#in case the “keep reading” doesn't work for you

[emmanation]

　　 　　 st. lazarus, my ass !!!!!!

　　　hi…………… yea alright whatever. 　　　　　i'm emma. 　　

unless you're either trauma-linked or chronically online in my radius, in which case you may refer to me as emmy or witchbitch (like blood-curdling scream). half russian and half lithuanian, and absolutely fully over it. seventeen, gemini sun, virgo moon and libra rising. we cope.

i shift. a lot. i have spatial commitment issues and zero respect for the fourth wall. i'm basically that one priest they defrocked for being barefoot too often. if tumblr were a nation-state i would be a failed provisional government and/or a haunted relic in the constitution.

i'm also dating my POOPSIEKINS BABYKINS MY FAVOURITE ASSHOLE non-dictator coriolanus snow and i love him to death and tears and communion. look i watched tbosas and i was like well yes. that's husband. that's baby daddy. coremma forever. let's all chant.

spiritually i feel like a victorian child on the brink of consumption but still asking for another raspberry bonbon.

i like to considering myself as tumblr's unofficial barefoot saint of post deletion and bad decision amnesty. my crime scene: the drafts folder. my patron saint miracle: managing to look busy while doing nothing.

also used to go by....... hrrtshape but that identity fell into the sea. no lifeboats. just wreckage. she had it coming. the bitch. moving on.

you may not like it but this is what peak sentence structure looks like. my loyalty is to the comma.

　　　　welcome to the broadcast ! expect damage.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 ┊ 

at my centre, right there under the caffeine and doomsday threats, is a girl. yes. a literal one, if you can believe it. sometimes barely. i mean i've got the runtime of a criterion extra and the emotional palette of a soviet psych ward nurse on her fifth menthol.

i'm not consistent. i am, however, undefeated in the field of controlled demolition via cardigan collection.

and i need things. specifically: attention, quiet mornings, a working knowledge of cold war foreign policy, my boyfriend slash future baby daddy slash love of my life slash demonic husband slash official fiancee. and a very strong strawberry matcha.

i do have got the beautiful princess disorder....also unofficially known as borderline personality disorder.

i've got a gun metaphorically (legally: no comment). i've got nabokov in one pocket and a receipt for my thunder in the other. and i keep paying. fair and square.

i am online. painfully and shamefully and embarrassingly and i house kendall roy in my head. the ghost of hildegard von bingen told me that if i didn't at least attempt greatness she'd smite me with a medieval plague. so. there goes that.

i'm a cinephile. to the surprise of absolutely no one except rural grandmothers.

you already know the letterboxd top four. virgin suicides because obviously. his girl friday (where i get all of my lines from.......). twin peaks: fire walk with me because i believe in laura palmer's martyrdom. umbrellas of cherbourg because. we should all sing.

wild at heart is a bonus round. elvis. snakeskin. nicolas cage in a jacket that represents his individuality and his belief in personal freedom. i think that's beautiful.

letterboxd doesn't teeeeechnicaaaaaaaally do tv but i don't care. succession, twin peaks (yes, again), south park, and sex and the city. it's like the four temperaments.

i do not file taxes. partly because i am emma. besides that i am wrong and right simultaneously.

anyway. i read 120 books last year. it's actually my weapon. i can and will recommend something.

　　　characters most like me ,

　　,　　𝒻leabag ( fleabag )

　　,　　𝒸lementine ( eternal sunshine )

　　,　　𝒿ules + 𝓇ue ( euphoria )

　　,　　𝒿ake 𝓅eralta ( brooklyn 99 )

　　,　　𝓉he 𝓂ain three locos in one person ( fight club )

　　,　　𝓇oman + 𝓀endall ( succession )

　　,　　𝓁isa + 𝓈usanna ( girl, interrupted )

i have been doing this shit since the early dawns of 2020. yes. pandemic brain. yes. hogwarts dr was conscription level mandatory. i made three friends and six enemies and nobody EVER went to potions. i don't wanna talk about them. moving on.

me and shifting have history. low success rate. then a comeback tour.

yes i've shifted. current obsession is my silly little food critic dr in paris in the 50s where i'm an officially engaged woman in.

this reality is a glorified bus stop. i'm not here for leisure i'm here because the spiritual immigration office hasn't processed my full paperwork yet. what does this mean? go away. i'm not permashifting out of fuckass spite!!!!!! but!! i visit but we do not unpack.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 ┊ 

now for the part where i preemptively remove certain individuals from the premises..........

if you're weird, like weird weird, like genuinely shouldn't be near school zones weird, then no. i will block you as if it's a reflex. this is not a commune. i mean technically. mm. ok.

if your dr has sex work but no structural analysis of patriarchy sorry, banned. standard exclusions apply: racism, nazis, homophobia, generalised moral ugliness. bonus exclusions for larpers without irony or a gun to their head.

don't make this awkward and pls don't make me babysit your projection.

this isn't a roleplay blog, tragically. i have a grenade drawer. if you came here to aestheticise trauma or pretend you invented the concept of escapism, you're already ten steps behind baby girl.

anyway. stay hydrated.

touch grass when the mission permits. and for the love of god read a book that wasn't marketed on booktok.

glory to the new rewritten file which is basically exactly the same. the old one has been archived under errors i refuse to acknowledge.

　　　　　　　　proceed accordingly.

[noirtcnes]

anything john walker x reader as long as its gender neutral PLEASE i am BEGGING because its ALL F READER

gotcha <3

no second chances. john walker.

summary: it was supposed to be a simple, easy mission. until you step on a landmine and john walker loses his shit. things go awry from there.

pairing: john walker x gn!reader

warnings: heavy angst, fluff, swearing, explosion, description of burns, kissing, walker being a nice asshole

word count: 5.1k

notes: it's been SO LONG since i've written shit, and thank you to anon for requesting this because i swear i wish we had more gn!fics. this is pretty angsty but i think it's alright. more to come! have fun reading <3

also on ao3

The mission was already half-insane, and you hadn’t even gotten there yet.

You were stuck in the back of a jeep thundering toward some dusty estate in the woods — next to John Walker, of all people.

John Walker was someone you... tolerated, to say the least. You could say far more, but that would probably summon your fifth grade English teacher who would proceed to smack you on the head for speaking such filth.

No, that was a lie, you swore plenty already. You just did not want to bother yourself further with more thoughts about that abomination of a man. 

Mostly because it often led somewhere else you truly wished to avoid at all costs.

Proximity wasn't quite helping in this case, because with the way the vehicle was moving over the rocks and bumps on the way, you were colliding into the big guy like there was no tomorrow. 

It would've been fine if it was anyone else, honestly, maybe Yelena, or Bob, or even Alexei (or not, on second thought), but when it was Walker, the constant knocking of knees and your arm rubbing up against his with every jerk of the jeep was deeply irritating and mildly—

No, you weren't going to use actual words to describe the weird tug in your stomach at every contact. Nope.

Why? Because you hated him, for fuck's sake, and how infuriatingly tall he was, and that big mouth he was running, even now.

"—simple recon, nothing wild. Just in, eyes on the target, out. Val says we plant three nano-cams—one facing the south gate, one above the garage, and one in the courtyard if we can reach it. Gotta log the angles and anything that looks… off."

"You're telling me all this as if I didn't fucking read the file, Walker," you said flatly, looking at him with a look of severe judgment. 

Walker responded with an offended expression, and scoffed.

“Just trying to make sure you keep up," he said, feigning casualness.

“With what? Your ego?”

That wiped the smirk off his face for a bit, but it was back in seconds —the cocky tilt of his mouth.

“Cute. I forget you think you’re funny," he said, and you shrugged.

“I forget you think you’re useful.”

"Could do better with that one," he said, and you wanted nothing more than to smash one of the hard nano-cam pouches into his head. You didn’t, obviously. 

Mostly because your fingers were currently gripping the cam pouch like a stress ball. But also because—God help you—this wasn’t the time.

The gravel under the jeep’s tires shifted, and the darkness outside deepened. You exhaled slowly, pressing your thumb to your temple.

"Walker, listen," you said, this time quieter. More serious.

He spared a glance in your direction, and you took that as permission.

"I don't want you walking in there like this is a solo mission." You rubbed the side of your forehead, the words firm. "Don't do that again. Not this time."

Walker lifted his eyes to just stare at you, his jaw clenching. 

"Don't trust me?" It sounded oddly empty, the question. You sighed, shaking your head.

"Sometimes you get reckless—"

"Yet it gets the job done."

"What if it doesn't this time?"

He stayed silent. Then uttered something under his breath you couldn't quite catch.

"We need to work together," you emphasised, "as a team."

But it seemed that was the end of his responses. Of course it was. He still believed, probably, with all his heart that he was the leader of this mission, and had to take full responsibility, despite having a very capable teammate. 

There was nothing more you could do. Not until you reached the location, anyway. 

"Whatever," you muttered, as your shoulder crashed once again into his during a particularly tricky turn. 

Yelena's voice crackled through the talkie holstered at your hip. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Thank god, it was getting awkward.

"Hello? Am I coming through?"

"Loud and clear," you said, grabbing it and raising it to your face. "I assume we’re close?"

"Yes. Another 700 meters and you’ll hit the estate’s south fence. Visuals show no guards outside, but the man has got layers. Heat sensors, drones, maybe mines. All kind of paranoid war veteran tech."

You grimaced. “Right. Creepy ex-general with a trigger finger and a god complex. Totally normal recon mission.”

“Tell me about it. Drop the cams, tag the perimeter, don’t get blown up.“

"Unless Sir Hyper-independent here decides to switch things up," you muttered, jerking your head toward Walker without looking. A little smirk tugged at your mouth.

You weren’t looking, but you could feel Walker resisting the urge to say something back. Sweet, sweet victory.

"I heard that," he grumbled.

"Good."

"Anyway," Yelena continued, dryly, "keep each other alive. I’m not flying in to collect limbs. Buzz control if shit goes sideways. Over.”

"...Copy that."

The line went static.

Walker still looked mildly constipated, but you ignored him, closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the tough back cushion, going over the exact plan as accurately as you could. 

