#it's a story with many layers and i think it would be better on the second read around because once all the questions are answered

[charliegyrth]

One Pound a Week

My Body Won't Stop Growing

This is another slightly magical story based on a suggestion from @thespiderpig1999. I hope you like it!

***

160

“Happy birthday!” Grayson kissed my cheek as he handed me a huge slice of chocolate cake. I just left a party with my family, so I was already stuffed with cake, but Grayson made this himself. I couldn't say no.

It tasted okay. A little too sweet for me. “Gray, this is incredible!” I lied.

“How does it feel to officially be an adult now?”

“Honestly? I feel exactly the same.”

What did he expect? I was still in high school. Still lived at home. Still looked the same. A date on the calendar wasn't going to change anything. Once we graduate in two months, then I’d feel different.

He watched me as I finished the cake. He looked so proud of himself, so I finished every bite. I owed it to him.

Afterwards, he asked me what I wanted to do. It was a school night, so we couldn’t do anything too wild.

“Well, it’s a beautiful day. Wanna go for a run?”

“Seriously? After eating all that sugar?”

“Why not?” I was always up for a run. Now that track season was over, I didn’t need to push myself as hard. I could run for fun instead of for practice.

Grayson shrugged. “If that’s what you want, birthday boy. Race ya to the lake!”

***

161

I stepped off the scale. “I’m telling you, Gray. It’s wrong.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”

I was. 100%. Since my growth spurt at 15 years old, I was exactly 160 pounds. No matter what I did or what I ate, the number never changed. I know that’s hard to believe, but as a member of the track team, I weighed myself nearly every weekday after practice for the last three years. Always 160. My teammates even joked about it.

And now, Grayson’s home scale said 161. Sure, it’s possible that last week’s birthday cake had added a pound, but the much more likely explanation was that his scale was off.

My boyfriend was stretched out on his bed, scrolling through his phone and only half-listening to me. “If you’re so certain, why did you even weigh yourself?”

I didn’t answer. Honestly, I didn’t know. I’d hung out in his bedroom plenty of times, and I’d never felt the urge to use his scale before. For some reason, it just called to me.

Grayson grabbed a tube of Pringles and raised it toward me. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

“Aha! So you do think you’ve gained weight.”

“One pound isn’t ‘gaining weight.’”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Frustrated, he threw the tube at me.

To prove a point, I ate a couple chips.

***

168

I sucked in my stomach and buttoned my dress pants.

This was bad. Really bad. The scale this morning said I’d gained eight pounds in the last two months, literally a pound a week since my birthday.

No one noticed, but I definitely did. My stomach was mostly flat, but it had smoothed over with a soft layer of fat.

I tucked in my purple dress shirt and checked out my reflection from the front and the side. Not too bad. I still looked slim and hot (and honestly, my ass looked perkier than it ever had).

“You ready?” my mom asked as she entered my room. No matter how many times I complained, she never knocked. (One of the many reasons I was excited to move into the dorms.)

“Yeah. I’m ready.” I hated wearing dress clothes. They were so freaking uncomfortable. And pointless, too. No one would even see what I was wearing once I put on my graduation robe.

“Quite handsome,” Mom said. She stepped closer to adjust my collar. “Relax, honey. You look a little… uncomfortable.”

Of course I was uncomfortable! This collar was choking me.

But I don’t think she made that comment because of my clothes. She thought I was uncomfortable because she could tell I was sucking in.

I breathed out, allowing my stomach to round out a little.

“That’s better,” she said. “Come on. Your boyfriend’s waiting downstairs.”

***

173

“Let’s go for a run,” I said.

Grayson sat on the dorm floor, organizing his textbooks into piles. Classes hadn’t even started yet and he was already obsessing.

“Again? Didn’t you run this morning?”

“Well, yeah. But I love it. And there are some areas of the campus I still haven’t seen.”

He stood up and walked toward me, wrapping me in his arms. I could tell he was concerned about something. After a short kiss, he said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Sure. Let’s go for a run. And afterwards, we can head to Chipotle. Doesn’t that sound good?”

I pulled away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Dude. You’re being really unhealthy.”

I felt like he’d punched me in the face. This was his first time mentioning my weight gain. I was so stupid to think that he wouldn’t notice my beginning love handles and softer chest. We hadn’t even finalized our class schedules and I was already two pounds away from the Freshman 15.

