#depression!virgil

[casart]

..•Perception Distorted•..

[sandersontheside]

My hot take is that if Roman were to "duck out" the way Virgil did in Accepting Anxiety, the result would be something akin to clinical depression. Roman has always been more than Thomas's creativity, he's also Thomas's drive, his passion, his desire. The motivation and ability to make art, or work, or even build relationships. All of that is wrapped up in Roman.

Sure, there are other motivating factors as we've seen in the videos on the topic. Logan motivates with the knowledge that work puts food on the table, Virgil motivates through fear. But Roman is the only one who motivates through love and joy, through hopes and dreams. Because while Patton is driven by emotion, he's more impulsive, more driven by what will make Thomas feel good in the moment, as opposed to Roman who while fanciful and emotional, is ultimately driven by plans and goals for the future.

Therefore, without Roman, Thomas would have no drive. No passion. No desire to make or do anything beyond base necessities for staying alive. No ability to see past immediate survival or imagine a possible happier future. No hopes and dreams. No spark. I don't even think Virgil's strongest panic could override a complete lack of passion for anything. Thomas would feel anxious and awful, but he still wouldn't be able to do anything.

And that's basically what clinical depression is. It's not just being sad--it's being exhausted, and numb, and unable to get out of bed in the morning because you just don't care about anything anymore. It's not finding joy in the things you used to love the most. It's feeling paralyzed because there are so many things you should be doing or you want to do, but you simply can't. Depression is, at its core, a lack of passion, joy, and drive.

[halfhissandwich]

I was thinking about this: Logan implies that only feeling-based sides are able to duck out when he explains to Thomas that he, as logic, can’t duck out like Virgil did. And in the EXACT SAME EPISODE, Patton is described as the “core of a lot of Thomas’ feelings.” I THINK that Patton is the only other side that can duck out, and if he did, c!Thomas would experience what is essentially depression (apathy, a loss of interest in previous interests, etc)

(Bonus headcanon: If the orange side does turn out to be Rage, he will also be capable of ducking out.)

[cookiecrumbconundrum]

six months since || just another day, thank god

and i am glad, so deeply glad, that six months since the worst day it is just a normal day. i feel normal. i am on meds now. i am happier. i am in therapy. and i am no longer in the space. a thousands times happier and a thousand times more stable. i do things that make it easier for me to move through the world instead of just pushing through. it is another day and tomorrow will be another days and those days will bleed into a future.

when i was done dying, dan deacon | tired, ramón casas | “letter to violet dickinson”, virginia woolf | interior, model reading, edward hopper | sand and foam, kahlil gibran | burn it down, brian luong |tim kavanagh | grant howitt | the aeneid, virgil | jujutsu kaisen, gege akutami |undertale | nickie zimov | please stay, lucy dacus | suzanne siegel | rhythm of war, brandon sanderson  | stranger things, matt duffer & ross duffer | letter to an old poet, boygenius | sower at sunset, vincent van gogh | oathbringer, brandon sanderson | everything everywhere all at once, daniel kwan & daniel scheinert | once a lady told me, nikki giovanni | poet’s loft, david hettinger | kurt vonnegut | downtown express 72nd st. station, subway, new york, 1977, willy spiller | thanK you aIMee, taylor swift | daughters of the dust, julie dash | loose lips, kimya dawson | vincent van gogh | letters to vera, vladimir nabokov

[princeanxious]

Finally got to finish a sketch in over a friggen month. @this-is-ske has been an awesome support 💜 (art pose referenced saved from pinterest)

Bonus progress sketch of virgil being a gremlin under the cut

Virgil: kiss? More like ‘mlem’

Janus: i hate you

[zel-zo]

Apartment Depression

---

Also known as 'fur affinity is down so you guys get Virgil today. Drawing my hyena boy is as close to coping as I plan to get

[hebuiltfive]

Thundertober Day Seven: Alive

Please, please check the warnings for this one.

I've tried to cover enough to be on the safe side but it does delve into some darker thoughts, so please be mindful of that. I hadn't planned on this getting quite so... depressing. It was supposed to have an uplifting end. Fair warning: it doesn't.