All you could hear was his shuffling, and impatient breaths, his fiddly taps on the taco shield on his arm, and an occasional clearing of his throat every time your head accidentally lolled towards his side.

Minutes later, the jeep came to a rash stop. You had reached the old cottagehouse and the sprawling acres surrounding it. 

“Jesus, this took a minute,” Walker grunted as he stood up, stretched as best as he could (that’s what being 6’2’’ got you, hah) and put his stupid beret on. You just watched, snorting. 

“You gettin’ ready for a model shoot?”

Walker scowled, which only made him look more stupid. You had to hold back a giggle. 

“Get your ass up,” he spat, and you hated that those words created a reaction in you and had you obeying with minimal delay, shooting straight up. Embarrassing.

“Jeez, don’t get your thongs in a bunch,” you grumbled, and he flashed you a questioning look. 

“You mean panties.”

You smirked, looking at him from the corner of your eye as you gathered up the two pouches and twisted your gun into the holster. “Yeah, but I bet you’d wear thongs.”

The man looked visibly rattled as he blushed, trying to cover up any signs of weakness with a scoff and a glare.

Opening the jeep’s back, the both of you stepped out, when Walker snatched the pouches out of your hand.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, attempting to get it back from him but he simply swatted you away, dodging your extended arms and tossing the pouches hand to hand.

"What the fuck, Walker?!"

"I'm gonna need you to stay back and keep a watch on the perimeter," he instructed, still keeping the pouches far from you. "Not letting you walk into an absolute maniac's backyard."

Oh, he was fucking doing it again, the bastard.

You slapped his back, hard, managing to catch up when he flinched and stumbled, before grabbing one of the bags from him.

"Didn’t think you'd feel that one," you said, grinning. Walker shot you a look, but it was one of the rarer types. The ones that made you feel a little sick.

Always looked like he cared, when his brows slanted and his extra blue eyes gained clarity. In your dreams. Wait, no.

"This isn't a joke," he hissed, and his gaze was frighteningly steady. 

"I just want you to work with me," you replied, not breaking eye contact. 

"We will be. Just listen to me. I just–"

"Just need me to stand in the sidelines while you do the heavy duty shit?" you interrupted, clicking your tongue, feeling a little less jolly now. 

"Walker, we were paired for a reason. We both know I can handle those cams better and not accidentally snap them 'cause I wasn't careful."

Walker's eyes flashed, fixed on you, teeth grit. He looked like he was on the edge of the kind of anger you usually knew better than to poke.

"...Please, Walker," you said, softer this time, hoping he’d budge even a little, and to your surprise, he did. Something in his demeanor changed, his shoulders relaxing, his grip on the pouch turning loose. 

The walkie sputtered once more and Yelena's voice came through.

"Guys, is everything okay?"

"It's been 4 minutes since you reached the location, you dunces, what the hell's going on?"

Ah, looks like Val was there too.

Walker yanked the walkie from your hip and clicked in. “We’re getting to it,” he said, tone already edged with annoyance.

Val’s voice came through sharp, shrill, and relentless, like a crow on espresso.

Walker didn’t let her finish. “Just give us time,” he snapped, then tossed the device at you without a glance. You caught it, barely.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead straight at the side wall of the house a considerable number of feet away, but you could tell he was still uncertain, tense– still wrestling with your words, your plea.

You were about to say something more, when he looked over his shoulder at you, and you could hear him mumble something like ‘stubborn’ in this weird tone, not quite annoyed, not quite fond either, but something in between, before he began to walk. 

“I’m still keeping one though,” he said, voice taut, waving the pouch in his hand around as he did, and you couldn’t help the relieved chuckle that escaped your mouth, glad he decided to listen to you for once as you followed in his wake. 

As much as it was the bare minimum, it was still oddly satisfying in the way your cheeks flushed just a little.

You began to walk forward, not fully in time with him considering his long-ass legs, but fast enough to be just a foot or two behind him at all times. 

You maintained a straight line, when you stepped on what felt like a particularly hard rock.

At that exact moment there was a click, a beep and when you looked down, heart sinking, there was a faint red glow emitting from the side of your boot sole.

Oh, fuck, no. No. Shit.

There was only about another fifteen metres to the house’s fence. So close.

Walker, despite looking very focused on the task at hand, noticed that your presence was lacking. He turned just slightly, a little bewildered at why you were just... standing there.

You could see him wave his hands in confusion and mouth 'What's the holdup?!' and all you could do was take a big, shaky breath and point at your foot.

He frowned, looking exasperated as he redirected his gaze. Then he saw the light, and the way your leg was stiff and unmoving, and you could see grim realisation dawn on his face.

Slowly, he walked back to where you were. He looked pale, paler than he usually did in the moonlight. His eyes remained on your foot.

"...Landmine," he whispered, and the finality in his voice dropped like a rock into your stomach. Your fears had been confirmed.

"Walker," you started, but then your throat went dry and you couldn't finish the rest of the sentence. What would you even say? 

You could see the cogs turn in his head as he removed the shield from his arm and dropped it aside along with the cam pouch. He tugged the one in your hand too, and threw it away.

Then he scanned around the spot on the ground, his knees locked, as if he was scared even kneeling down might cause the mine to completely detonate. His eyes glazed over in thought, but both of you knew.

You couldn’t really disarm a mine. Not after activating it. 

You lost your voice to the thought of it— dying. Like this.

Because of a goddamn landmine.

Because of that idiot ex-general.

Because luck decided you’d used up all your chances.

Not when you’d just redeemed yourself. And as much as you joked about dying early, it couldn’t happen this way. 

“Walker,” you called again, hesitating as your hand softly patted on his arm. It took you three tries to fully get his attention, but his eyes still wouldn’t meet yours, and it was getting frustrating.

“Walker, listen to me.”

“I’d rather figure out how to get you out of here.”

You could only stay silent in response to this. There was no getting you out. Not unless this was a dud, which was mostly just wishful thinking. 

“Look, just– what kind of mine is it?” you asked, the least that could be figured out, and Walker nodded. 

“Hold on.”

You marvelled at how he managed to keep his voice steady. You joked internally that he didn’t care enough to get emotional. 

But you saw the way his jaw clenched, how his breath stalled in his chest. The way his hands didn’t quite know where to go.

This wasn’t detachment. It was control, or the likes of it. And he was losing it, slowly. Steadily.

You breathed like the oxygen around you was loaned, chest hurting from the way you held it tight. 

You watched, transfixed as he finally knelt down, movements as slow as a hawk watching its prey, and all you could think of was keeping that foot planted like there was no tomorrow. 

He came back up a minute later, swallowing hard as he mumbled, “Soviet-style. Steel jacket. Fragmentation type. Might not be reliable anymore.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding blankly. “Might not?”

“Which means you either survive, or… it kills you outright.”

Oh. Right.

Didn’t even make sense for you to be so surprised. What else were you expecting?

“Jesus,” you muttered, your voice barely at bay. Your fingers were beginning to tremor just slightly, and you could hear your own heartbeat. Hell, you could feel it. 

You needed to hold onto something, anything – something to ground you. Your feet were already going numb.

“I told you to stay behind,” Walker said, suddenly. There was no anger. Just… hurt. 

“I– I know, but we’re a team, and I–”

“If you’d listened, we wouldn’t be here. WIth you, standing on a fucking…” 

He didn’t complete the sentence. Instead, he practically ripped his beret off his head, harshly shoving it into his belt, before running his fingers through his dirty golden hair. 

For the first time in a long time, he looked confused. 

For some reason, that hurt far more than the realization that you were most probably going to die.

The sky remained dark, but time was slipping by. Neither of you knew how much had passed.

Suddenly, the mission wasn’t the ex-general anymore. 

It was you.

The realization was really fucking with Walker's head, it was painfully obvious. You wanted to reach out, comfort him, but right now it looked like he might just do something violent if you tried.

Your forgotten walkie crackled to life, this time with Bucky's voice.

"Team. Status?"

Neither of you replied. Walker swallowed, hands on his hips as his head stayed low.

You took the walkie in hand albeit with extreme caution.

"We're... there's a situation."

"Seriously? What is it?"

"I– I stepped on an active land– landmine."

Saying it out loud only made you want to laugh, simply because of how absurd it sounded.

But the laugh didn't quite bubble out as one- it was a little more of a sob.

Walker looked up at the sound instantly, his eyebrows perking as his eyes tethered to your face.

Looks like the fear was finally leaking out of you.

There was silence on the other end for a good 30 seconds, until Bucky finally spoke again.

"We're sending backup. Can.. is it possible to disarm it?"

Taking the walkie from your hand, Walker replied, "Not really, Bucky. It… It's more of a 'try or die' situation."

You were feeling a little tired now. The churning in your stomach was making you feel exceedingly sick, and your fingers felt unlike yours. Like they belonged to another body.

"I'll take care of it. Of..." He didn't complete. He just cleared his throat, let out a heavy breath, then said, "Just send the backup. Medic, most importantly."

The tenor in Bucky's voice matched Walker's. It was the gravest you'd heard it.

"...Be safe. Both of you."

You sniffled—just a little—and Walker immediately tossed the walkie aside, all his focus shifting back to you.

"Okay, I need you to listen to me very carefully now," he said, in a tone that caught you by such surprise you forgot you were even standing on a fucking mine.

"Look at me."

Oh.

You did as he asked, and part of the immediate compliance stemmed from you just wanting to hear him speak in that voice again. And he did.

"We're gonna get through this."

"Are we?"

"Yes, we are."

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes tight momentarily, bracing your heart for whatever the hell was going to happen next.

As long as it kept beating.

"We need to shift the weight from you to something-- something else, alright?"

You nodded, your brain already resetting to plan mode. "Like-"

"My shield," he said, taking a glance at the taco-shaped hunk of metal on the ground.

"Would.. Would that work?"

"It should. In theory."

"Bob would be proud," you said, the joke slipping past your lips despite the situation, and Walker just glared at you.

"Not now."

"Sorry."

"...it's okay. Let's just focus on getting you out of this alive to make dumb jokes after today."

"Yeah. Right." You felt a little embarrassed. Oh, how silly these things felt right now.

