two months.

That was all the time you had until the album dropped.

Let’s see if she notices.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaii @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE THAT MOANING IN THE BACKTRACK OF A SONG PARTTT OMG . OMFG. its not my fav chapter, but here it its ig, and its so long im sorry lmaooo. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[topfsecret]

Dress to Impress Lana Lore: Why her?

Post Date: 1 November 2024

special thanks to youtuber callmehhaley for her video "SECRETS In The LANA LORE QUEST & Breakdown! *STORY EXPLAINED?* | Dress To Impress Halloween Update"

also thank you to youtuber izzzyzzz for her video "The Dress To Impress Horror ARG Explained"

For my thoughts on Nurse Julie from the Halloween Update, feel free to visit TopfSecret's Lana Lore Tag!

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Why Did Agamemnon Choose Lana?

At first, it's easy to say that Agamemnon symbolizes the predatory people in the fashion industry. The early Lana lore cements this interpretation. Agamemnon's minions exploited Lana's sickness, roping her into a job so she can pay her medical bills, before trapping her in the whole Awakening business.

But the Halloween Update reveal that Agamemnon may have caused Lana's illness in the first place is... wild. It doesn't undo the above interpretation, especially with the shadowy cult stuff. But why Lana? Why not take someone who's already got a terminal illness? There's plenty of desperate people to take advantage of in this age of capitalism.

The song "Temptation" may have the answers. It's reaching a little bit, but please bear with me!

Let me tell you a story of betrayal Between two people unalike There was a goddess, who was immortal against a jealousy of a warrior and when the time came for a judgement There were more wrongs than a right There was no solace, no immunity banished from who he used to be

So, there's precedent in greek mythology of mortals being punished for wanting to surpass/being better than the gods, for example Arachne - being turned into a spider for defeating Athena in a weaving contest. There's also precedent of mortals being punished for cheating death (wanting immortality), as in the case of Sisyphus - doomed to push a boulder up a hill for eternity because he trapped Thanatos (personification of death) and prevented him from taking Sisyphus' soul.

So it's not a stretch to say that Agamemnon isn't a new figure. I can't say if he's literally mythological Agamemnon, but he could be? From wikipedia: "Agamemnon has slain an animal sacred to Artemis, and subsequently boasts that he is her equal in hunting."

ummm... yeah. That's punishment material, babey. A warrior (well, hunter) of sorts being jealous of Artemis' immortality... makes sense, but not quite.

Regardless, in my opinion, DTI Agamemnon is old enough to have been jealous of a goddess' immortality, trying to get it, and then being punished for it. I'm guessing his punishment is being denied a physical form, doomed to be a ghost forever (since he wants immortality so much). My rationale: he's seen as hallucinations and dark shadows in the Halloween Update, which is probably the earliest chronologically (since it talks about Lana's leaving her house and her hospital days).

He only got a physical form after sacrificing multiple souls (seen in the earlier updates), such as the Fortress Security Footage #1. It's not his "ultimate" form, though, which is why he keeps trying to get more sacrifices.

For the temptation in his heart His life was doomed right from the start He wanted more than what he got But it was locked away

Well, duh. Immortality is locked away from mortals for a reason. If his life is "doomed from the start", it could be that DTI Agamemnon is based on (or is actually) mythological Agamemnon, where his entire family has been doomed due to the actions of his ancestor, Tantalus.

Obsessed with immortality He wanted to live eternally Wanted to make himself a God and now he's locked away

This explains itself. He may have been locked away by the goddess that he was jealous of back in the first verse.

So he planned to sneak into the palace and consume what wasn't his he thought you made it, with all his malice but he was caught in carelessness

"Sneak into the palace" could have not been literal, because I have no idea what the literal equivalent is. However, a palace and a fortress can be equated in some way - which may mean that he's creating The Fortress to consume what wasn't his (souls of the innocent).

How about "He thought you made it, with all his malice, but he was caught in carelessness."?

Well.

This is where my speculation goes to an unhinged place.

Ready? Of course you are.

So: I think Lana may have been related to whoever goddess punished Agamemnon in the first place. Whether she's the goddess' descendant, or a reincarnation, or simply an unlucky mortal chosen for a quest, Lana Dress to Impress may have divine purpose.

That's why Agamemnon chose Lana as his main collaborator/pawn instead of other terminally ill young women (or others whom he thinks is easily exploited). He wanted to get revenge on the goddess that punished him in the first place, so he took it out on Lana.

I think "he thought you made it, with all his malice" means that Agamemnon has the impression that Lana made it (the Fortress) for him.

"But he was caught in carelessness" because he assumed wrong. In truth, Lana made the whole thing to stop him - at least at first, before he started influencing her. In the previous updates, we see that Lana made the whole Saudade/Coterie thing to stop the Awakening. It could've been a prophecy, or something driven inside her because of her divine heritage. Her obsession with ancient Greek mythology could be explained by her unknowingly reaching for her birthright/quest hints/etc.. (Although, that goddess would not be Artemis, I think.)

I think Lana made all that stuff to stop him and the Awakening as soon as she left the hospital. She thought she was free! She wants to, has to, fight back against him!

But of course, Agamemnon is still stalking her, waiting until the right time to influence her again, to make her work for him instead.

now the time came for a judgement and he pleaded for his life he would be banished, and stay immortal if only he sacrificed a few souls

The problem is, I still don't really know how these lines fit. "Stay immortal if only he sacrificed a few souls" wouldn't make sense if the gods didn't want him to be immortal as more than an incorporeal shadow/hallucination.

Maybe he knew, somehow, that he had to sacrifice a few souls to become immortal (not only tangible, but also having an Ultimate Form through the Awakening)? Did he know that innately? Or did someone else, a greater force, tell him? I really don't know. We probably need more information.

If you're a bigger Greek mythology nerd than we are (which is probably the case - do let us know if I missed some important part of the Agamemnon mythological lore.)

Thank you all so much for reading!