AO3 here

Days: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six

Warnings for: Suicidal Thoughts; Depression; Major Character Injury. This is set post-Hydrofoil. Gordon is having to come to terms with the cost of surviving an accident that should have left him dead. Tagging: @thunder-tober @skymaiden32 @idontknowreallywhy (just going to put it out there that if you want to be tagged in any future Thundertober pieces, or future pieces in general, let me know and I'll tag you too!)

What was the point of being alive if it meant you could no longer live?

The mirror was his enemy. He refused to even take a glance because who exactly would be staring back at him? What had he become? Life or death and he had chosen to live because he was strong and his human survival instincts had kicked in, but what was the cost?

His legs were currently immobile, his arms cocooned in casts. Most of his body was either bandaged or strapped up in some way, metal rods and plating fixed inside him as though he were a bionic man. There was probably some sort of joke in there somewhere, but Gordon failed to see the funny side. He failed to make a joke about anything as of late, and for good reason.

He had survived, but now he was facing a life of… this. 

Apparently, there was still a chance he might have been able to return to his old life, but the odds were against him. According to some of the doctors, there was a slim possibility of Gordon being able to walk again. It was a tiny glimmer of hope, but he chose to not think of it. To think of it, to hope for it, only for it to likely be ripped away from him all over again? He’d rather remain solemn and bed-ridden without the dream, thanks.

Because that’s all it was now. 

A dream of a past life and a possible future that was no longer within his grasp.

Whenever his brothers came by to visit, usually once a day, they’d reassure him, or try to, but none of them had ever been good liars, at least not to Gordon’s face. He could tell instantly when Scott blinked excessively and barely offered him a simple glance in his direction; when Virgil took great interest in the way his booted feet twisted and moved across the shaggy carpeted rug beside his hospital bed; when John’s fingers would not stop fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie and would give only an uncharacteristic shrug as an answer whenever Gordon asked him a question.

Late at night, when the wing had fallen asleep and the only sounds that filled the area was the soft humming of machines and the padded feet of nurses doing their routinely hourly checks, Gordon would allow his mind to wander away on whims and what-ifs. 

What if he’d never joined that stupid test programme?

What if he had instead followed his dreams?

What if he had never got in that damned accident and still had a body that worked?

Never again would he be able to join his family on their hikes through the canyons near home. Never again would he be able to swim laps through the foaming waves on the West Coast. He had once considered taking up surfing more seriously, to add to his list of water hobbies, but now Gordon knew he’d never have the chance.

Wrapped up in cotton strips and constantly having to warn airport security of the additions to his body… This wasn’t living. At times he even question whether striving had been worth it.

Gordon eventually found the strength to confide in Virgil those thoughts which constantly ate away at him. His empathetic nature made Gordon feel like he would be the only brother who could understand, and who wouldn’t bat away his concerns with a simple don’t even think like that, you’re going to be fine, even with the odds stacked against him.

“What will make the surviving worth it, then?” Virgil had asked him, cradling a plastic cup that had once held the contents of a coffee vending machine. He’d slowly sipped his way through the warm, comforting drink as Gordon had bared his soul.

To his credit, Gordon hadn’t allowed a single tear to stain his cheeks. In his eyes, that was a win. He managed to open up to his brother without breaking down. It wasn’t that he thought Virgil wouldn’t have been able to take Gordon’s meltdown. He just didn’t want his brother having to witness it.

“I don’t know.” He replied honestly after a moment of quick, silent reflection. “I don’t think anything will.”

He couldn’t look Virgil in the eyes because he knew how it sounded. As a family, they never gave up. After everything they’d been through, they always found a way to continue fighting through the dark until the light appeared at the end of the tunnel again, but this time, Gordon felt exhausted. To him, the tunnel had caved in and there was no escape from the endless gloom.

“Walking again.” Virgil answered for him. “That would make it worth it. Running again. Standing again. Swimming again.”

The word made Gordon tense. It also made him lock eyes with his brother. For the first time in that conversation, there was a glossy sheen to those orbs as tears threatened to fall regardless of what Gordon wanted. “Don’t.” He warned carefully. “Don’t use that as a—”

“Gordon, the chances aren’t zero.”

And there it was. So much for believing Virgil wouldn’t try and reassure him with those ridiculous odds again.