Then Walker looked at you with eyes you wished he gave you the times you weren't in life threatening danger, and stepped as close as he could without disturbing the mine.

He rested a hand over your arm, and said "Look at me," again, and it took you everything to not start crying on the spot.

"We can do this." He looked like he believed every word of that sentence. 

You didn't. 

"I'm scared, John."

The name—his name—felt strange in your mouth. It made your voice shake. Your hands too. You cringed the second it came out, but then he squeezed your arm tighter.

“You’re gonna be okay.” 

You hung onto every word of that sentence, chanting those words in the back of your head, over and over. Anything to keep you from losing consciousness.

Then he nodded once, as if he was reassuring himself.

"Okay," he said, softly. "Ready?"

You had no choice but to nod. It was now or never.

Walker crouched, grabbing the shield and sliding his arm into the leather straps, before placing his hand on the side of your knee.

“When I tell you, just slide your leg off the mine, okay? Slowly. No sudden movements.”

“John–”

“Trust me.”

“...Okay,” you eventually breathed out.

“Hold on.”

The shield scraped against the grassy dirt as he moved it, slow and steady, his hands working like those of a surgeon as the metal clicked against the edge of the mine.

“Shit,” he said lowly, and you saw his jaw flex. “Okay, here goes.”

Oh, shit, it was getting real. Oh, fuck.

You refrained from saying any of that out loud. 

“Now,” Walker said, voice as anchored as his grip on the shield, “Slide your foot off in par with me.”

So you did exactly as he said, your foot inching off with extreme caution, while the curve of his shield followed, until it was entirely off, and now it was just Walker, bent over, shield braced in one hand as it pressed tight against the active mine.

You were too overwhelmed to find solid footing—you stumbled back, legs failing to hold you, and dropped nearly three feet away, ass hitting the grass with a loud thud.

Oh, god, you were alive and breathing.

But before you could even register this fully, light flickered behind your heads, and there was a distinct sound of shuffling coming from inside the cottage-house.

Panic seemed to rise as quickly as it had fallen.

"John, we need to leave, like... right now." You looked over your shoulder, and it was clear the old, dangerous man was awake.

"Stay back," he replied curtly. Actually, he wasn't even replying. It was a very out of the blue statement. It sounded ominous.

"John, what the hell are you--"

"Just stay back, please."

Then you saw it. His shoulders squared, toes digging into the sand as if preparing to sprint.

His knees raised, and you were already running towards him.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot-

Just as the shield lifted, you lunged– arms locking around his waist, twisting with all your might in the air.

And then–

BOOM.

The entire world was swallowed by fire, and white hot light, and the pungent smell of singed leather.

Then.. skin.

You could feel the heat lick at your back, through the layers, and it hurt like a bitch. Everything burned, searing. You felt so lost, so unconscious, yet every nerve seemed to flare with pain. But you could still feel him under you, your arms still tight around him, head falling over his neck, so close you could feel his breathing on your face.

He was alive. He was alive. 

You were too, mostly, but you wished you weren't, because the pain of blistering skin was truly agony. You took in two, three stifled breaths, just to make sure.

You let go, collapsing to his side, his face swimming into your blurred vision. The mud touched your back and you yelped, yanking yourself onto your side again by holding onto Walker's arm. 

He was looking at you with dazed eyes, but you could see his disapproval, and his surprise somewhere behind those eyelids.

"You're a fucking idiot," he rasped.

"You too," you choked out.

Then the world went dark.

.

.

“Second degree burns, both of you. We’ve removed the shrapnel and patched you up, and it’ll take a while to heal, but give it a few weeks and you’ll be alright.”

The doctor nodded to the both of you, wearing a little bit of a judgmental expression. 

“You’re lucky that mine was faulty. Only reason you’re even awake right now.”

She waved her pen in the air, then turned to discuss something with the secondary.

“We’re gonna be back in a few. Don’t do anything stupid,” she said dryly, and the docs stepped out, the door sliding close behind them.

You were seated upright in your bed, a med gown wound loosely over you. The covered and treated burns still stung, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when you were first carried in here.

According to Yelena (who was thoroughly pissed that you managed to fail every objective), before the old man could get to actually killing you, backup had arrived, he’d been dealt with momentarily, and you’d reached the Watchtowers safely– relatively speaking. 

Walker was sitting opposite you, both legs bandaged. He’d experienced burns mostly there, but a few minor burns on the stomach as well.

Both of you weren’t looking at each other, although you were itching to scream at him.

But then he did it first. Sort of.

“What were you thinking?”

You rolled your eyes as you continued to look at your own feet.

“I should be the one asking you that.’

“I was making the only decision that could have been made at that point in time.”

You just scoffed. “You can’t be serious.” You looked up at him now, and he still had that small frown, even in rest.

“I did what I had to,” he said strongly.

“Just because you’re a super soldier doesn’t mean you just go ahead and take all the brunt of it, for fuck’s sake. You’re not invincible!”

“And neither are you,” he shot back, finger jabbing in the air at your gown. 

“No, seriously, what the fuck was your plan?”

“My plan was to get you off the mine safe, protect myself before letting the mine blow, and then getting the fuck out of there.”

“You couldn’t have waited for back up?!”

“That asshole was already up and he definitely heard us,” Walker replied, vexed. “If he’d seen us out waiting on the mine he would’ve put a bullet in it then and there and neither of us would be breathing right now.”

“How do you know for sure? They were almost there!”

“I had to, alright?” He vaguely gestured at you, then him. “At least our situation was under our control!”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You mean our deaths?”

“Well, yeah!”

“Because that’s just so much better.”

“Oh, get out of here.”

You could just ‘tch’ in response, hanging your head down again. Silence filled the room once more. 

Out of curiosity, your gaze perked as you glanced at him, his tired stature, long, bandaged legs, the gauze just peeking out of his gown round his stomach, the scars on this neck, the scruffy beard you’d thought of a god-awful amount of times…

Fucking hell.

You slipped down from the bed, finding a wheeled stool and sitting on it before awkwardly sliding your way to his bed.

His head turned and an eyebrow raised as he saw you coming in, holding onto the edge of the mattress as you steadied yourself.

“Crazy ride, huh?”

You gave him an unimpressed look, before keeping an elbow on the bed by his thigh, resting your head loosely on it.

“You know, I really wanna keep yelling at you,” you said plainly. Walker sighed, and you raised a hand in mock defeat.

“But I won’t, okay?” 

“Great, yeah. Stay like that.”

“Can you shut up for a second?”

He glowered, then shrugged.

“Good boy.”

He was back to glowering at you again.

“I just… I need you to stop trying to kill yourself,” you said, and you did not expect so much emotion to flow through those words as you said them.

Him neither, it seemed, because his eyes softened, brows relaxing just a little. Then he let out a huff, a half-laugh, and you tsked for the 100th time.

“I’m being serious, Walker.”

“Oh, we’re back to Walker now?” he said suddenly, eyes flashing something. Something weird.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “John.”

He smirked. It was maddening, but you let him have his victory. Mostly because it was hot.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be brave,” you continued, eyes still on the bedframe. “I’m just saying… if you keep throwing yourself in the fire every time things go to shit, you’re gonna burn out before anyone can pull you back.”

Walker’s fingers twitched over his sheets, before turning into a fist. 

“That was… eloquent.”

“I don’t know if it got through your skull, though.”

“It did.”

He was quick to respond, and it sounded as though his voice had slackened, considerably so.

Good.

You couldn’t help but look at his fist, and it was taking everything in you to not slip your own fingers in between the crevices.

Then you heard the soft whisper of ‘I’m sorry’ leave his mouth, and you had to look away, because it did things to you.

“Don’t do that, that’s very out of character for you,” you said, and he chuckled that low, rumbly chuckle of his.

“I mean it, though.”

You nodded. “I.. I know. It’s fine.”

Slowly, you looked back at his face, and had a little bit of a miniature heart attack when you saw that he was already looking at you, blue eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Inevitably, your eyes dropped to his lips, and you laughed a little.

“Jesus, those lips are dry,” you mumbled, still grinning. “Didn’t know mines sucked the moisture out from there too.”

Walker squinted his eyes, huffing in amusement. “Why, do you wanna do something about it?”

It took a second for the sentence to make proper sense to you, and when it did you wrinkled your nose instantly, shooting him a look of utter shock.

“That is disgusting, John, who taught you to speak like that?”

He shrugged. “Oops.”

You didn’t stop staring, though. Now there were weird, very wrong, and extremely dangerous thoughts swirling in your head. 

He actually said that.

The words slipped your mouth before you knew it.

“Do you mean that?”

Walker looked mildly perplexed.

“Mean what?”

You couldn’t tell if he was acting dense or actually just that.

“What– what you just said.”

He gave you a long, incomprehensible look. Then he swallowed, jaw flexing.

“Yeah.”

It felt a little bit like when you saved him from the mine, but less rushed, with more intent. 

You stood up, hand cupping his face, palms brushing against his beard as you kissed him, lips melding with his, leaning almost entirely into him.

Your teeth clacked once, then your mouths fell into a rhythm as he started kissing back, and it destroyed you, inside out.

Your cheeks felt like you were back on that field, fiery and warm, while your free hand climbed up his chest, fingers splaying against the covered flesh. 

His own hands snaked around your waist, careful not to touch your burns, before one of them came up to grip your chin, and he pulled you deeper, further into the kiss with a strength that sent chills down your spine.

The feeling of his mouth, his calloused hands, the roughness of his ragged beard grazing against your skin, the golden locks in between your fingers, it was all far too much, and it felt just right.

It was hot, messy, but slow, and most importantly heavy, with all the words unsaid, the thanks, the apologies, the times you’d wanted to kiss him just like this, as if no one else existed in this world, and only him, and his gaze and his warm hands, and even warmer mouth–

He pulled away, heaving a breath, but his hand remained on your chin, then slid over your cheek to hold onto your face as if you might float away otherwise.

He looked at you with wide eyes, almost completely disarmed.

You swallowed, his taste still distinct in your mouth.

“Was that okay?” you murmured.