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To see more Dress to Impress ARG thoughts:

TopfSecret's Lana Lore Tag

[yuespropagandablog]

Hello esteemed mutual. If you are reading this, then that means my propaganda is working. But you might still have questions, so I am here to answer them. Well. Actually. My propaganda already worked without the help of Captain America, but I also like writing these posts and SOME OF Y'ALL haven't bought it yet after I posted a lot so here I am after all.

What is Spiritfarer?

Spiritfarer is a management game by Thunder Lotus Games about death. Yup, death. I have... an interesting history with this game, that you can ask me about later, but I read multiple times that it's a great game to deal with grief and yes, it is. Also, apparently it's been renamed to Spiritfarer: Farewell Edition, but that basically means that the game is complete. After release, there were some major free content updates. Now that the game's been finished, I might replay it as the full package.

You play as Stella, who upon her death, arrives in an afterlife of sorts and takes over from Charon (yes, that Charon) to become the Spiritfarer. In life, Stella was a palliative care nurse in charge of helping increase the quality of life of patients with a serious illness, who stayed with these patients till the end in order to ease their pain. That's why she is fitting for this role. Stella inherits Charon's boat and sails around, picking up spirits of deceased people who haven't really moved on 'to the great beyond' just yet. Stella houses them on her boat, makes them feel comfortable, helps them with unfinished business, and eventually lets them go.

Yup. You need to let them go.

Anyway, have a trailer:

What's so great about it?

Personally, I think this game excels at the combination between story and gameplay. As in, I am usually fine if a game prioritises one over the other (like Tears of the Kingdom's gameplay is better than its story, and Night in the Woods's story is better than its gameplay), but this game is just right. It's a management sim, so you need to care for these spirits, update your boat for more rooms with activities to do, collect resources, farm, cook etc. Your management influences the mood of your spirits, which in turn impacts the game.

Once you're off your boat, there's some platforming and 2D exploration. There are also special events for certain kinds of items that lead to a special mini-game.

It would've been a cosy and relaxing game if it weren't, you know, about death. I mean, it's still relaxing and chill. It's really nice to play. The impending goodbyes just loom over you.

And aside from satisfying gameplay, the story is just amazing. The amount of characters that Stella meets is great and everyone has their own story. It's a game about death, as I said before, and it shows how death can occur in different ways. Prepare to weep. A big part of this game is about saying goodbye. The game simulates a grieving process. You may foolishly believe that it's just a game, and you control it, and you may hold on to some spirits, but in order to progress, you need to let them go. Oof.

The story is well-done in a way that it surprised me, but looking back on them, all those surprises were predictable. Those kinds of stories are the greatest. It still makes you feel something, but it wasn't a left field either. It's just good shit.

Where can I play this?

Thank you Wikipedia for listing it: Linux, macOS, Windows, Switch, PS4, Xbox One, Stadia, iOS and Android. I think the mobile port is done through Netflix Games. I played it on Switch.

Can we play together?

There is local co-op. Stella is joined by her cat Daffodil, even in the soloplayer mode. But in multiplayer, the second player controls Daffodil. I have never played it in co-op, and Daffodil cannot do everything that Stella can do. I think he's like a better Cappy. But again, I have no experience with it myself.

Are there content warnings?

It's about death, and as I said, it's about different ways death can occur. Death isn't always natural. In fact, people unfortunately die from illness, unnatural causes, or from self-inflicted harm. And not everyone reaches old age. Also, you delve into the lives of the spirits, and not everyone had a rosy life. Topics like abandonment issues and unhealthy relationships are part of the story.

Is there DLC?

Nope. That's because the content updates were free. I do have, you know, things to say about content updates in general, but I have more to say about paid DLC so I respect the hell out of Thunder Lotus for not charing extra money for it.

Are there German characters in Spiritfarer?

It's heavily implied that Stella is French. Is that close enough?

[jbird-the-manwich]

i havent been active in online witch or occult communities lately because of the decay i've witnessed but i just wanted to say i've always respected your presence on the internet, especially my younger self, it was good to be exposed to varying opinions. but i wanted to say i relate. the name "gemma gary" sets off a neuro response in me, not because anythings wrong with her, but because it's All. I. Hear. or it was when i was active. she was like, the golden standard or something to the people i was with. and i didn't get it. and there's a whole lotta other shit. but i just wanted to thank you for mentioning it with some of the posts you've made. i'm from the southeast and struggle to click with a lot of shit and then am expected to act like an English witch or cunning person or whatever. I'm not. Yeah, I'm drunk while writing this. But I've wanted to thank you for all you've contributed to this site with your input, and indirectly to a several years younger me who thought you were cool.

oh. well thank you. That's very sweet of you. yeah I learned a lot of people on the witchternet are basically trekkies, but about witches. its like a historical trivia-off. anytime a place is mentioned of having witchcraft in it the trekkies come out and eat it all like locusts and then roll their eyes at anyone that isn't in on the tourism. I think it's kind of insulting honestly. it'd be nice to see fewer people name-dropping traditions they have at best a fourth or fifth order separation from, especially seeing as I too am from a region and tradition very popular to pilfer for lore to misrepresent later. it becomes very insulting cosplay. and tbh if your area doesn't grow blackthorn and your place on the timeline has bacitracin you are not really demonstrating much in referencing that according to the pharmacological model of 1687 treating that wound with herbs that also don't happen in your region means serious witch business. if you wanna be the best ghostbooter of the 1600s that's a very achievable goal in two hours with wikipedia access. it's also several hundred years behind massive updates to the worlds knowledge. The metaphysical models underlying legacy medical systems are handy for spellcraft and abstraction but i don't know why the trend is to try to freeze an image of the spiritual to a certain time and place that is not your own when the whole point of witchdom is getting shit done. Witches said "we're good at first aid" and trekkies said "oh nevermind that. Wortcunning, you called it? yeah thats heavy as shit. im ordering those plants on amazon, dried. no i can't remember the type of bacterial infection or its symptoms or where else you can get it or how to treat it with any medicine or any plants from my region with similar uses. why?"

tourists.