“You think I’m unhealthy?”

“Yeah! I’ve noticed for a while now.”

I gulped. No amount of baggie clothes could hide how big I’d gotten. I looked awful. Soft and awful.

“Look, I don’t want to do an intervention or anything…”

“You don’t have to,” I cut him off. “I’ll lose the weight. I promise.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what I’m trying to say.” He guided me toward his bed so we could sit together. “You run for hours every day. You’re starving yourself. When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

“We had chicken fingers at the cafeteria yesterday.”

“Chicken finger. Singular. You gave the rest of yours to me. Look, I know that you’ve softened up a little. That’s okay. It happens to everyone. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“You don’t understand. I keep gaining a pound a week no matter what I do!”

He rubbed my lower back. When his hand got too close to my love handles, I twisted away.

“If it doesn’t matter what you do,” he argued, “then why try so hard? Why starve yourself?”

I really wanted to agree with him. I really did. But he just didn’t get it. I’d lost control of my body and I felt myself changing into someone that I was never meant to be.

“Sorry,” I muttered. Then I slipped on my running shoes and raced out of the dorm.

***

182

Sweat oozed down my forehead. I struggled for breath. And worst of all, no matter how fast or slow I went, my chest and stomach wouldn’t stop bobbing up and down. As someone who had never been fat before, I had no idea that everything would feel so out of sync, like my moobs and belly were following a different jiggling rhythm.

I steadied myself against the science building and gasped in air. The old me could’ve run for hours at a much faster pace. Now, I could barely do a lap around the quad.

A student walked by with a look of concern. “Do you need water or something?”

“I’m… (huff) fine!”

She hurried off. I think I scared her.

Giving up on the rest of my run, I stumbled inside the air-conditioned building. I didn’t realize I was heading toward Professor Stradamore’s office until I was right outside his half-opened door.

“Come in!” he called. I couldn’t see him, but I guess he could see me. (Or maybe he could just hear me panting.)

I stepped inside, figuring that my biology professor would be the best person to talk to. He gestured toward the empty seat in front of his desk and I plopped down.

“Hot outside?” he asked.

“No,” I muttered. It really wasn’t. My cheeks were red and my sweaty shirt clung to my skin, but that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, he asked, “Are you having trouble with our latest chapter? Three students have already—”

“I need to ask you something,” I interrupted.

He straightened in his chair. Professor Stradamore was a very large man. His spherical belly and wide shoulders made him look trapped whenever he sat in chairs that were too small for him. Younger than 30 (I think), he had a handsome face and the buried musculature of a former athlete. He’d probably been hot before he let himself go.

“Something’s been happening to me since I turned 18, and I wanted to know if there was a biological reason for it. I, um… Do we have professor/student confidentiality?”

“Not by law,” he said. “But I give you my word. I won’t tell anyone about our conversation.”

I believed him. “Okay. So… I’ve been gaining weight and I don’t know why.”

“You’re in a new environment. There are lots of factors that—”

“You don’t understand!” My voice made him flinch. I forced myself to calm down and slowly explained everything. How my weight increased by exactly one pound per week. How I tried everything to stop it. How I’d always been 160 until a week after my birthday.

He listened carefully. Didn’t interrupt. And when I finally got everything off my chest, he said, “I have no idea.”

My heart sank.

“The human body is complicated, and if you had some ailment that caused weight gain, it wouldn’t happen so regularly. Moreover, the steadiness to your previous weight is equally improbable. No one has the exact same weight throughout puberty without any fluctuation.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“I believe you. All I’m saying is that I’ve studied biology for my entire adult life, and what you just described has no scientific explanation. However…” He leaned forward in his chair. “There are always anomalies. And it looks like your condition, if you can even call it that, is one of them.”

“So there’s nothing I can do to stop it?” My eyes teared up. I felt both hopeless and embarrassed.

“How is this affecting your life?”

I wiped my eyes. “It’s ruining my life. My boyfriend barely talks to me. The only reason we haven’t broken up is because we share a dorm room. And I can’t even run anymore!”

“Is that all?” he asked, as if those problems weren’t serious enough.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you need to run?”