He looked like he’d forgotten how to speak.

“Yeah,” he finally managed.

There was a sudden beep outside and you scrambled to sit your ass back down on the seat, but the wheels got naughty and–

“Fucking– ow,” you whined, as your back slammed against the wall with a dull thud.

The doctor stared with a rather lukewarm look at you.

Walker winced on your behalf as well, clearing his throat.

“You good?” The doc asked. 

Ohohoho, she thought she was so funny.

You heard Walker chortle and you shot him the coldest look, mouthing, “I’ll deal with you later.”

His lips curled into a smile, and you knew you were going to be a wreck in the next few hours.

pls let me know in dms or reblog if you guys wanna be tagged in my future fics <3

[mattslilies]

Frequent Fighter - M.S.

"they ask too many questions. you don't." or... the one where you're back at work after your four days off, and your new patient has returned as well. warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, hospital settings, physical violence. little bit of sad backstory. word count: 1.1k a/n: dividers by @bernardsbendystraws! this is a nurse!reader x street fighter!matt fic. is technically a part 2 to this fic, but can be read alone! this fic may have some inaccuracies, i am not a healthcare worker!!

"he's back again."

your friend groaned, rolling her chair around to turn her back to the clipboard being held out for her to take. you looked up in confusion, wondering what the issue was. you'd been on vacation for four days, and had heavily enjoyed not having to work any twelve hour night shifts. you'd slept for almost an entire day, recovering, and then spent your peaceful four days at home.

"who's back?"

one of your coworkers rested her arms on the counter, leaning over to whisper to you as to make sure that nobody else heard what she was saying to you.

"our frequent fighter."

you raised an eyebrow, having a general idea of exactly who they were talking about, an amused smile on your face.

"isn't the saying frequent flyer?"

they both nodded, one tapping the end of the pen against her forehead as she rested her head on her opposite hand.

"well, yes. but this guy doesn't come in for drugs, he comes in after getting his shit rocked. again."

she stood up, sighing, grabbing the clipboard and looking over it.

"he's in my section. i'll handle it."

you looked over at your other coworker as she walked away, opening your mouth to ask a question, before closing it again. she noticed, encouraging you to continue with whatever you were about to say.

"go on. i can see the gears in your head turning."

you hummed in agreement before speaking.

"we don't normally dub someone frequent flyer within a week. how much has he been here?"

she let out a short laugh.

"every night."

you stared at her, shock clear on your face.

"you're kidding. every night??"

she nodded, a knowing look on her face.

"yeah. i know. every single night. he's nearly impossible to work with. nothing we ask him gets answered. he's argued with the cops a few times now, he always walks away with no cuffs though, so he must not be doing much wrong."

you were staring at the closed curtain that he was sitting behind, an incredulous look on your face.

"who in the world keeps beating him up? i mean, he's a grown man, he seems like he'd be able to hold his own, yeah?"

she shrugged, grabbing another clipboard off of the counter and reading over a different patient's chart.

"i don't know. but hey, at least he's consistent!"

you nodded.

consistency was rare in the emergency room. given the fact that a million different people came in with a million different issues every single shift, it was interesting to have someone who kept coming in around the same time each day, with similar injuries. it gave you something to depend on, which almost never happened in your field.

your closest coworker pushed the curtain back, walking over to you with a sour look on her face.

"what's wrong?"

she just rolled her eyes before replying.

"he wants you."

you coughed, not sure you heard her right.

"i'm sorry?"

she just stared at you.

"he wants you, girl. he won't let me touch him. requested you by name."

you were in shock.

"um, why? that's a little strange, isn't it?"

she shrugged.

"you did help him the first time. maybe he's emotionally attached. either way, he needs stitches again, and he wanted you to do it. just leave the curtain open, we can see you from over here, and security is always on standby just in case."

you sighed, agreeing and getting up to handle it.

he had been polite last time. silent, but polite, so there probably wouldn't be an issue. plus, you were self defense trained, in case he decided to try anything funny.

you walked over to the bed, pushing the curtain aside and leaving it wide open this time. you glanced down at his chart, pretending you didn't know why he was here.

"mr. sturniolo. you're back, for the same reason, i see."

he looked up, nodding again.

"matthew."

you stumbled, not processing that he was giving you personal information.

"what?"

you thought you might have seen the ghost of a smile.

"matthew. or matt. you can call me that. i'm sure you know it, it's on the chart."

you nodded, composing yourself.

"yes. it is. i normally resort to last names unless otherwise requested."

he nodded again, showing you his arm. another deep, serrated, cut raked up the side of it, but luckily not hitting anything important.

you shook your head, sitting down, snapping on gloves and grabbing your suture tray to set it up.

"you're either stupid lucky, or somehow trained in knife fighting."

he did crack a smile this time. that was new.

"maybe it's both."

he looked up, seeing the rest of the emergency room.

"you left the curtain open. they didn't do that before. why?"

you looked up, a slightly playful look on your face as you cracked a joke, though it was lined with seriousness.

"protocol, every time a patient decides they want a specific nurse, so we don't get killed."

he looked sheepish as your words processed, which was absurd. you didn't think sheepishness really fit his scarred frame, but here he was.

"i didn't think about that. i'm sorry."

you shook your head, injecting the local anesthetic into the areas of skin around the cut.

"it's fine. why did you request me, anyways? i've only treated you once."

he shrugged.

"they ask too many questions. you don't."

you nodded, skilled fingers dancing quickly across his skin as the thin wire slid in and out of his pale, marbled, skin.

"everybody has their own personal life. it's not my job to be in your personal business, so long as it's not affecting your physical state. if the cops think you're good, and you don't give us any warning signs, we don't press."

he hummed, agreeing.

"this is true."

you wrapped a clean bandage firmly over the wound, wrapping it tight to avoid anything getting in and causing an infection to the already concerning cut.

"well, you're all set."

he stood up as soon as you threw away your gloves.

"thank you."

you turned back to him, a small smile on your face.

"you're welcome. goodnight, matthew."

as soon as he walked out, your coworker stared at you with bewilderment.

"matthew?"

"yeah. that's his first name. he told me to use that."

she looked floored.

"he was talking to you."

you nodded, starting your paperwork.

"he was."

"he smiled at you."

"he did."

she sat back, not saying anything else but a small "huh." your other coworker spoke up, having not seen any of the interactions, a thought on her mind.

"i wonder when he'll be back."

you replied.

"tomorrow night."

she looked over to you.

"how do you know that?"

"you only see those serrated cuts come from one place in this city. he's a street fighter. that's why he keeps getting hurt, and coming back."

[lilu787788]

I've „love” reading comments from antis saying things like “The Darkling is 500 years old, he should have processed his trauma and gotten over it by now” and honestly, it’s disturbing how common this line of thinking is. Especially when it comes with the second part: “Our (enter all Grishaverse characters) have a right to be traumatized, they were just kids dragged into war.”

Yes, they were young. Yes, they suffered. No one is taking that away. But what shocks me is how quickly these same people dismiss the concept that long-term trauma doesn't fade with age. If anything, untreated trauma accumulates. It changes a person in ways that are invisible until something breaks. There is no magical threshold of years after which you're “supposed” to be healed. It doesn’t work like that. Being exposed to war, death, betrayal and existential fear for centuries without a moment of true rest or help does not heal someone. It destroys them gradually. It reshapes how they think, how they love, how they connect. Some of the most devastating cases of PTSD I’ve ever read about were people who didn’t even begin to feel the full weight of their experiences until decades later. Some were veterans of the Second World War who never spoke about what they saw until they were in their seventies or eighties, when their defenses started slipping. Some carried guilt and grief for over half a century and it still haunted them in their sleep. And those were people who had families, support, and the knowledge that the war eventually ended. Now compare that to a person who never gets peace. Never had the war end. Never had help. Someone who is constantly under threat. Who sees each generation repeat the same mistakes and bury the people they once fought beside. Who walks through the ashes of every hope and must start again, knowing how it will end. That’s not an excuse for every decision he made. But it is a necessary perspective if we’re talking about trauma. What antis are doing is trivializing the condition they claim to care about. Because if trauma only matters when it’s happening to a 20-year-old, and not to a person who’s been in survival mode for centuries, then you’ve reduced the concept of PTSD and depression to a short-term teen plot device. Some of these people don’t even realize how dehumanizing their arguments are. I’ve seen people say that age should equal healing—as if time itself is a cure. It isn’t. People live and die with trauma. They carry it into every relationship and every silence. Healing is possible, yes, but not in conditions that keep re-traumatizing you over and over again. Not in a world that refuses to change. And certainly not alone. I don’t know how anyone can genuinely think that after 500 years of war, grief, and loss, someone should have healed unless they fundamentally don’t understand what trauma is. Or unless they’ve only ever seen trauma in fiction—specifically in stories tailored to let them insert themselves into young protagonists while disregarding any character who doesn’t fit the healing narrative they prefer. This kind of thinking doesn’t come from people who understand war. It comes from people who need their heroes clean and simple, and their villains easily disposable. And that’s not analysis. That’s comfort.

[once-in-every-sometimes]

Introducing my Deltarune AU...

SpamTenna COPACABANA!!!*

(*now featuring SwatchTon! Yippie!!)

details below:

*Firstly, I recommend listening to the song or reading the lyrics if you haven't before- this AU is HEAVILY based off of the song.

Ok, so. Bear with me (🐻 <- bear with me)

Lola -> Spamton

Tony -> Tenna

Rico -> Mike

Unnamed Disco tender -> Swatch

I know the assignments might not make sense right now but let me cook.

Spamton, a down-on-his-luck Addison, decides to abandon his salesman career and become a showgirl(boy?) at Mr. (Ant) Tenna's TV Time Club.

Tenna is the owner of the club, but also fills in for his bartender, Ramb. He's called out ten days this month already, I wonder what he's up to...

Tenna usually doesn't pay too much attention to his showpeople after he hires them. They're usually indistinct Pippins or the occasional Shadowguy. Bunny ears + Playboy Bunny suit = profit?? someone draw that please please pl-

Oh and the cat Shadowguys are there too. I Guess. Tenna says those are just the furries, don't mind them. They're mostly in the band.