I do not personally have enough connection culturally to cornwall to need to know how they deal.

I have no idea how many seagulls somebody in cornwall has to fight off daily. I don't need their knowledge of the sea. I am landlocked. it's none of my business and i have witchcraft at home. I'd take notes on what they did with what and why, if anything, and be done with it.

and I know. I dont get it. it was an initiation! a test of their skills! their skills to survive death! in a timecapsuled meta-meta that has shit all to do with me. or most of the people hunting so desperately for a manual on how to witch that they have to wear the skin of a different author every 2 years.

I have to know about timber rattlers, water moccasins, deepfake revenge porn, my friends epipen, and several large predators. you should study down your risk factors. not someone elses. lest you train for obscure minor skin infections endemic outside your region and handled by the ointemente ye already have in ye bathroome of arte when what ails ye be more alike to be a whole north american bobcat crawling all the way up into your asshole. Oh and get pepper spray. A witch should have a ranged attack. in case of parking lot buccas.

[canonical-transformation]

Genshin ships: stock market update (Natlan Act 1+2)

(Warning: May contain spoilers for character appearances and dynamics in [Chapter 5 Act 1–2] Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn and Black Stone Under a White Stone. Previous entries here.) This is for entertainment purposes only and is not financial advice: consult with your ship financial advisor before you invest.

4.0 has landed, and our analysts have been watching with interest as Natlan characters have started listing on the Genshin ship market. Here's our recommendations for the weeks ahead.

---

Citlali/Mualani is held together by a single drip marketing quote, but what a quote. BUY OR HOLD.

Mavuika/Xilonen, on the other hand, does not have a proven profit model. No, the potential for a ship name that sounds like "melanin" isn't reason enough to invest. SELL

(Note: Since Xilonen's drip marketing has landed, let's take a second to examine all the cat themed ships. Xilonen/Dehya and Xilonen/Kirara are too hard to call this far out. Xilonen/Lynette and Xilonen/Diona have boring chemistry, SELL / don't bother. And Xilonen/Keqing... oh Keqing would hate her. Hmm. Watch this space, HOLD OR BUY.)

(No, not all cat related ships find success. The recent bankruptcy and dissolution of Osse/Neko should be proof enough.)

Kachina/Bennett — ⚠️ we typically don't cover selfcest ships because there are too many of them. In this case, we'll make an exception to note it's extra unlikely. They're both too busy having coming of age stories and joining each other's teams (not a euphemism) to have any chemistry. SELL.

Kachina/Lumine, Kachina/Aether — sorry, the Traveller is already too busy being the Wise Old Mentor in the first book of Kachina's YA trilogy. SELL— wait does that mean Traveller's going to die 😐

Mavuika/Lumine, Mavuika/Aether — Constantly inviting us to drinks, her shout or Traveller's; long private chats about the family she never talks about to anyone else; giving up her antiques collection as a show of commitment: that is textbook mid-40's cool aunt flirtation. BUY BUY BUY.

Kinich/Mualani — our analysts describe this as "the equivalent of buying the first thing you see in the store", which I think means SELL.

Atea/Mavuika — There's definitely a little chemistry there, but we're unlikely to see further developments. HOLD OR SELL

Atea/Aether — HOLD OR SELL

Atea/Lumine — HOLD OR BUY. If haircuts had sexualities[...]

Small cap market ("rarepairs")

Mualani/that one bandit in her character teaser: nah, no chemistry, she's like that to everyone who tries to rob her. SELL for two-sided, HOLD OR SELL for one-sided.

Tenoch/Tupac — yeah that's been solid enemies to lovers ever since Talking Stick dropped in 4.0. The character model reveals for both of them have only increased the quality here. BUY

Chaac/Waxaklahun Ubah Kan — SELL. Way too early. If you're interested in obscure antiques maybe try Alain/Rene or Marfisa/Parsifal instead?

On that note, our analysts were intrigued by the Heroes of Cinder City. “It's an OT5 RPG adventuring party!” they explain, “like all those tabletop podcasts!” They were, however, quick to note that this was in the same potential rocky area as all Cataclysm-era ships, so HOLD at best.

Little One/Ushi — yeah sure why not. BUY

But coverage of the world quests will have to wait for a future report. In the meantime, let us know what your market predictions are!

Sidebar: phonetics

Wikipedia provides charts for converting writing systems (e.g. romanisations of languages) into the international phonetic alphabet. Below are examples for a couple of languages found across the Pacific Ring of Fire.

May your phone calls with your ship stockbroker be tienari-free!

[moreclaypigeons]

Mountain Goats fans how are we feeling

Jenny 2... I will put all my analysis about what these things mean under the cut. I would also like to note that after i took these screenshots the 11th (pirate ship sunset) just... disappeared? The post was gone for a fair bit but then came back. may have been a glitch. or maybe a ghost ship.

Here's what I'm getting story-wise:

Someone rode away on their custom Kawasaki with a stinger on the back, leaving the speaker there at the curb so they had to take a bus. But they never saw them again, no one did. Flaky yellow paint of the Kawasaki.. staying up late thinking about how the relationship ended. Time passes and it's winter and they have search parties out for this person. The person crashed while on their bike. And then the speaker realizes it. And the person is dead the end

Now in terms of allusions to the song Jenny:

"You roared into the driveway of our southwestern ranch style house": the house in the first image reasonably fits that description. "Our house faced west": based on the shadows here, the house DOES face either east or west because of the direction that the sun rises.

"on a new Kawasaki, all yellow and black, fresh out of the showroom.": It's the same bike! But, based on the line in the third post, "flaky yellow paint," some time has passed.

"the big orange sun" we see in the 11th image, where the pirate ship sails into the sunset. the image also alludes to "you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon," and "the pirate's life for me!"

post 10 is interesting because it too draws from the pirate's life line, but the imagery is different, and definitely connects/foreshadows the graveyard image. Here is an excerpt from the wikipedia page for jolly rogers: When the pirates' intended victim was within range, the Jolly Roger would be raised, often simultaneously with a warning shot. The flag was probably intended as communication of the pirates' identity, which may have given target ships an opportunity to decide to surrender without a fight.