“Because I love it. I used to, anyway.”

“People fall out of hobbies all the time. You’re a freshman. It’s the perfect opportunity to try new things.”

I guess he was right. The main reason I enjoyed running was because it came so naturally to me. Now that it didn’t, I wasn’t enjoying it.

“But what about my boyfriend? We used to be so happy.”

“Are your relationship problems because you got fatter? Or is it because of something else?”

I was about to say, “Of course it’s because I’m fat!” But I stopped myself. The truth was, I lashed out at Grayson. I was jealous that he still had his perfect body while I’d lost control of mine. He never commented on how I looked, only on how I kept overexercising and restricting calories.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Try new hobbies. See what works. Accept yourself and see if your boyfriend accepts you, too.”

Easier said than done.

“And if what you say is true, if you’re truly destined to gain exactly one pound a week, then look on the bright side. You can eat whatever you want without any effects.”

I looked back up at him, surprised that a professor had actually said that to a student.

He patted his belly. “Trust me. There are some advantages to being a bigger guy.”

“Like what?”

“It’s up to you to find out.”

***

196

I bit the head off a gingerbread man. Delicious. “Come on, Grayson. Have another one.”

He’d only eaten one cookie all afternoon. Maybe two. Meanwhile, I’d had nine and a half. These things were addictive.

“Stop offering! Unlike you, the food I eat actually has consequences for me.”

“Yeah?” I said, flirtatiously grabbing my soft belly and kneading it into shapes. “You’re worried that you’ll grow a gut like me?”

“Stop it.”

I took his hand and brought it to my budding moob, forcing him to squeeze. “You’re worried about growing a pair of these?”

He pulled his hand away. He looked annoyed, but I could tell I was wearing down his defenses. The quickest way to get him in the mood was to talk about all his favorite parts on my growing body.

I moved my knees back and forth so that my thighs would jiggle. “What about—?”

“Fine!” he shouted. “I’ll have a cookie.”

He leaned forward on the couch and grabbed a gingerbread man from the platter. Then he brought it to his lips and gave me a sly expression. Instead of eating it himself, he surprised me by shoving it into my mouth. “There. That’ll shut you up.”

I ate out of his hand, of course.

It had been 14 weeks since my conversation with Professor Stradamore, and as expected, I’d gained exactly 14 pounds. I was a completely different person, inside and out. The outside changes were pretty easy to spot:

Bigger breasts

A rounder face

A belly that was officially hanging over my waistband

Bulging ass cheeks that were starting to leave a permanent dent in my favorite part of the couch

I still wasn’t officially obese (that wouldn’t happen for another six weeks), but I don’t know if I really believed in the BMI calculator. I looked obese. I looked like a guy who had never been thin.

All these changes might seem drastic, but they were nothing compared to how I changed inside. I was happy now. I liked myself, and just as importantly, Grayson liked me, too. Once I stopped trying to fight off the inevitable, once I allowed myself to be happy again, our relationship strengthened dramatically. We spent so much time together, hanging out in the dorms and going out to eat at least twice a day.

I really took Stradamore’s advice to heart. I stopped exercising altogether. (It was pointless and difficult.) I ate whatever I wanted, discovering how much I enjoyed cookies and donuts and especially our cafeteria milkshakes. Those were my favorite.

Grayson loved when I was happy, and I was the happiest when I was eating for him. Over time, I started eating more than I wanted, enough to make my stomach throb, just to see the look on his face. Why not? All these extra calories wouldn’t affect my weekly one-pound gains.

Now that it was Christmas break (we both decided to stay on campus over the holidays), I’d turned into an eating machine. You should see Grayson’s excited smirk whenever he returned each morning with bags of snacks from the campus supermarket.

For the next few minutes, he fed me the remaining gingerbread men as he lovingly played with my belly. I don’t think he had a natural attraction to fat, though. It was more like he was turned on by keeping me spoiled and blissful, and my new rolls were simply a physical sign that I was being taken care of.

I still had moments of panic, wondering if and when these gains would ever stop. I was at a manageable size now, but what would happen to me in the future? I’d done the math. If this didn’t stop, I’d be nearly 500 pounds by my 25th birthday. That scared me.

Still, it was fun so far.