Lanino and Elnina are Tenna's waitstaff, and the employees of the month! Every month...

The Zappers are the bouncers... obviously.

Now back to Spamton- Tenna's interest is immediately captured by this tiny freak. Why is an Addison here? Why is he dancing? Why does he think he can dance? These questions will remain unanswered.

Tenna finds him endearing, and begins talking with him both on and off the clock. Spamton soon replaces Lanino and Elnina as Tenna's favorite employee.

They quickly become friends, and soon, something even more. But the power imbalance of a boss/employee relationship doesn't look so good, so they try to keep it on the low.

It doesn't work. Everyone knows.

While drunk one night, Tenna confesses his love for Spamton. This is way too soon, Spamton thinks. He's not even sure he reciprocates these feelings- weren't they just supposed to be hooking up?

Spamton leaves without responding to Tenna, leaving the man feeling heartbroken and betrayed.

Thinking nothing of it, Spamton returns to work the next day as usual. Tenna was probably just drunk and completely forgot the whole thing already, right?

Or... maybe not. Tenna doesn't talk to him that day. Not once. After a few days of this silent treatment, Spamton finally gives in and plans on talking to Tenna after his shift.

Though that talk never comes. A local mobster, Mike, has been known to have beef with Tenna. And he's back in town.

NO, IT'S NOT MY BELOVED MIKE TRIO. I WILL NOT TAKE CRITICISM. or it can be, if you want it to...

Not even waiting till after-hours, Mike guns down and kills Tenna in his own club. In front of his customers. Employees. Spamton.

Spamton's life is ruined. He hadn't realized his love for Tenna until now. And now it's too late.

The years go by. Club owners, employees, and customers change. But Spamton can't find it in himself to quit his job. He has to make it up to Tenna in some way, right?

Even if it means losing his mind in the process. What's there stopping him from drinking himself to death?

The club has changed hands once again, now owned by Swatch and under the name Swatch's Color Café Club. The showpeople and waitstaff have been replaced by Swatchlings.

Much like Tenna to Spamton, Swatch catches Spamton's eye. He looks familiar, but... no, he's not him. Though why not take a chance anyway?

Spamton quickly befriends Swatch, and their relationship progresses in a healthier way than with his previous lover. Soon, Spamton might even say he loves Swatch... but can he truly love anyone ever again, after what happened?

Spamton can try, but...

He'll never be him.

THAT'S IT FOLKS!!! Hip hop hooray if you've made it this far reading my slop. I don't know if it's been done before, or if it's even good, but I figured I'd just get my idea out there. In the crazy case that you're insane and want to draw or write something for this, go ahead! Lord knows I definitely can't. You can change some things if you want, too.

So, uh... yeah! Let me know if you like it (or even hate it too), or want to see more stuff like this from me! Thanks for reading!

[valll777]

Kusuo Saiki's Terms of Endearment and Love Languages

Terms of Endearment

[Name] & Dear Honestly, Saiki would probably just call you by your first name. He isn't big on words, but it's how he says it that makes a difference. It's softer than his usual tone, which is EXACTLY what makes it special. Sometimes, maybe when he's feeling a bit drowsy or extra tired, he would use dear. Only in private of course. He prefers it to be something special between the two of you. But he loves using your name instead, it's his favorite word.

"[Name], I want to eat the desserts you bought." "Let's go to sleep, dear"

Love Languages

Acts of Service I think everyone agrees that he is an acts of service guy. Saiki isn't one that expresses his love for anyone using words. He keeps to himself, and would rather show his care for someone through his actions. He is quite literally the embodiment of actions speak louder than words. - Would wait for you outside of your house to walk with you to school - Would always buy a chocolate bar along with his daily purchases of coffee jelly just in case you wanted one - Before you find out you forgot something, he would've already taken care of it and have it in his hand. - When he sees that you fell asleep on your desk because of exhaustion, he would get you ready for bed and tuck you in. He would even tidy up your room and leave a snack in your bag. - One of his worst fears would be you getting burnt out or super tired because of your workload. That's why he tries his best to restore your energy while you're sleeping and gives you snacks after every exam. - Losing your spark is something he hopes doesn't happen, but if it does, he'll do his absolute best to re-motivate you. :((( - I have a feeling that he's the type to become more protective in a sense where he is constantly looking out for anything that might potentially hurt you. He wouldn't straight up admit it, but there would be signs. - If you guys are out, he would assign one of his clones to go invisible and walk ahead just as a safety precaution. - If you guys had a sleepover, he would FOR SURE cook you breakfast before the two of you head out for the day. LKJHGFDS

Quality Time Aside from Acts of Service, I think he would also really show his love through the time he spends with you. He tries to get out of all of his meet ups with his friends, but he would be happy to have hangouts with you. He would ditch his friends if it meant spending more time with you LMAO KJHGFDS - Enjoys playing video games and watching TV with you - You guys would have a lot of sleepovers and cafe dates. - It doesn't really matter if there's silence or if you're yapping, he EATS it up everytime. - Even if you're working on something in your room, he would much rather stay with you and just read. - Midway, he would leave and buy some sweets at the nearby convenience store and make you eat them with him as a break. - That way, he can also make sure that you aren't pushing yourself too hard. URGHURURUUREUAU - I swear this guy just wants you within his vicinity. I think it makes him feel more at rest. - Probably spends most of his time with you than anyone else

"Hey, where's Saiki?" "Probably with [Name]."

Other In terms of your pet names for him would be Kusuo, Dear, and Love. 'Love' though, would be your go-to when you guys are a bit deeper in the relationship. Saiki would lowkey get caught off guard when you first used it and he'd DEFINITELY be flustered inside. I HONESTLY see him being alright with a bit of physical touch BUT NOT IN EXTREME AMOUNTS. Interlocking pinkies, holding your hand in large crowds, leaning your head on him when the two of you are tired at home, short kisses on your forehead, and HE'D ALRIGHT WITH YOU GIVING HIM QUICK PECKS ON HIS LIPS. Like if you initiate it, he wouldn't mind it! GENUINELY I feel like he would prefer it if you initiated most of the contact AS LONG AS IT'S NOT TOO MUCH The thing is, he KNOWS that you KNOW what's alright with him and what's not, which is why he trusts you a lot with it. SOMETIMES SOMETIMES Saiki would start it, but with something that you HAVEN'T DONE TO HIM YET. If you just hold his hands and lay your head on his shoulder, he would kiss your forehead to show you that he's ready for the next step and that he's learning to be comfortable with it IUYTRERTYUYTR

Quick yap; sorry it's been rotting in my head for so long I just HAD to let it out! Lmk what you guys think eueuwehwuehd

[coraniaid]

Given how much of a big deal the show made of Buffy's "secret" identity just a couple of episodes earlier, it's pretty striking how little of an issue this seems to be in the season's seventh episode, Angel. Which is odd, because arguably the episode makes the case for Buffy having a secret identity -- a real secret identity -- much better than that earlier episode did.

"The Slayer must work in secret for security ... did anyone explain to you what 'secret identity' means?"

Buffy Summers is a super hero. Both in-universe -- she has super strength and various other (not always well defined) super-powers, and she spends her nights fighting against faceless hordes of evil-doers and occasionally saving the world from disaster -- and in conception. Joss Whedon was a big fan of the X-Men (particularly the 1980s Chris Claremont iteration), and apparently modelled Buffy herself on the mutant super-hero team's Kitty Pryde. Buffy Summers shares a last name with the mutant Scott Summers, and when Whedon himself became a writer for the X-Men he allegedly toyed with the idea of having Scott making a passing reference at one point to a previously unknown cousin called Buffy.

The fact that Buffy is a superhero with a secret identity isn't always the focus of the show, but it's definitely something that gets brought up pretty regularly. "Clark Kent has a job; I just want to go on a date!" Buffy complained earlier this season. Early in Season 3, just about the time of Buffy's return to Sunnydale, Joyce wanders out loud why she doesn't "tell a few people, like Principal Snyder? And maybe the police? I would think they would be happy to have a… a superhero. Is that the right term? I mean, it's not offensive, is it?". Buffy and Riley keeping their respective secret identities from each other is a key part of the overarching plot of the first third of Season 4. After Buffy's resurrection, in Season 6's Flooded, Anya suggests she could solve her money problems by charging for slaying vampires -- "you're providing a valuable service to the whole community" -- and when Dawn objects it would be wrong to "charge innocent people for saving their lives" Anya retorts that "Spiderman does!".

The quote in bold at the top of this section is spoken by Kendra in the second part of Season 2's What's My Line? and, if you think about it, it's a little odd. Does Kendra herself have a secret identity? I don't believe she does. What happened back in first part of this two-parter, when Kendra believed she was fighting a vampire and the "vampire" in question (actually Buffy) asked who she was? Kendra has read the Slayer handbook, and plays by the rules, so she definitely wouldn't have replied by revealing her secret identity, right? Except, wait, she did exactly that: "I am Kendra, the vampire slayer."

Sure, maybe you can say a secret identity means not telling the other people in your life you're the Slayer. Aunt May can't know Peter Parker's big secret anymore than Joyce can know about the Slaying. Only, in Kendra's case, what 'other people' are we talking about? Kendra doesn't have family or friends or classmates or teachers to keep a "secret identity" from! According to her, this is the norm for a Slayer! The rules that mean Buffy has to juggle her normal life as a kid in high school with homework to do and a parent not to disappoint with a secret second life as a vampire slayer hero don't apply to Kendra at all, because Kendra doesn't have that normal life. It doesn't make sense, in-universe, for Kendra to insist on the idea of a secret identity because the show itself shows up she doesn't have one. If, as Kendra claims and the show mostly seems to believe, Kendra represents the normal sort of Slayer -- raised by a Watcher, separated from a young age from her family, not allowed any friends or romantic entanglements -- then surely no Slayer can be expected to have a secret identity?

No Slayer, that is, except for Buffy. It's only Buffy who has those things and therefore it's only Buffy who needs to have what we'd recognize as a secret identity. The rest of the lore gets built retroactively around that.