Miscellaneous:

image 7, with the grecian vase imagery is reminding me of spent gladiator.

i have no idea what the fuck the water tower means.

image 12 depicts a music staff with some notes on it. i know nothing about music but i do know the internet does so i am currently trying to reconstruct it with a program. update mmaybe will follor?

other songs:

According to what John Darnielle has said in hit podcast "i only listen to the mountain goats," Jenny has appeared in 2 or 3 other songs.

"She calls on the phone in Night Light" and "she calls on the phone in Straight Six" and was the sender of postcards in Source Decay. He says, "She is defined by an absence, she has yet to speak. She's in the song Jenny; the other two songs she's in, she's already gone. …She's not there when things are going well, and she's not remembered when things are going well. Jenny is an emblem of more difficult times for people, of wilder times. But also times that they're pretty clearly romanticizing, right, that they're also remembering as the time when they were on a motorcycle with no responsibilities, livin' the pirate's life."

Of course I'm going to listen to those three songs <3

Night light: "Jenny calls from Montana/ She's only passing through / Probably never see her again in this life I guess" oh but we WILL see her again... And then never again. "I was a red dot blinking on a screen up overhead / And then the room went dark" and "Plug a night light in / Leave the porch light on" remind me of the bedside clock and the gas station.

Holy shit Straight Six. I didn't realize this was on Jam Eater Blues until I went to its page on the wiki, but- this is significant cause on their linktree, "stream jam eater blues" is at the top and i was confused cause they also released a bunch of other shit. this is foreshadowing...

Anyways significant moments of Straight Six:

"Dull powder blue paint job / earl scheib special" this could either be the auto station (#2) or the fact that the speaker's car has an earl scheib special paint job (had to research this), which maybe he got from the same auto shop. This song talks a lot about a car. "Rabbit skull hanging from the rear-view" "And I glide down the streets of this city / All night, uptight" "There's a crack in the windshield eighteen inches long / Evaporating snow forming crystals on the chrome" it's hard to tell from the drawing of the van whether there is a crack on the windshield or whether it's just stylized, but..this does intrigue me. And when I heard them mention SNOW immediately after... when the caption to the van post says "searching in the snow".......

Source Decay also mentions driving and cars a lot. Couldn't find anything more significant than what the other songs have though.

If anyone has any other thoughts to share or disagrees or like I missed something- PLEase share i am so eager to hear/talk about this!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 11/7/2023

three days until my birthday problems. i have been very busy with 1) prepping my costume for ren faire and 2) onboarding a new henchwoman to the evil lair, a talented little tabby we're immediately extending full health benefits to with no trial period

listening

good morning afternoon by rebecca sugar. if i had not already known it was rebecca sugar by the voice and the understated guitar, i would have known it was her by the gorgeous synthy chimey chimes. spotify

on my release radar playlist

-

reading

stop fucking using personally identifiable details in your passwords. also stop reusing your passwords and burner emails. especially if you're doing crime

A pivotal clue for validating the research into Apathyp/Fearlless came from the identity intelligence firm myNetWatchman, which found that gezze@mail.ru at one time used the passwords “геззи1991” (gezze1991) and “gezze18081991.” Care to place a wager on when Vkontakte says is Mr. Sherban’s birthday? Ten points if you answered August 18 (18081991). Mr. Sherban did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

-

watching

the 2006 anime BLACK LAGOON, we're going to yoink this from wikipedia bc it's serviceable enough

The series follows the Lagoon Company, a four-member team of pirate mercenaries smuggling goods in and around the seas of Southeast Asia with their PT boat, the Black Lagoon. The group takes on various jobs, usually involving criminal organizations and resulting in violent gunfights.

unfortunately i am genetically inclined to boats and ex-military boats. it is extremely 2006 in sensibility and animation choices. there are remarkably sophisticated and fun battle sequences, and a lot of ass but little upskirting. revy (pictured below) is a dual-wielding gunslinger who is simply the worst. horrible woman that gets space to have a bit of a messy complex character arc and have a messy complex time of it. her writing and character are quite good period, not just quite good for 2006. i adore her.

the second episode has our pirates take out a helicopter with a torpedo boat (no deck guns! they just use the torpedo!) in a way that made me stand up, lift mackintosh above my head, and hoot like a tusken raider.

this is about as violent as your average spaghetti western, and much like spaghetti westerns i don't think the series is always successful in using its setting to make points about grey morality and not like. shock for shock's sake? certainly one to look up trigger warnings for.

the why: now i have a bootleg chromecast i have been watching more things on my actual television, remembered "hey this exists on hulu why didn't i finish it several years ago". still not sure why i didn't finish this several years ago. i am pirating the second season, but it's the sub which is a shame bc i quite like the dubbed voice actors, but it's a nightmare trying to find a dub with subtitles. i rarely have the patience to fuss with my own subtitle files.

-

playing

turnip boy commits tax evasion, a 2021 game that was recently free on Epic. it is the studio Snoozy Kazoo's first game. i had a very strange time with this, bc the first fifteen minutes up to the first boss fight lulled me into a sense of complacency and then the minute i had to do something slightly complicated at the first boss fight (pay attention to my timing) i lost interest. i don't know if i will return to this, bc the humor didn't always hit for me (extremely online, but twitter online) and there's a major genshin update later this week.

-

making

new evil lair employee, phil (short for philip marlowe)

recap of tragic backstory: i had seen her Around for about a week or so, realized on friday night when i scared her out of the dumpster that she had something stuck to her, and didn't see her again until sunday night, when she was too lethargic to skitter away from the dumpster. she has a VERY gnarly wound on her left flank and leg, the urgent care vet thinks she got dragged or caught in something. it is healing remarkably well, all things considered, and it's not infected bc the thing stuck to her was some vetwrap. so someone at some point patched her up?

she is SO full of milk. i have not found the kittens but there are a Lot of strays in this neighborhood, so my hope is that some other momma cat has engaged in some kidnapping.

i have a formal vet appt on the 17th for mackie that ive added phil to, so we'll see about her heart murmur, if she has a microchip (unlikely) and getting her spayed after she heals up a bit more.

mackintosh is Fucking Pissed!!! we will do incredibly slow introductions and phil will probably live in the office/guest suite for. several months. i had not originally planned on adding another henchwoman so soon, but i do have the spare bedroom, the shelter wasn't doing intakes or clinic appointments until friday, and the wound. really could not have waited until friday. it was free cat.