“They’re as good as, Virg!” Gordon hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He knew his brother was only trying to help in the best way he could, but the pain was still raw and Gordon didn’t want to think about possibilities. “Don’t give me hope only to take it away again.”

“I’m giving you facts.”

“The fact is,” Gordon shuffled himself a little higher in his bed, ignoring the protest from his lower spine, “that no-one knows what the fuck is going to happen because I shouldn’t even be here! I should have died in that wreck, but for some unknown, Godforsaken reason, I’m still here and I wish I wasn’t!”

Gordon had never once regretted speaking to any of his brothers. He’d never once regretted choosing to open up to them, least of all Virgil, but as he sat there, taking in his brother’s horrified expression at his claim, Gordon regretted ever opening his mouth at all.

He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. To apologise or to backtrack would only offer two choices: Virgil would either accept his outburst as a mistake and not take any action, or he wouldn’t buy the act and would begin to put an action plan in place to tackle Gordon’s supposed way of thinking. Gordon wasn’t sure which option was worse.

So he continued.

“If it was you, Virgil… if you suddenly lost the ability to use your hands, your fingers, and now your painting and your piano playing was just a distant memory of what you could once do, how the fuck would you feel?”

He wasn’t sure what Virgil was thinking as he just stared at his younger brother. He wasn’t sure if any answer was going to be given, let alone an honest one. All of those doubts dissipated when Virgil leant forward. His elbows rested on the sheets of the bed, his hands holding as best he could onto one of Gordon’s casts.

“I would fight because the alternative isn’t better than this. That is never better than having some sort of life, Gordon. Death is death, but life… No matter how bad it seems now, life has variables and possibilities, and you should never wish for anything else.”

Gordon didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears any longer. He knew Virgil was right, but accepting that meant accepting a whole lot more pain.

“I’m too tired, Virg.” He whispered, head hanging lowly in defeat and shame.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that when you’ve still got fight left in you, Gordon. I know you have.” Virgil tilted Gordon’s chin upwards with two gentle fingers. “You’re a Tracy. We don’t give up. So long as you are alive, there is hope, whether you think it’s worth believing in or not. So long as you are alive, you can fight, even if you believe you’re too tired to keep going. So long as you are alive, I will help you as much as I can because you are my brother and I’d much rather have to wait on you hand and foot than attend another gravestone, okay?”

It wasn’t a question to ask whether Gordon understood.

It was a question to ask whether Gordon would accept that unspoken promise.

“We take each day as it comes, but we never give up. So long as you are alive, Gordon, promise me that you will never give up.”

“I’m not great at promises, Virg, but…”

He trailed off his sentence, hoping his brother understood that he would try. 

Trying was all he had left to give. 

[manybrokenquills]

To the poor people who followed me for my two sander sides posts and checking my profile and just seeing me vent...

SORRYYYYY

[streets-in-paradise]

My dad never speaks to me, but when he did today was just to provide the perfectly on spot comment triggering my depressive thoughts.

I'm now writing the most angsty piece of Troy fic I ever wrote instead of the request I wanted to finish.

[perfectly-princely-emo-nightmare]

Virgil: People are always like “Well if that bad stuff didn’t happen, you wouldn’t be who you are today.”

Virgil: I don’t want to be who I am today!

Virgil: What I want to be is mentally stable!

[jaratedeguadalupe]

sleepxiety as someone who's been on both sides of the sleep spectrum with extreme insomnia and sleeping 12+ hours a day and STILL being tired is hilarious to me

[romantichore]

wish i could travel back in time to talk to 15 year old me and ask her how she managed to write so much without having a semblance of an organization system

girly howww were you keyboard smashing titles of files and still writing thousands of words and somehow remembering all these ideas

[halfhissandwich]

“Expressing an unhealthy amount of concern.”

[mimssides]

Insecurity

Here's my first late submission to the @loginceweek2023. Have fun and stay safe!

Read on AO3 | Masterpost

He had seen many girls like her; she carried herself as if she was better than anybody sitting in this room simply by default. Her red hair was pulled up in a neat high ponytail, her pastel green dress looking like it cost more to get professionally ironed than a single dinner for his whole family of eight. Her low heels clacked delicately on the floor as she walked from the club leader back to one of the tables which was still free.