Ultimately the Slayer has to have a secret identity because it is integral to the premise of the show that Buffy Summers has a secret identity. And Buffy has a secret identity for two main reasons. First, because this is the central metaphor of the show. Buffy is a teenager, fighting (real and metaphorical) demons that the adults in life are unable to understand. She can't tell her mother about being a Slayer in Season 1, just like she can't take up Anya's idea of getting paid in Season 6, because then that whole metaphorical edifice collapses. And second because ... well, because Buffy Summers is a super-hero. Super-heroes have secret identities.

(Even when that doesn't really make any sense.)

"I could so save the world if somebody handed me super-powers ... but I'd think of a cool name and wear a mask to protect my loved ones."

Only ... well, I asked if Kendra really had a secret identity, but perhaps the more fundamental question we should start with is: does Buffy Summers have a secret identity?

I talked about "Kitty Pryde" and "Scott Summers" before, but these characters are better known to the world by codenames: Shadowcat, Cyclops. They wear outfits that hide their ordinary personas. Spiderman may not actually charge people for saving their lives, but he does wear a mask to -- as Dawn says in Season 5's Real Me -- protect their loved ones from retaliation from their enemies. Peter Parker can't let Aunt May know about Spiderman, but he also can't let the Green Goblin or Doctor Octopus or Kraven the Hunter know about Aunt May. The classic superhero secret identity has two parts: not telling your loved ones that you are a hero, and not letting the villains know about your loved ones.

The only part of her secret identity Buffy cares about is the first; the part that also makes the show work as a metaphor for the growing pains of being a teenager. Buffy doesn't wear a mask, or cover her face, or use any sort of alias. On the contrary, when the vampires don't know who she is (like Darla in the very first episode) she seems a little put out: "you mean you don't know?". She introduces herself to the vampires she fights by name.

It's no wonder that the vampires of Sunnydale know who Buffy is, right from the beginning of the show. In fact, other than the Master himself, essentially every named vampire of note -- Darla, Angel, Spike, Drusilla (in dreams, anyway) and even Harmony have all been inside Buffy's house! Buffy blames herself when she thinks Angel attacked her mother, because she invited him into her home. Because she found out he was a vampire and didn't immediately stake him. But there's no follow-up -- not on screen, anyway -- where we see Buffy worry if maybe it's not ideal that the Master's minions know where Buffy lives and her mother doesn't know not to invite strangers into her house after dark. What happens the next time one of the Master's vamps tries to repeat what Darla did?

The topic of Joyce's safety will come up again in a year's time, and Giles will strongly argue against Buffy telling her mother the truth the way she wants to. But ... okay, why? I know why Joss Whedon wants Buffy to have a secret identity, but what's Rupert Giles reasoning, exactly?

The explanation we got in Never A Kill A Boy On The First Date was that this was for other people's safety. If Owen knew vampires were real, he'd take more risks trying to find them and get himself or other people killed. We sort of see that in Season 2's Lie To Me: the vampire fans of the Sunset Club would have been safer if they hadn't ever been convinced vampires were real. But for Joyce, does that explanation really make any sense? When Darla can -- and has -- walked into her house and almost killed her? When Angelus is sneaking into her house at night? When any passing vampire looking to kill the Slayer could just walk up to the front door and ask her mother to let her in?

I don't think so. I think, at this point, Giles' drive for secrecy starts to seem a lot more sinister. Protecting Buffy's secret identity feels a lot less like protecting Buffy's loved ones -- or Buffy herself -- and a lot more like protecting the secret of vampires. Protecting the Masquerade, we might say. Keeping the ordinary world in the dark about what's going on; writing off all the resulting deaths and near-misses as acceptable losses. And that's ... not a very heroic thing to do? I understand why vampires don't want people to know that vampires are real; it's not so clear what the Council's motivation is.

"The more people who know the secret, the more it cheapens it for the rest of us."

If most Slayers don't have secret identities -- if Buffy's own secret identity is only partially enforced, and only against her family and acquaintances -- then what is Giles' insistence on secrecy really about?

Yes, from the writer's perspective it's to preserve the metaphor of the show: to keep the "normal" world Buffy lives in something that resembles our own reality, not some alternate dimension where public buildings all shut down at sunset, where everyone is forced to press a cross to their forehead and drink holy water before entering a building, where politicians run for office on promises of being tough on vampires and tough on the causes of vampires. But what's the in-universe explanation? Why is Giles so keen to keep the truth from Buffy's mother?

Buffy is eventually forced to tell her mother the truth, after all, despite Giles's repeated objections. And -- although the reveal doesn't come at a good time (Buffy is wanted for murder, for the death of her friend and fellow Slayer Kendra! Buffy needs leave the house to save the world and rescue her Watcher) I don't think it really makes sense to say that Buffy's life is made harder by her mom knowing the truth. Harder because of the way she finds out, sure. But not because of the mere fact of it. Joyce's life isn't made worse by knowing the truth either. Whatever fears Giles seemed to have are proved pretty baseless by the events of Season 3.

I say "whatever fears", because in Season 2 Giles doesn't even bother to articulate a reason for Buffy not being permitted to warn her mother to watch out for a murderous vampire who might want to kill or torture her. The nearest thing we get to a reason is the excuse Xander jokingly offers, the quotation in bold at the top of this section.

In the absence of anything else, surely we're left to assume that for all intents and purposes this is in fact Giles' motivation? He doesn't want Buffy to tell anyone else simply because he's wedded to the idea that the truth about vampires is something that should be hidden away from the world. The secrecy doesn't have any other purpose other than to keep on perpetuating itself. Maybe, as Jenny will say next episode, Giles is just by instinct a snob: he thinks "that knowledge should be kept in these carefully guarded repositories where only a handful of white guys can get at it." Joyce can't know about vampires and Slayers because that would makes Giles' job as a Watcher just a little bit less special.

[spicyviren]

Oh let me meditate on the beast of devouring that feeds on the stars, that star devourer dragon Let me repel this Star dragon and banish it from the light of my Sun

- Ancient Sunfire chant, Tales of Xadia

I'm thinking about the sun and the stars and how Laurelion is, probably, both.

(Reposted because I’m a damn fool!!)

The Big Bang, in real life

The majority of atoms which make up us, our earth, and even our very own sun, were formed in the hearts of the very first stars in the universe.

These stars were made of lighter elements, mostly Hydrogen, Helium, and Lithium. But under the immense pressure at the core of those first stars, heavier atoms like Carbon, Oxygen and Nitrogen were formed. The stars eventually died - exploded - and released those heavier elements into the universe to be crafted into other forms.

As Carl Sagan famously put it, "We are made of star stuff."

And so Aaravos's quote in the teaser for season six - We are, all of us, stardust - is a blatant nod to the Sagan quote as well as, I am assuming, that aspect of the universe in some shape or form. Allegorically, it speaks to the idea of the universality of existence in the basest sense. But also, it acknowledges that the stars, like everything else, operate generationally.

So in this way, if we are to assume the TDP cosmos operates at least somewhat similar to our own, Xadia's sun is a younger (but still old as balls) star, from a different generation than the stars which are far more distant and ancient.

(As a side note, the very first stars in the universe did not last very long. Though certain stars in existence right now have "lifetimes" which are projected to last longer than the universe has currently been in existence.)

So if Xadia's sun is technically a star, even by Xadia's own admission (see Sunfire chant), then by this metric I have to ask...

What makes the Sun arcanum different from the Star arcanum?

While those first, most ancient of stars produced the materials which would become life, only a sun can sustain life and is therefore inextricably linked with the earth and all the life on it. It's this connection which I imagine is responsible for the change in the nature of the magic.

In Callum's Spellbook, Callum makes some word-association lists for the different types of magic. He associates "truth" with both Sun and Star (perhaps a trait of their shared stardom). No other words match up completely, but it feels like they are referencing similar things within different contexts.

The Sun teaches while the Stars are simply intelligent; the Sun is a "guiding light" while the Stars are associated with "destiny." Further, many of the other words Callum associates with the sun are about being in positive community with others (optimism, warmth, charisma, leadership). The nature of the sun is more giving, nurturing, and dare I say loving than that of your average star. Sun is revealing and honesty, Star is mysterious and reality-altering. Further, there is a dynamism in the words for Sun Magic that is absent from Star Magic - sharing knowledge vs simply having knowledge, guiding vs prescribing a set path.

(Another side note: Callum also mentions that Star mages are born, which, Callum's limited understanding aside, is perhaps a hint about what it will take to connect to the Star Arcanum. I have thoughts, but.... I'll just leave that there, winky face)

Obviously, these word associations can only go so far. Some of the most hostile and arrogant (eh eh!!) figures we've met have been Sun-aligned. But it does make me wonder about the beginning of Sun magic and what that introduction may have looked like.

Ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?*

Okay, so big question for me. Is Aaravos a star, like, literally a personification of a ball of gas burning billions of miles away, or is he just like, a very special elf? The same goes for all Startouch elves.

Zubeia refers to Aaravos as both a star and as an elf, and it's one of those things which I can't decide is real or simply a more poetic way of speaking of him. Is "Startouch elf" simply another type of star? Official art also sometimes depicts him and others as constellations. Are they the formed consciousness of a collection stars?

But it also makes me think of how often Sunfire elves personify the sun/the sun orb.

JANAI: You are a student of history, yes? Do you know where the Great Orb of the Sunforge came from? KARIM: Legends say it was a gift from the Sun herself. The gift of a millenium. - "The Drakewood," S4E6

In "The Queen's Mercy," we have...

Aditi nodded. “[...]and so, as the Sun’s daughter, I will lead you into her embrace.”

...and earlier, there is this:

Queen Aditi the Merciful, they called her. Queen Aditi the Kind. The Light of the Sun Incarnate. Kim’dael had thought it all an insufferable exaggeration. Sunfire elves gilded everything they could touch, of course they would do the same to their beloved leader.

Karim personifies the corrupted sun orb in "After Darkness":

He could still see it: the top of the Sunforge Tower, upside-down from where he lay, shrouded in inky corruption. It looked ill, its sickness weeping red and crowning the spire in a haze of blood. [...] We will come back, he promised his beloved, tainted city, his lost home. We will not abandon you. The orb pulsed mutely, a cry for help he could not answer.