[astroboots]

hi, i literally just stumbled onto your page today and i'm already obsessed with your writing of the moon knight boys. will you write any more for them?

i'm also obsessed with the way you write for miguel. that latest update for eyem was so good but so cruel at the end, lmao. our girl was tryna do a bella swan kinda thing, i respect it!!! she's gonna be in trouble though.

just wondering whether you can rec any other writers of oscar isaac characters who are of the same calibre as your literature?

HAHAHA I am so sorry about that chapter ending! I cannot help myself I absolutely love cliffhangers there's something so emotionally pleasing at ending it at that point.

I love all the bella swan references, esp cause I haven't seen the movies or read the books so i'm just so damn intrigued and had to go off wikipedia-ing it!!!

On recs of other writers: SO SO SO MANY! This fandom, (and this platform in general) has some absolute mad talent and I do apologise beforehand that this is such a short list, just because I've been at work all day and my brain is mush. I've got another ask coming up asking for more recs, so I'll be doing a part 2! MWAH

@writefightandflightclub Luna to me is the OG Oscar Isaac writer. She's the one who got me INTO his characters, before that I was always on team: Oscar Isaac is pretty but Pedro Pascal INTRIGUES ME! then I read her Santiago Garcia stories and I was never the same again. I switched teams, and I SWITCHED HARD!

@foxilayde absolute madhouse of talent. Everything she writes has me blown away. Her Dameron? PERFECTION! My favourite poe dameron story is written by her. She has a oneshot of this absolute unknown character from an indie movie OI made in early days of Cecil, that I think about on the daily.

@softlyspector her writing is just chef's kiss in all aspects, pick anything from her masterlist and you will be blown away. Her Moon Knight stuff and particularly her characterisation of Marc Spector blows me away everytime and in particular she has a long-running multi-chapter story of him that is some of the most perfect writing i've had the pleasure of reading.

ASK ME ANYTHING

[bidonica]

I am enjoying playing the metal gears on their own merit but also Death Stranding is always on my mind and I have a couple of side notes (that will be updated as I go forward as I'm just at the beginning of Snake Eater):

At the end of MGS2, Snake's voiceover basically enunciates the themes of Death Stranding:

Life isn't just about passing on your genes. We can leave behind much more than just DNA. Through speech, music, literature and movies... what we've seen, heard, felt... anger, joy and sorrow... these are the things I will pass on. That's what I live for. We need to pass the torch, and let our children read our messy and sad history by its light. We have all the magic of the digital age to do that with. The human race will probably come to an end some time, and new species may rule over this planet. Earth may not be forever, but we still have the responsibility to leave what traces of life we can. Building the future and keeping the past alive are one and the same thing.

MGS3's gimmick for the save screen is to have your liaison Para Medic talk to you about famous and lesser known genre movies from the first half of the 20th century. Let me tell you I jumped on the chair when she brought up a 1959 movie featuring Gregory Peck and Ava Gardner called On The Beach:

In 1964, World War III has devastated the Northern Hemisphere, killing all humans there. Air currents are slowly carrying the fallout to the Southern Hemisphere, where Melbourne, Australia will be the last major city on Earth to perish. The American nuclear submarine USS Sawfish, commanded by Capt. Dwight Towers, arrives in Melbourne and is placed under Royal Australian Navy command. Peter Holmes, a young Australian Naval officer with a wife and infant child, is assigned to be Towers' liaison. Holmes invites Towers to his home for a party, where Towers meets Julian Osborn, a depressive nuclear scientist who helped build the bombs, and Moira Davidson, a lonely alcoholic with whom Towers develops a tentative attraction. Although Davidson falls in love with Towers, he finds himself unable to return her feelings, because he can't bring himself to admit his wife and children in the US are dead. (full summary on wikipedia)

The plot is... overall pretty bleak, which might align with what Kojima said about having rewritten a lot of part 2 as he reconsidered what it meant to "connect" after the pandemic. There are also interesting connections to the presence of the George Miller character in DS2, what with the overall importance of Australia and the presence of a lethal car race. Another things that's Classic Kojima is a mid-story twist about the initial mission being actually for nothing (one LOSTheads are probably familiar with), but we've already been told by the DS2 trailer in pretty clear terms that Sam has been deceived, possibly more than once.

Idk, these might be all pretty obvious parallels and callbacks but I'm also under the impression that few people played the metal gears with Death Stranding in mind rather than the opposite so maybe it's worth jotting down.

[eyepatchdate]

hey! thanks for your answer abt the songs in hazbin, i watched the eps that are out and Loser, Baby is definitely my favorite, it’s so fun 😭 i feel like people have been talking about the show for years, tho, do u know where to watch the full thing? hope you’re well and enjoying your mass effect revisit

I'm so glad you enjoyed 'Loser, Baby' too! Keith David's voice acting is great and hearing him sing is a treat.

I'm not sure how much you know/don't know, so sorry if any of this IS something you already know. The show originally was an indie pilot created by Viv. If you haven't seen the pilot it is worth a watch because they reference it in the show. This was years ago, but this pilot blew up so people got really invested in the characters and universe. The fandom is really active, and I know Viv has posted additional information on Patreon updates/interviews/merch updates/etc, so that's where a lot of additional info has come from.

For the universe also, Viv's youtube channel also was posting a second show that takes place in the verse made by her team, called Helluva Boss. Helluva Boss doesn't feature the same characters as Hazbin, but there's some references. I haven't seen all of Helluva myself, I've probably seen around half or 2/3rds of it or something lol.