Anyway, Logan had no time to pay her too much attention. He had to scan all the students and see if there were people he actually needed to steer clear from. People who would harass him for things beyond his control and would not take kindly to the fact that he was here not because of connections and money but because of his intellect alone.

It didn’t take long and he had spotted a group of one man and two people with nonbinary patches, who eyed him suspiciously. Their looks were stuck on his, admittedly, walked out running shoes. He had them since his feet had stopped growing during ninth grade, so they had figuratively seen some shit. He tried not focus too much on it and steered away from them. There were enough other people around, so he most likely would be able to keep his distance even if they would get put into the same group for their defence team.

A little chatter went around the room. Logan ended up standing with some women who all weren’t from the area and kept quiet and to himself but agreed and smile more or less at the right time.

Patton better be proud of him for playing nicely. It wasn’t his strong suit and he felt relief wash over him when the club president took a stand and welcomed them all. A charismatic man introducing himself as Jeff and said they would go right into it and choose their first topic to debate.

“Does living in the dorm facilities help students in their studies at the Academy or is it harmful for the students studying progress?”

They would be divided into four groups, two for living on campus and two against. Giving them 15 minutes of time to figure out their arguments and choose two speaker for each group, so they could have eight debates in total.

Logan could work with this. He got put into a group which was to debate for living on campus, and while he himself didn’t live here he had no problem to come up with arguments and help assess which ones would work the best against the other groups’ possible counter arguments. Indeed, he was so good that the others in his group quickly decided that the should be their first speaker and Logan was pleased with himself. He had proven to be competent enough without even having to prompt them to consider him.

The 15 minutes ended rather quickly and Logan walked up to Jeff with his group mate. They all repeated their names and Jeff made the match ups for the eight debates. Two rounds would go simultaneously and the first pairing was already announced as Jeff revealed that the second pairing would be: “Logan Sowa and Jewel Choi! Please get your facts ready and go over to the right side of the room. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Curiously Logan looked around to see who Jewel Choi was. And with him to the right wandered the redheaded woman from before. Here eyes, suprisingly dark, landed on him and she simply raised an eyebrow.

Well. He could work with this. He would put her down a notch or two, Logan silently decided and took his place behind the podium.

Patton didn’t like this. Logan had promised he would be done by six and come and go to dinner with him by twenty past six. It was 18:46 now, his phone display said and he nervously paced up and down. He was aware that his friend tended to be a little late for everything except for work and school related things but for Patton he usually made an excpetion and was at most five minutes late.

“Uh, do you want to call this guy?” Virgil, Patton’s third newest friend asked. “This seems to stress you out.”

Patton turned to him and smiled up. The lanky man, completely in black with eyeliner smeared under his eyes was flanked by his boyfriend Remus, Patton’s second newest friend. The pair was a rather odd one, Remus with his bright pink dyed hair and his revealing clothes with neon accents and Virgil with his dark as the night aesthetic. And yet they seemed to get along well and that was all Patton could wish for the two of them. They had already endeared themselves to him and he wanted to pat them on the head and maybe give them a second cookie or two.

“It’s okay, kiddos. Logan sometimes has troubles with punctuality. I shouldn’t worry. He’s not a child anymore after all,” Patton waved their concern off and looked back to school building.

Despite his words, Patton couldn’t help himself. He knew how Logan struggled to make new friends and that the Academy, even though he had dreamt of coming here, didn’t feel safe to him. So Patton had made it his mission to take care and check up on Logan today. Which was rather hard when his friend wasn’t here to be taken care of.

A big, gloved hand pulled him out of his thoughts. Quickly Patton turned and saw his first new friend of the year stand before him. Or well, tower over him. Patton wasn’t particularly tall and Janus Andreà was about the same height as Logan, which was pretty tall in Patton’s book. But that was where the apparent similarities of the two ended already. Janus had a rather burly statue, big chest, big arms, and a bit of a gut. His clothing was almost as dark as Virgil’s but it leaned more into a refined, toned down goth look; black blouse with some soft ruffles around the collar and a pair of two very pretty golden clasps connected with a delicate chain. He did think that the black pleated pants with thin golden stripes and the black bulgariens were a little over the top but Patton couldn’t deny that it did look good on Janus. Well, all of him looked good but that was besides the point.