TDP uses personification a lot, so it is kind of hard to parse out when it's being literal and when it's being lyrical. Perhaps in the examples cited it's simply the ostentatious way of the Sunfire elves like Kim'dael thinks. But if Aaravos, a known person, can be a star, then I can easily reason vice versa.

In the Book 1 novelization, Aaravos refers to himself as "of the First Elves." And if that is true, it follows that there must have been "Second Elves."

So who is Laurelion?

The significance of the laurel in the Western canon goes back to the myth of Daphne and Apollo.

There are various versions of the story, but essentially, Apollo (popularly associated with the sun), falls helplessly in love with Daphne. Though her reasons vary in different iterations, Daphne turns away from Apollo's affections. She runs and Apollo pursues. Just as Apollo is about to catch her, she begs for help - sometimes from her father, a river god, and sometimes from her mother, a nymph or Gaia - and she is saved by being turned into the laurel tree. In Ovid's Metamorphosis, when Apollo reaches Daphne post-transfiguration, he can still feel her heart beating below the bark. From that point on, the laurel wreath was associated with Apollo, achievement, and victory.

Gold, the element, takes the symbol Au from its Latin word, Aurum, which has etymological ties to 'aurora' (dawn). Names likes Aurelio or Aurelius similarly mean "golden" or "guilded."

So, taken together, I of course think immediately of this:

THAT BEING SAID, this looks more like a weeping willow or a wisteria than it does a laurel, which has bushy foliage rather than hanging. The closest I can maybe get is a mountain laurel, which does have blooms that hang kinda sorta like a wisteria, though not nearly in such a dramatic fashion. But anyway!

The golden laurel...⋆｡°✩Laurelion✩°｡⋆

Interestingly, in Ovid's retelling of Apollo and Daphne, Apollo's love is the result of being struck by Cupid's golden arrow, while Daphne's disgust of Apollo's advances are the result of being struck by a lead-tipped arrow. And so, there is an association there with gold and love. And within the context of the myth - Cupid is getting petty revenge on Apollo after Apollo is boastful and arrogant about his own prowess with a bow and arrow - it's also an instance of weaponizing love.

Which brings us to that which is known everforth as...

The Nova Blade

It is actually quite common for stars to have companions and to exist in what is called a binary star system. In this system, two stars are gravitationally locked in orbit and can appear as a single object when observed by the naked eye. Sometimes, the proximity between these two stars results in what is called a nova - a sudden brightness which appears to be a new star. Novas are not associated with stellar "death" (you'd be thinking of supernova, in that case).

Now in our universe, novas are not actually stars. They are events, momentary bursts of brightness under specific circumstances between two stars. But the name "nova" originally came from the term "stella nova" which means new star.

…and though undying, took last breath, immortal Laurelion was no more. - "The Death of the Immortal"

Did Laurelion just...die? You know, it was really unclear...

I do not think the Nova Blade killed Laurelion in the moment described in the poem. Kazi is so doubtful and Callum is so sure - Callum you fool! - surely that would be too easy (quote quote easy)?

I will grant that "Supernova Blade" would sound kind of hokey, and even originally I had thought, "Oh cool, 'nova,' like 'SUPERnova!'" And then I thought to look up just 'nova' and it turns out it was actually its own thing. But even without all that, the 'though-undying' of it all haunts me.

And so I hold to the idea that the Nova Blade makes an immortal mortal. It does bring death's bite, but in a way in which Laurelion becomes something else, reborn with death's promise like all other mortal beings are.

I have two point five ideas.

The Light of the Sun Incarnate

My first hypothesis is, of course, that Laurelion became the tree with the Sunseed with a name that's a nod to Daphne and Apollo. Of course, I'm assuming here that the tree in which the Sunseed is kept is responsible for producing/sustaining the Sunseed, which may not be true.

Now the drawback of this idea is the legend that the Sunseed was a gift from the Sun herself. So here, it would have to be within the context of the Sun sacrificing Laurelion in some way for this purpose. There's obvious Jesus parallels here which, full disclosure, is not really my bag, baby, but there are plenty of elements in TDP that very easily slot in with Christian canon. But also, in the laurel myth Daphne begs a parent to save her, which puts the sacrifice of it all in a different light. It makes me wonder if the event with the Nova Blade is self-inflicted and, mayhaps, an act of love. So in this sense, the Sun "gifted" the world (or just the Sunfire elves, I dunno) her child by simply letting her child go.

My second hypothesis is that Laurelion became the first Sunfire elf, of the second elves. We are, all of us, stardust. It would not come as a shock to me if all elves were ultimately descended from the Startouch elves of old.

AND THEN we've got Aaron Ehasz talking about how the red dragon scale amulet (...and look, this show does color coding, that's SUN) is somehow related to Laurelion?

Sunfire elf, I say! SUNFIRE ELF!

Combining both of these scenarios, I could see Laurelion being the child of the Sun (again IF we are to assume each star is a living entity). Or maybe Startouch elves are born OF stars while not, technically, being the same thing, like an egg hatching the next evolution of its mother.

And so, perhaps Laurelion chose to become mortal, to become the first Sunfire Elf. And all of Laurelion's children, and their children's children, and their children's children's children, they were all of them children of the sun, the light of the sun incarnate, bringing the hope and optimism of something new to the world; destined to return in death to the embrace of their very first mother. And as a symbol of her love, the Sun gifted Laurelion the Sunseed, golden and cradled within a tree.

*oddly relevant Lion King reference

[cizzle-freezy]

it was meant to be a doodle but no i unlocked something brand new and different instead

(the dusknoir and grovyle is from @/paco-png's pmd: explorers of sky adventure, in which our friend group contributed design elements until eventually we got this. i love how people draw grovyle all battered and with torn leaves and full of scars it makes me feral)

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Hi there, i would like to start off by saying that i really admire your writing and have been following the JG updates for close to a year now. I've been in love with it ever since I read the first chapter and its only gotten more over time, tho I cant complain cuz this sure is my favorite hyperfixation! I've been meaning to leave an ask for a while now but wasn't really sure, but the latest chapters have compelled me to just try so here we are! (really late tho cuz I had my last exam yesterday so i didn't get around to writing this until now lol)

Anyway, I would actually like to express my sincerest gratitude to you and your stories. Not all too long ago I was diagnosed with autism and have had a really hard time handling that information, since i grew up in a "mental illness isn't real" type of household and didn't get a lot of support for starting therapy.

I would classify my flavour of autism as the feeling-out-of-place-within-society variant. I don't really have the "stereotypical" issue where i can't pick up on social cues, but more so that i try to understand people and overanalyze them, only to come to the conclusion that their actions and motivations are unrelateable to me. As a kid, i would often say that i don't feel like a human sometimes.

Because of this, I've always loved non-human MCs in stories since they're far more relateable for me, but a lot of the time authors fail to actually make them feel like a different species. They'll just make them "suddenly understand humans" and drop all special quirks they had as soon as being non-human even just slightly interferes with the plot.

So, I have to commend you for so wonderfully capturing Zhongli's non-human traits and mannerisms. The way he perceives the world and people around him is so fundamentally different from the other characters POVs without feeling forced/unrelateable at all. You can tell he approaches things differently than the human characters do. His character is extremely cohesive and consistent.

(It's at this point that i should probably mention that I in no way mean to label zl as autistic!! i remember you already discussed this topic of non-humans feeling kinda autistic to us and i fully agree with him just being neurodivergent-coded)

When I first discovered JG it had only been a few months since my diagnosis and I would constantly tell myself that im "wrong in the head" and that I'm probably just lazy and weird. Reading JG, following Zhongli's story and his experiences of being "out of place" in this world while trying to be perceived as human, feeling him dread the day everyone will find out he's not like them out of fear they will treat him differently; all of this is extremely relateable for me and has helped me come to terms with myself in the process.

Especially the latest chapter has left me gaping at my wall for hours after i finished it. A lot of the time, Zhongli's pov is kinda difficult for me to fully deciver since he's a very unreliable narrator when it comes to his emotions and feelings. So, whenever he shows even slightest bit of vulnerability, it feels far more monumental for me since it helps me to really understand the extreme disconnect he feels from the essence of his very being. When Ajax told him that he's not a dragon anymore, I was immediately reminded of when a friend first asked me if I might be autistic. Needless to say, this chapter really hit home for me.

And throughout it all, Ajax has slowly turned into my comfort character. I love his attitude towords the whole zhongli-isn't-human situation. The way he treats zl is so heartbreakingly beautiful and really shows his affection. His and Zhongli's interactions actually had me tearing up from time to tim, because it gave me hope that I too can be accepted for who I am, despite the details. Seeing Ajax treat Zhongli "normally" even after everything he found out about him has actually given me the courage to reach out to an old friend and tell her about my diagnosis and everything surrounding that. I don't think I ever would've gotten back in contact with her if it wasn't for JG.

All that being said, I apologize for the info dump no one asked for and sorry for rambling. I just felt like you deserve to know that your writing, your art, is actually reaching and truly moving people out there.

Words couldn't possibly convey all the ways in which reading JG has helped me throughout this journey. JG has, quite literally, changed my life. Genuinely.

Thank you.

HELLO??????????

i don't even know how to respond to this, i'm so honored; like i know fic usually helps people get through stuff or realize some things but it's not often that they come out here and give me the (comparatively) full details of how and why

[abluescarfonwaston]

You know what? Everyone always asks "What the hell was Edgeworth doing between 2-3 and 2-4?! He landed in Japanafornia and then Didn't say hi to Franziska or Wright for THREE MONTHS."

And I hear you. But the games have already answered us. He hung up the phone with Gumshoe and was IMMEDIATELY pulled into a 3 month long murder case.