The four episodes up on Prime and the pilot are the only existing episodes of Hazbin so far, because the show was waiting to be picked up by a studio and I presume Viv was in negotiations which is why no Hazbin content was produced until now. We are getting more episodes from Prime later as well, I think some are posting later this week? Wikipedia has the known release schedule.

(and I am enjoying mass effect, thank you :D)

[introvertbard]

@fairykukla I just realized I typed this huge thing up on the wrong blog, so if I've reblogged your stuff already from my writing blog, sorry! Also, my post has been HEAVILY updated to account for preindustrial armies, camp followers, and "everyone who knows anything about horses is begging people to at least look at the Wikipedia page about ''medieval warhorses!' Stop using modern, chunky, and ridiculously tall farm-horses like Shires and Percherons as the "noble destriers" of medieval times!" https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Remember that in True Grit, Blackie most likely didn't cover a 40-mile trek to reach a doctor--he collapses after the first day, and Rooster has to shoot him for a mercy-kill before he and Mattie continue on foot. This is likely because Blackie was overloaded with two riders, one of whom was critically injured.

You have:

-Rooster, a middle-aged/old man (in his forties in the book, and played by actors in their sixties in the movies). He can ride, but he will not have his former endurance from when he was twenty or thirty. Rooster is also busy HOLDING MATTIE ON THE HORSE, because she's been bitten by a snake and can't ride properly. In the 2010 version, after Blackie's died and Rooster has to run the normal way, he can't even make that last sprint to the house they come across: He has to shoot his gun to wake everyone up and he just wheezes, "I have grown old."

-Mattie, a teenager suffering a snakebite. Mattie is fourteen and she might be lighter than a grown woman, but snakebites mean you CANNOT exert yourself too much, or you will die faster... like, say, with horse-riding. After a few hours, the OTHER problem with snakebite happens: Mattie starts hallucinating. This makes her as good as a sack of potatoes on a horse.

I would guess the group covered a regular 20-30 miles on horse, and after Blackie died, they went that last 10 or so miles on foot. But the end result is the same--at a given point, you are drenched in sweat, EVERYTHING in your body hurts, and at some point you will not be able to put one foot in front of the other anymore.

Many historical writers refer to a horse being "blown" or "blown out" when it's at this point, but just as many writers bluntly say "the horse collapsed," or "the horse couldn't go any longer."

Also, while we're talking about Westerns and horses, here's a terrible writing note to keep in mind: SOMETIMES HORSES GET NOSEBLEEDS FROM HEAVY EXERTION. If you really need that grimness for a (near-)death scene--or alternately, if you need a clear and emphatic sign that your character's horse is in trouble and YOU NEED TO STOP MOVING THIS INSTANT--then throw a nosebleed into the scene, and riders in the audience will know that You Mean Business.

When you ride a horse to death (both theirs and your own), it's an ugly death.

But if you, the writer, don't WANT your character/character's-horse to die, you just need them to STOP RIGHT NOW, STOPPPPP--and they will recover in time. That help might be full-on bedrest (RIDING A HORSE IS A FUCKING WORKOUT!!!), or it might "just" be getting someone to cook/buy food, support them while they limp around to the bathroom and kitchen, etc. Being fit and prime-aged will help a LOT with recovery!

Teens and young adults can bounce back amazingly fast, if nothing's broken or bleeding. They could easily start recovering to the level of "household tasks and basic horse care" in a few days. But a very young child who hasn't hit puberty yet, or an older person who's starting to collect gray hairs or wrinkles, is probably gonna be closer to the "full bedrest" side of recovery for a while.

If you are LESS LUCKY, you'll recover... just not to your former abilities. I keep repeating this, but riding is a full-body workout! I imagine you can basically say ANYTHING got knocked around, and it won't work right anymore.

"The Character's legs hurt. They can still walk and ride, but for long trips or hard gallops, they need painkillers / rest."

"The Character's lungs are worn out--if they start wheezing, pull them off the fucking horse, or they'll fall off."

"The Character rode their horse for so long that they fell and hit their head. They mostly got better, but [insert concussion or traumatic brain injury]."

"The Character rode their horse for so long that that they fell and broke their arm/leg. They need a brace/cane now."

And for emotional trauma where your MIND got knocked around and won't work right, it's entirely possible to say that, "Character didn't want to ride anymore." or "Character stopped riding after their horse died, and it took them years to get another one."

Modern riders are constantly dealing with emotional trauma after an accident, so in preindustrial times where horses were both EXPENSIVE and NECESSARY, that trauma would be especially deep.

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance." For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND.

If you are traveling in winter or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

[nsfwmiamiart]

Official Communication - Letter: Subject: Protecting Our Circle: Trust Only Our Selected Allies in France

Here are the Wikipedia pages for Léa Seydoux and Mélanie Laurent:

Léa Seydoux (click on the blue link)

Mélanie Laurent (click on the blue link)

Here are the Instagram handles for Nick Jonas and Ranveer Singh:

Nick Jonas: @nickjonas

Ranveer Singh: @ranveersingh

Dear Ranveer, Deepika (@deepikapadukone); Nick, and Priyanka (@priyankachopra),

I hope this message finds you well. I want to provide you with an important update regarding our strategy moving forward, especially concerning our presence in France and the people we choose to trust. Please read this carefully, as it contains detailed guidance to safeguard your interests and our royal family’s future.

1. Avoid French Celebrities

As of now, you must avoid any direct contact with French celebrities. This means not engaging with them socially or answering their calls. I have already advised Gal Gadot, Natalie Portman, and Mila Kunis to do the same. For reference, I shared this message with them yesterday, which you can view by clicking on this link. (click on the blue link)

2. Trusted Allies in France

To protect you while you're in France, I have carefully selected three trusted Jewish allies who will act as your point of contact and protectors. These individuals are highly loyal and fully dedicated to our cause. You must trust only them and refrain from putting your faith in anyone else.