Grayson pressed the final gingerbread man against my lips. I wouldn’t take it. I literally couldn’t fit in anything more.

“Come on,” he encouraged, playfully flopping my moob around.

“You take it,” I said. “It’s Christmas.”

He sighed and ate it himself. Then he kissed my cheek and curled up next to me. It was time for a nap.

***

210

“Hurry up!” I called. “We’re already late.”

Grayson didn’t answer. He was still getting dressed in the other room.

I took the extra time to check out my reflection. We were going to a concert at Harley Auditorium, so I was in slacks and a black button-up shirt. Despite my general aversion to dressing up (and the fact that I’d been wearing sweatpants to classes for most of this semester), I felt surprisingly comfortable. My pants were big enough to only cling a little to my wide hips, and my tucked-in shirt held my belly in place.

Perhaps I should start tucking in my shirts more often. It definitely cut back on the wobbling, and it accentuated my overhang beautifully.

Finally, Grayson walked in the room. The first thing I noticed was the look of discomfort on his face.

The second thing I noticed was his stomach, which bulged against his dress shirt a lot more than I’d expected. It was more than obvious that he was trying to suck in, instantly reminding me of how I looked at my high school graduation.

“Relax,” I told him. “Breathe out.”

He wouldn’t.

I walked over and wrapped him in my arms. As we kissed, I felt his slight belly press against me as he gave in to the kiss.

He pulled away. “I don’t think I want to go anymore.”

That comment annoyed me. This concert was his idea. He was the classical music fan, not me. More importantly, though, he was being a total hypocrite. He’d spent all semester complimenting my body and showing me the beauty in my obesity, and now that he’d softened up a little, he hated himself.

How much had he gained? Ten pounds? Fifteen tops? It was barely anything, especially if he was standing next to me. My constant snacking had rubbed off on him. We both knew that, but this was the first time his gain had been visible through his clothes.

I had to be compassionate, though. When I was that weight, I was at my lowest point, too. “What’s wrong?”

“I should’ve bought a new dress shirt,” he muttered.

“Why?” I pressed.

“Because I look…”

I waited, forcing him to finish his sentence.

He flinched. “I look fat.”

I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my love handle, one of his favorite parts to play with. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Then what’s the problem?”

“I just… I don’t want to go.”

Personally, I didn’t want to go either. We had a tray of lasagna in the fridge that he could feed me. That seemed like a much more exciting way to spend the evening than listening to an orchestra for three hours, but that wasn’t the point.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He assumed that his comments had offended me. They hadn’t. They annoyed me, but I wasn’t offended. I knew how he felt.

“I have a nice blue shirt that I outgrew a couple weeks ago. I’m sure that’ll fit.”

His eyes lit up. I didn’t solve his underlying problem (that would take a few more pep talks), but I fixed his temporary problem. He ran toward my dresser and fished out the exact shirt I was talking about.

It was a little baggy on him, but he looked snazzy.

***

213

“Happy birthday!” Grayson shouted as he brought in a massive sheet cake that he made himself. He was wearing another one of my old shirts, which was probably why he didn’t seem upset that it was stained with icing.

We’d already had a huge birthday dinner with our friends a couple hours ago. Now, it was just me and Grayson.

He set the cake in front of me and lit the 19 candles. Final exams started tomorrow, but tonight was just for us. No last-minute studying. No worries. Just food and belly rubs.

I was about to blow out the candles, but Grayson wanted to give me a little speech first. He sat next to me. “This last year has been the best year of my life.” (He was skipping over the long months when I was miserable and petulant.) “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for, and the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. You're like a ball of sunshine. I love you.”

He smiled at me as I blew out the candles. Then he cut a huge slice of cake. He kept that for himself and left the rest for me. “Did you wish for anything?”

“Yeah,” I said, “but you know I can’t tell you.”

The truth was, I wished for my gaining to stop. I was 53 pounds fatter than a year ago, and while I loved it, while I knew that I’d be happy getting much, much bigger, I had to think about the future. I wanted to live a long and happy life with Grayson.

He studied my face. I think he knew what I wished for. “Do you feel any different?”

“Actually, yeah. I do.” I couldn’t explain it, but I felt different. More in control.

I scooped up a forkful of cake and shoved it into my mouth.

Absolutely delicious.