“It seems you aren’t being quite honest with us,” Janus said smoothly.

Patton could not help but pout at his new friend who simply raised his eyebrow. He was surprisingly resistent to his puppy eyes and Patton was not happy about that. It also didn’t help that he looked at him with those nice brown green eyes. Really, far too distracting.

Enough with distraction though. Patton was worrying about a friend, not being strage about his new friend.

“I might be a little worried,” Patton said and pulled away from Janus’ big hand, “but it’s alright. Logan is very capable. I know he can handle himself.”

“So why are we waiting for him, if he can handle himself so well?”

Patton’s look grew stern. The pretty eyes were forgotten and he told Janus very, very calmly: “Just because people can handle themselves and are strong and independent, doesn’t mean that they don’t need to be checked upon from time to time. Especially if they are used to never being asked about how their day went and are expected to shoulder everything just because nobody has the time to look after them. So, I will wait for my friend. If you are cold or hungry and want to leave, you may. But I will wait for him and that is final. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” it came from all three men at once and Patton quickly turned back to look to the academy facilities.

A shiver ran down Patton’s spine. He hadn’t meant to-

Relief spread throughout him at the sight of Logan finally showing up around the corner. Without thinking he ran towards his friend, promptly lowering his speed as he noted the downcast look on Logan’s face. His shoulders hang low, as he pushed his bycicle next to his side, which was odd enough in itself, but damming with the fact that he didn’t even lift his eyes from the floor. No, that wouldn’t do.

“Logan!” he called and latter looked to him.

But there was no relief as he registered Patton. No, Patton realized quickly. Logan wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at his new friends and he could see his friend’s mood turning sourer by the minute.

“Logan.”

Logan had stopped in his track. Patton stood in front of him and pouted at him. Damned shall be that pout and he pulled his eyes away from him or the other people behind him.

“I’m afraid you and your new ... camerades waited for naught. I am not in a good condition to go out for dinner. Excuse the inconvinience,” Logan said blandly.

“Logan.”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched. His jaw clenched and he glared at Patton’s patronizing tone.

Angrily he tried to pass Patton and hissed: ”Let me spare you my company and just go off with your - your whatever! I’ve gotta get home now.”

Patton gripped him gently by the wrist. Of course gently, as it was how Patton did all things. Gently as the rich would all speak when they would take the last coin out of his families pocket.

“Has someone been mean to you?”

Why did Patton always have to sound so genuine? Why did his gentle not seem so damning than the others?

“It’s not worth mentioning. I made a fool of myself.”

Patton winced at the coldness of his voice. He knew his tells far too well.

“I’m sure it’s not so bad. And even if it was; there are many more days to come where you can prove how smart you really are.”

Of course, that got the tiniest smile out of Logan. Patton let go of his wrist and slung him in an awkward hug with the bycicle pressed between the both of them. Awkwardly as well Logan hugged back and looked at the people who had waited with Patton here.

“I’m still not going to eat with them,” Logan said bluntly when he pulled away.

“Logan!”

“In how many different tones are you planning to say my name tonight? It is getting rather ridciulous at this point,” Logan deadpanned at Patton’s appallment.

“They are nice people! My three newest friends! I want you to meet them, I’m sure you’ll get along great,” Patton insisted.

Logan just raised his eyebrows.

“Patton” - he pointed at the emo’s shoes - “this man’s doc martens could pay for my family’s meals for a month. We’re eight people. I’m not going to to argue with more rich-”

“They’re fakes!”

Logan blinked. The smallest man smiled brightly and pulled the emo towards him and Patton.

“Uh, what Rem means is,” the emo stuttered, “that I thrifted these and modified them to look like actual doc martens? Because I don’t make enough at the bar I work at on the weekends and my parents don’t approve of me spending their money to look, uh, like this. But you’re right. Rich people suck.”

“YEah! We suck! Down with the rich fuckers!” Rem giggled and went to high five the emo who grinned sheepishly but high-fived back.

“My fathers do not suck,” the last man said bemusedly and met Logan’s gaze. “But I can be quite the bitch.”

“Language!” Patton whined.