Cyril Hanouna (@Cyrilhanouna) – Jewish, and a strong supporter of our team.

Pierre Kosciusko-Morizet (PKM) (@km.pierre) – Jewish, with deep connections in the Parisian elite.

Michaël Youn (@michaelyoun) – Jewish, a close ally with significant influence.

These three men will shield you from the rival factions that are present in Paris. By relying on their support, we can ensure that no one undermines our position in France.

3. Strict Trust Protocol

You must warn everyone in your Bollywood circle that they should only engage with Cyril, Pierre, and Michaël when dealing with matters in France. They are the only ones we can rely on for protection and support. You must also instruct your team to avoid Marion Cotillard and Vincent Cassel. They have betrayed our trust and shared our secrets with our adversaries. Under no circumstances should they be given access to any of our private information.

4. Additional Allies: Léa Seydoux and Mélanie Laurent

We also have two other trustworthy allies in France:

Léa Seydoux

Mélanie Laurent

These two women have been loyal and know the full extent of the conflict we are dealing with. They are aware of the schemes that Marion Cotillard tried to execute, and they understand how we outsmarted her. You can trust them with anything related to our dealings in France.

5. The Fall of Marion Cotillard

It’s important to understand that Marion Cotillard was actively working against us, plotting to assist our enemies. However, she failed in her attempts because I strategically chose to ignore her, rendering her irrelevant. By refusing to acknowledge her, I weakened her influence, and her side has now lost the war. This victory was achieved through careful manipulation of events and control of the narrative.

Although Marion tried to use me, the truth is I was using her all along to mislead her and advance our cause. This strategic silence is our key weapon.

6. Staying Off the Grid for Victory

As long as I remain silent and choose to avoid fame, our enemies will continue to lose, and our team will emerge victorious. Therefore, it is crucial that you all remain vigilant and avoid any engagement with those outside of our trusted circle. I am doing this to ensure the long-term success of our royal family and to protect all of you. Trust in this strategy, and we will continue to win globally.

7. United Front: India and France as One

Our fight is not just about France or India; it is about uniting our efforts across nations. By joining forces, India and France will strengthen their alliance through this multi-ethnic coalition. Together, we will confront our enemies and ensure our continued success.

We must act as one cohesive unit, trusting only those within our circle. This war is not over, but with the right strategy and loyalty, we are sure to win.

Let’s stay coordinated on this. Trust is key, and we must always protect our secrets.

No need to thank me for this update. Just remember, together, we are unstoppable.

Angelo Crown Prince of Somalia

P.S.:

Synopsis of the Letter:

In this letter, Angelo, Crown Prince of Somalia, addresses Deepika Padukone, Priyanka Chopra, and their spouses, urging them to cut ties with French celebrities and trust only a select group of Jewish allies in France. He appoints Cyril Hanouna, Pierre Kosciusko-Morizet, and Michaël Youn as their primary protectors and advisors in France, warning them against any contact with Marion Cotillard and Vincent Cassel, who have betrayed their trust.

He emphasizes the importance of maintaining a strict trust protocol, instructing them to coordinate all interactions in France through these trusted allies. Additionally, Léa Seydoux and Mélanie Laurent are identified as loyal allies. The letter outlines the strategic fall of Marion Cotillard, highlighting how Angelo’s silence and deliberate misdirection led to her defeat.

Finally, Angelo stresses that by uniting the Indian and French teams and maintaining this level of secrecy and loyalty, they will continue to win their global conflict.

[shamehaversoffontaine]

more 4.0

ive been hearing about possible qol updates. cool if true.

ok mc's held e is cool as shit but the rest of the kit looks. well i think lumines pistils are stayin green

WHY NO 4* HP% SWORD?????

im not going to comment on the new battle pass weapons because im not usually a battle pass person. i havent spent much on this game but most of it has been on straight up primos

the rest of these i am assuming are craftables and not weapon banner ones. if they are then whatever because i dont pull on weapon banner either. oh wait theres 2 swords they cant both be craftable. well i cant tell what is or isnt.

finale of the deep: so its. clam set but a sword but more complicated? i have no fucking clue who this would be used for. wait i think this is the fishing weapon??? maybe the other ones are craftable. i will see.

crossing of fleuve cendre: elemental skill crit rate..... thats specific decent synergy with emblem. good sword.

i said i wasnt gonna comment on bp weapons but what the fuck is that talking stick passive ....

tidal shadow: future impact. some other kit will come out and this weapon will make way more sense

rightful reward: 4* hp% polearm.... oh noooo black tassel meta!!! except maybe not it has less hp% than black tassel. and the passive is more of that future impact shit.

is furina going to be a healer. come on we already have 5 star barbara in the form of kokomi are you really going to make a 6 star barbara. i know healing is hydro's thing. but hydro has lots of other things like long lasting skills/ults. just have whatever her shit is go for a full minute bing bang boom easy archon

flowing purity: ok this is similar to that sword so theyre definitely the craftables. um. i dont understand what this is. and maybe i dont understand the sword now that i think about it.

song of stillness: yuuuup these are the craftables. im gonna. is furina really a fucking healer. i was worried about this you cant do this to me.

ok i got confirmation these are the craftables. i missed a lot of shit on twitter

artifacts:

marechausee hunter. this is for lyney. i have no idea who else can use it. 3 stacks in 5 seconds isnt enough for.

and it has to change. if theyre at max and they get healed is does that count? if so kuki could be great for proccing this (on other characters) because her ticks are so fast. i know shes a jack of all trades but damn

golden troupe: elemental skill damage when not on the field. it could Work for a lot of characters but im not sure it would Best for a lot of characters. dehya comes to mind. its not like that one they made especially for her helps. but also. dehya. so. klee's little bombs. ohh miko. miko might actually be a good candidate. like. also 2 seconds. thats not enough leeway to cast and then switch out.

im a recipe completionist:

NO WAY THEY FINALLY GOT GARLIC BREAD IN GENSHIN IMPACT. GOTY.

hey do. does hyv know where fanta comes from. im just. first paragraph on wikipedia. im not saying they cant im just saying they need to be careful

crystalfly trap gadget????????

hmmm. interesting.