AAI starts at 3am on March 12 and the man doesn't get a break until 4:33 PM on March 17. Five days of straight casework. But don't worry, as soon as he's done getting that concussion checked out and the paperwork sorted for arresting a foreign ambassador-

AAI2 starts back up again! 25th-27 we have two cases. And its all resolved April 4-6th. That's almost a whole week off! Plenty of time to fill out the paperwork for... Dealing with a failed assassination attempt of a foreign president. No ones going to want to hold him for lengthy and drawn out questioning. Or overthrowing a corrupt Chief prosecutor and an entire illegal smuggling ring. Cleaning that up takes 30 minutes TOPS.

Edgeworth stepped off that plane in December after 2-3 and that man didn't sit his ass down until he loaded Franziska in the ambulance in 2-4. It's not that he's an emotionally stunted dingbat who refused to go see his loved ones until he could potentially offer them aid on a case thus proving his worth and continued existence!

HE WAS JUST BUSY. BEING THE BIGGEST MURDER MAGNET SINCE DETECTIVE CONAN!

Definitely that and not the other thing.

[themindbehindthejork]

damn i know i haven't posted anything writing-wise but my style has been so heavily influenced by tui t. sutherland. oh god i can't stop putting all caps words in my sentences should i freaking stop??!?!?!

[psychopomp-namine]

I actually have a fic idea but lc is a show that's like. you will never ever have all the information and context until the end. and I am a writer who writes best and more confidently when I have all the info and context at my fingertips. so now I'm just like 🧍‍♂️

anyway. ramble in the tags

[snowshinobi]

hanahaki disease trope captivates me because (as I interpret it) the call is coming from inside the house. bc you see, the solution is easy. the flowers stop trying to tear their way out of your body if you confess your affections (or get over them, depending on the adaptation). Speak your feelings (or let them go): let the flowers see daylight. but sometimes ... catharsis ... is worse.

it's like when Fall Out Boy said "I'll keep my jealousy close 'cause it's all mine" and when Taking Back Sunday said "if it's not keeping you up nights, then what's the point?" these warm, bloody, one-sided feelings might be as close to reciprocal love as you're gonna get. if you confess and aren't loved in return (or you let the feelings go) ... you're healed. free of pain. free of flowers. that precious thing you were holding onto so fiercely, for months ... vanishes.

hanahaki studies the compulsions that drive self-destruction. that turn pain into the means to its own end. human resilience is our greatest strength and an agent of literal body horror. hanahaki paints an intentionally romanticized picture of how vital wanting to get better is to actually getting better. as the adage goes, you can't control how you feel, but you can control what you do about it.

healing is terrifying. watching a character reject it until their death is sobering. watching a character choose it when they are at their most scared and sad and hopeless is ... devastating. it makes me press my hands against the walls of my consciousness.

[vaspider]

Listen to me. Listen very carefully:

They are trying to wear you out.

They are trying to wear you out, and they own most major social media now, along with many major media outlets. The disinformation machine is cranking along. You are going to have to slow the fuck down and read things before you help them wear out other people, too.

So you just saw a post about a real scary bill, hunh? Republicans want to make it a capital offense to pet dogs and repeal The Sky Is Blue Act of 1793, declaring the new official color of the sky to be squant? Damn, that sounds scary.

Let's go look up this fictitious "Make The Sky Squant Again Act" on GovTracker* & on the official legislative tracker on congress.gov!

Well, let's see... GovTracker estimates it has a 1% chance of even getting out of committee and a 0% chance of being enacted, while congress.gov says this bill has 2 cosponsors who have been in the House and combined total of less than a month. The bill doesn't have any actual text, and it was referred to 5 different committees.

That fictitious bill and a hundred others like it are quite literally not worth your time, and more than that, continuing to wring your hands about it and tell other people about the scary scary squant sky bill only does their work for them. It scares people, it makes them spend time and energy on it, and it wears them out. It is a legislative Gish Gallop, meant to throw so many things at people that we can't keep up.

Even calling or messaging your Rep in this case means their staffer has to waste time responding to you and letting you know that Representative Buttzonheads definitely won't support making petting dogs a capital offense, a thing that will never, ever happen regardless.

Staying engaged in this environment is going to require protecting your heart and protecting your energy, yes, but also protecting the energy of others. This is why WWII propaganda posters also included ones taking people to task for spreading panicky rumors and undermining morale.

Do you know why most observant Jews don't eat chicken and dairy together, even though the ban is on red meat and dairy together bc you're not supposed to cook the calf in the milk of its mother?** It's not because we think that chicken might secretly lactate or Just Because. It's because the rabbis decided that if I'm sitting out in public and eating turkey and cheese together, someone might glance at the turkey and mistake it for red meat and think, "oh, well, I know that Spider is a good Jew, there must have been a change, or maybe I can just justify it to myself that if Spider does it, it must be permissible to bend the rules just that much." And I would then be accidentally leading my fellow Jew astray. We are responsible for being even more careful for the sake of others than we are for ourselves.

It's the same principle here. We need to really be careful about the information we are spreading and check things past reading a news site. Is it true? Is it relevant? Is it meaningful? Is the news site one I recognize? Can I find meaningful independent corroboration on another site, which is to say, if I find an article about it on a second site, is it just quoting or rephrasing this site?

Yeah, that is a lot. But that's how we keep them from using us to lead our fellows astray.

*GovTracker is an independent site. They explain their methodology in their About section.

**I cannot say enough how I am not at this time interested in going on a Jewish Side Quest About Dietary Laws on this post. Usually, I love it, but hold off this time, please, y'all. Let's stay on target this once.

[girlwithrituals]

GLOW UP GUIDE FOR 2025⠀

READ: On average, it takes more than 2 months before a new behavior becomes automatic — 66 days to be exact. And considering that 2025 is precisely these many days away, why not start with our glow up plan already?

Physical Glow Up-

BODY

— 5-10K steps a day.

— 7-8 hours of sleep.

— workout everyday for 1 hr atleast- yoga/stretching/pilates/cardio/lifting weights. a workout may take one hour, but your mood will be boosted for the next 12 hours.

— posture training.

— sunlight exposure after waking up for at least 10 minutes.

NUTRITION

— 2-3 liters of water every day.

— limit your caffeine intake.

— avoid sugars as much as you can.

— high protein diet, pre and probiotics.

— more fruits and veggies (+ green smoothies if you like).

— no junk/processed food/trans fat.

— no eating after 8 pm.

SKINCARE

— be clear on your skin type (oily, dry, combination, sensitive).

— once you're clear, use these accordingly- cleanser, toner, targeted serum, eye cream, moisturizer, sunscreen (≥50 spf).

— keep your bedding clean as well.

— no picking of skin on your lips, cuticle etc.

— gua sha to help improve blood circulation and lessen toxins.

— cold therapy may take three to five minutes of being uncomfortable, but your energy levels will be boosted for the rest of the day.

— remove makeup before you go to bed.

BODY CARE

— shower every day.

— exfoliate 2x a week.

— use body lotion (shea butter/aloe vera gel/coconut oil).

HAIR CARE

— wash hair 2-3x a week

— oil your scalp 2x a week, at least 3 hours before shampoo.

— hair mask 1x per week.

— never brush wet hair.

— use silk pillow case.

HYGIENE

— brush your teeth 2x a day, clean tongue and the roof of the mouth daily.

— floss daily.

— cut your nails 1x a week, never remove the cuticles.

— glycolic acid under arm for odor and discoloration.

— never use soap on your coochie.

Mental Glow Up-

MINDSET

— set clear goals- define and breakdown your aspirations.

— start your mornings with positive affirmations.

— surround yourself with uplifting content and people.

— be shamelessly selfish to your career and mental health, remove anyone or anything that doesn't align with your priorities and wellbeing.

— boost your brain health by these 4 neuroscience tools:

difficult first: start your day with the most difficult task (cortisol and dopamine are high in the body meaning that your body/mind is primed to work).

rest your eyes: introduce a micro-pause after learning by resting/closing your eyes - will help retain information better.

tomorrow's worries: write tomorrow's to-do list before bed as it is proven to be effective in helping you fall asleep.

find time to play: engage in low-stake play. can be anything you find fun but where the outcome doesn't matter (induces neuroplasticity + reduces stress).

MIND

— meditation might take as low as ten minutes, but your focus will be improved for the rest of the day.

— no social media after waking up and at least an hour before bed.

— keep aside 1 hr of time to read daily! reading a new book may take five hours, but you will keep the knowledge forever.

— journaling, gratitude.

— digital detox once a week or for 12 hours.

— limit unnecessary screentime, unfollow or cut off people you don't want to see.

JOURNALING

— choose a regular time each day to journal, making it a part of your routine.

— find a quiet, comfortable place free from distractions. light a candle if you want.

— allow your thoughts to flow without censoring or editing.

— write about your feelings and emotions to understand them better. write about things you are thankful for to boost your mood. write about your short-term and long-term goals. identify what triggers certain emotions or reactions

— set a timer for 5-10 minutes and write continuously during that time.

— reflect on both positive experiences and challenges.

— make lists, journal your thoughts on these questions.

— journal at night to clear your mind before bedtime, because emotions and thoughts lose their power once we acknowledge them.

— a gratitude practice may take five minutes, but your mindset will be shifted for the rest of the day.

AFFIRMATIONS

— customise affirmations to your needs.

Personal Life-

WEEKLY TASKS

— initiate small changes: begin with small, manageable tasks such as making your bed or cleaning your room every sunday.

— celebrate your success: reward yourself when you achieve your goals or have a consistently productive week. consider treats like buying flowers for yourself or watching your favorite show.

DAILY WORK

— set achievable goals: establish realistic goals for the day, week, or month ahead.

— track your progress.

— organise your work space, declutter your shelves etc.

— embrace the power of lists: keep a list of tasks to be done and their deadlines. this way, you start each day with a clear plan. to make it visually appealing and motivating, consider using productivity apps like evernote, habit tracker, or notion.

PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

— wake up early.

— plan ahead everything, do scheduling. you can use:

google calendar / notion / tasks .

— if the task takes less than 2 minutes to finish, do it immediately.

— countdown rule, if you are procrastinating, count 1-2-3-4-5 and jump.

— start slow, don't rush and try to do everything at one time.

— follow a proper routine, use app locks based on screentime.

— pomodoro technique, 25 min work, and 5 min break.

— schedule longer break times as well e.g 30 min nap.