That was what managed to get a laugh out of Logan and the three weird individuals, who Patton had aggressively befriended, laughed with him. Maybe going to dinner with these people wouldn’t be too bad after all.

It couldn’t be true. That couldn’t be it.

Who was she trying to fool though? L30N_the_L30 was Logan. Patton had given her all of their alters. He had given him Logan’s too but she had been sure that she must have misremembered the name. That she must have messed up the numbers. But today Leo had told her that he would like her to meet his friends if she felt up to it. He had told her their alters.

It were exactly the same names that Patton had given her this lunch. To Jewel’s credit, she hadn’t flinched at Leo’s - Logan? - words. She had continued as if nothing had happened, had sung a song, had joked, and laughed with him until it was time to call it a night.

Now the rest of her life lay in shambles in front of her. The one guy from her real life friend group, who very obviously didn’t like her, who very obviously wanted her to be someone else’s problem, was the very same guy who had started chatting with her two months ago. The very same guy who made her feel okay with being himself. Who made a person out of that string of random numbers he had chosen to represent himself with. Who made his life much more bearable than it had been for years at this point.

The man who Jewel was starting to actually love so much that he wanted to take care of himself. So, that he wouldn’t worry Logan. Or Leo? Was Leo to Logan what his own alter was to Jewel? Or was Leo just a game to Logan? Was all of this just a game to him while it was the world to Jewel?

No. No, 25 - the nickname Leo/Logan had given him, knew that it wasn’t true. To Logan this world wasn’t just a game. It was his take at freedom and happiness. His chance to not be fighting for survival with some shard of decency left but to have fun and be young.

It was not the same to what 25 got out of it, but it was meaningful and special nevertheless.

This world was for Logan to be happy in. It wasn’t the only place where he truly existed, no, not how it was for 25. 25 who was just a number and would never be real. He would never breathe and joke and be happy and sing outside of the academy when he felt like it.

No, 25 would at some point simply disappear in the world of 0 and 1’s whereas Jewel would leave a few remains of some sort.

Not that it mattered. None of the people she cared about would be there. Her mother wouldn’t let them come to a funeral if there would even be one. Who knows? Maybe they would never learn of her death.

Nothing of that was important or certain though. Certain was just that Logan didn’t learn who 25 was. He should just be happy and safe in the VU. He should get a friend to whom he could vent about his amazing friends, which could get a little much or never truly understood what it felt like to feel the constant pressure of lacking money and perspective, like Logan did.

It was tragic and unfair. And yet, had it not been clear from the very beginning? Even before Jewel had met Leo, she had met Logan. Over a year ago in the debate club when they were paired off against each other. There she had seen that Logan was just so much better than her.

Yes, she might have won the debate, might have been a little more succinct, just a tad more charming. But no one in that room ever would try to go against Logan again, after he had roughly shut down stupid Kensington the II and his fan troupe. They had badmouthed him and a girl who also came from a low income family in a not very subtle way all during their first round of debates. Just after Logan and Jewel had finished up, Logan had stepped down and walked right up ahead to them. She never could grasp what it had been, how he could have done it, but for once in their life Kensington the II grew quiet with fear.

“Laura or Choi might defeat me when I stutter. But you won’t win against me when I’m black out drunk.”

Nothing else had to be said. Not a single other word was uttered about the incident and Logan won his second debate with flying colours.

How was Jewel supposed to keep up with that?

She cried into her pillow. Cried and cried as her little ice floe melted under her frozen legs and frostbitten hands. As she slowly got closer to the ice cold water until it hit her hard and rough as she knew it would. She cried and cried as the last little bit of her self curled tightly into itself and tried to not be washed out of her body.

It couldn’t hold on.

Jewel never could hold on.

___

@vexelore

@exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@regalredrose

@spellingwillbethedeathofme

@sarenicide

[sleepyacelin]

[robertdownerjunior]

to everyone with depression who is going to therapy and working on themselves or for everyone who replaced certain online stuff they were obsessed with for the healthy socializing and survival things.

you're doing it! congratulations! i'm so proud of you, your on your way to the other side! be happy! don't feel guilty, we were rooting for you.

you're not leaving your past behind, you're doing things better for yourself. you are not leaving us behind, you are making us happy because one of us there means more of us there.

you did it. you did it.