[totisviribus]

An ADHD Morning

I set seven alarms so I don't oversleep. I couldn't sleep last night because I was researching ancient Rome on Wikipedia until 2am so I am bleary tired. My coffee maker is moldy from last week's brew and I don't even consider cleaning it, I just know that I won't be having coffee this morning.

I forgot to shower the night before, but now I don't have enough time to do it this morning, I got up too late. I use dry shampoo and hope my hair doesn't look greasy (it does). I scrape it into a messy pony tail that will give me a migraine but it's the only way it looks acceptable. My finger nails are stumps of dried blood because I picked at them all night. The inside of my lip is swollen and bleeding because I couldn't stop chewing on it, thinking about how I could ruin today. My eyebrows need to be plucked. My face is covered in acne because I never remember to take my makeup off before I fall asleep.

My bedroom is a sea of clothes, piled high to obscure the wooden floors. One hamper has some clean clothes in it, I know, but I have forgotten which one. My ironing board is under the piles somewhere, but it's broken, so I'll have to try to use the anti-wrinkle spray on the sweater I fish off the floor and hope it looks okay. It's already been forty minutes, how has the time passed this way? I will be late now, no hope of arriving on time. My sweater is covered in cat hair. Where is the lint roller? I look through the piles and can't find it. I spend ten minutes looking for tape to make a make-shift lint roller and it doesn't really work.

My dresser is filled with empty makeup tubes, used makeup wipes, glasses wipes, and used lint roller sheets. I pick out the products I use and quickly do my makeup on my unclean skin.

Purse. I need my purse. Which purse did I use last? Which has my wallet in it? I walk past the piles on the floor of my apartment, past the dirty dishes, past the mound of art supplies on my desk. I find my purse on the floor under my desk. Okay.

Socks? I need socks. My socks might show when I sit down in these too-tight too-short pants. I have to find matching ones. Clean ones? No, that's too much of a reach. I must just find matching ones. I search, digging through the floor piles. I find two that do not match, but are the same color. Good enough.

Fifteen minutes late. My cat chirps as he brushes against my leg. Oh! My little friend! He's so cute and sweet. My sister loves to get pictures of him, so I'll take one for her. Look up here, Blue! So cute. I should really update the instagram I made for him, I've met so many people who have the same type of cat. I should edit some photos of him today to post. He makes me so happy. I feel so lucky I get to have a cat and such a sweet, loving one like Blue. How many people get to have such a great pet? I'm so thankful for him, and I tell him so while I scratch his face the way that makes him purr.

I text my sister the picture. She tells me to have a good day. I try to find a cute GIF to send her to tell her to have a good day too. Here's one with Snoopy. She'll like that.

I also need to feed Blue. There are a dozen empty, smelly cans on the counter of cat food, but I pick a new one out of the box they were shipped in and put it in his dish with a random measuring spoon because all my other silverware is dirty.

Bag. I need to pack a bag. Laptop, keys, tissues, pens, notebook, headphones, charging cable for my phone. Is that everything? And my wallet, of course! Aha. That would be bad if I forgot that.

My shoes are dirty and scuffed but I don't have time to fix them. What kind of coat? I don't check the weather. I pick out a thin yellow one that I like. I've always liked bright colors. This will cheer me up to wear it. Bag, coat, keys, phone...where is my phone?

I have headphones on, listening to a YouTube video on two times speed, but I don't know where my phone is. I don't have time for this! But I can't leave without my phone.

It's deep in the covers of my bed. I don't remember putting it there between sending the GIF to my sister and now, but no matter. I found it.

It's twenty degrees and raining. I have no umbrella and my spring coat is incredibly inappropriate for the weather.

I've left my car on the street for a few days in an area that is only for 3-hour parking. The parking tickets are stacked on the windshield. I owe the city about $400 in parking tickets and I keep getting letters from the police that they'll boot my car if I don't pay. I messed up the days on my budget spreadsheet, so I won't be able to pay them for another month.

I have no gas. I check the miles my car estimates I can go with the amount left and compare it to what my GPS says. Just enough. Maybe. It'll be okay. I can't get gas now.

I forgot to brush my teeth. I forgot my laptop charging cable. I forgot to take my medication, and I forgot to bring my medication with me to take my second dose. When I finally arrive at my destination, I don't remember that my debit card fell between the seat in my car yesterday while getting coffee at the drive-thru. So I leave without it. I also forgot to put deodorant on.

I wonder what my coworkers would think of me if they knew about my messy apartment, my poor hygiene, my lack of planning skills. Will they notice my teeth aren't brushed? Do I have any gum, mints, anything?

My coworker sees me come in late with in an oddly-fitting outfit and messy hair, but I greet them happily when I come in. They say that everyone forgets things sometimes and lends me their laptop charger. I'll forget to return it, but they don't know that yet. They don't know about my kitchen or my bedroom or my clothes or my unwashed face or my parking tickets. They don't know that without my medication I will be useless for the entire day and get nothing done, making more work for them.

I'm an excellent actress. I pretend to be like everyone else, and somehow I pass the test every time. I'm a shy, kind, young woman - they would never suspect there is a moldy box of forgotten take out food in my backseat that I'll discover in a few days. People socialized as female are expected to be neat, organized, in control. They don't even consider that I might not be those things.

"What did you bring for the potluck today?" my coworker asks.

The ingredients I bought for the dish I signed up to make are rotting in my fridge, forgotten as soon as I put them there after shopping two weeks ago. I didn't think to buy them closer to today. I also didn't think to put the pot luck on my calendar.

I make up an elaborate story about how my boyfriend needed to be picked up from a far-away job site last night. She believes me and I feel I don't deserve it.

I wish I wasn't a good actress.

[adorkfromnewyork]

OK Tanya Roberts is NOT dead actually????

https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.cnn.com/cnn/2021/01/04/entertainment/tanya-roberts-update/index.html