***

216

I stepped off the scale, read the number, and screamed. I literally screamed.

Grayson ran over. “What’s wrong?”

I pointed at the number, but he didn’t understand the significance.

“Gray! Look! I gained three pounds during finals week!”

His face went from blank to confused to excited. “So… more than one pound!”

I pulled him into a hug, holding him so tight that he squished into my gut. “The spell, the curse, whatever it was… It’s over.”

For exactly one year, my gains had been like clockwork. Now, they were entirely under my control. I could grow as fast or as slow as I wanted.

Three pounds was a lot for one week, obviously, but they were all because of my huge meals and constant stress-eating. I’d lost track of all the late-night pizzas and bags of donuts that I’d shoveled in between my tests, but now, they’d finally left their mark.

I still didn’t know what had happened to my body for the 53 weeks that I was 18. I’d probably never know. Like Professor Stradamore said, I was an anomaly. But there were two things I did know with absolute certainty.

One: The effects were over. My weight was entirely under my control now.

And two: I was so glad this happened to me. It made me realize who I truly was. Not an anxious, skinny kid who ran for hours to process his feelings, but a big, confident, fat man.

“What do you want to do to celebrate?”

I thought for a while. “Well, our cafeteria cards won’t expire for a few more days. Let’s order all the chicken wings we can and see how many I can finish!

***

247

I stretched out by the pool, tanning my flab.

Grayson had just gotten out of the water. He walked toward me, droplets clinging to his chest hair and sliding down his belly. He looked amazing, a lot more handsome than I’d been at 200. I loved how all of his summer gains had gone straight to his midsection, leaving him with a thin face and still-narrow hips. If his belly ever caught up to mine (which was becoming more and more of a possibility), it felt comforting to know that I’d always have a bigger chest and ass.

He sat on the beach chair next to mine and grabbed my bag of chips. “So,” he said through a mouthful, “are you excited for sophomore year?”

I took some chips, too. “A thousand percent.” Sure, classes would be stressful and I’d miss sleeping in, but I had enough of my family’s “friendly suggestions” to join a gym or try the latest fad diet. No matter how much I told them point-blank that I liked how I looked, they just didn’t get it.

Eventually they would. It took me a while to come around, too.

I noticed a couple of my former teammates enter the pool area. They looked over at us and then quickly looked away. I’m pretty sure they recognized Grayson, but I wasn’t sure if they recognized me. Oh well.

Grayson leaned back in his chair, sliding his hand toward my stomach so he could play with my rolls and explore my belly button again.

I closed my eyes and moaned a little.

“Any changes?” he asked casually.

“Not this week,” I said. “Still 247.”

I weighed myself this morning. Sure, it was disappointing that the number hadn’t changed, but that was just part of the process. Every week was different now. Sometimes, I’d be up two or three pounds. Sometimes, I’d be exactly the same.

Everything was up to me now. And I had no plans of stopping.

The End

If you liked this one, you might also like my ebook Fat for a Day. It's more sci-fi than fantasy, and the tone is more erotic, but it's a bit of a sister-story to One Pound a Week.

[waywardstation]

hey no pressure I'm just being silly here and this is completely in a joking manner but

you haven't posted a fic in so long I'm starting to have dreams that you do and then I wake up and I'm like awwwwh

like the other day I had one where you posted something about the phione akari au (which is my favorite btw besides maybe what you've revealed of the iwlyb saga) and last night I had one where you posted one and then decided you didn't like the story and then me and someone else had to try and write the rest to convince you it was still good lmaoooo

im yearning here TvT

HELLO ANON I am both honored that you appreciate my fics so much and want more to the point you dream about them, and also mortified that it’s really been so so SO long since I’ve last posted a fic when I think about it ;0;

tbh I have an unfinished drabble for the Phione Akari AU I still really need to finish (she is swimming around in the shallow coastlands shoreline looking for stuff to collect and bring back to Ingo while he rests and takes a break from the heat — she is also enjoying just how much more mobile and strong and independent she is in the water compared to land) AND I really really need to finish just one more segment in IWLYB before it can be ready to at least START posting it.

It’s been so, so long since I’ve posted any of my writings. It’s not WIP Wednesday but I’ll post snippets from both.

First, Phione Akari AU:

—————

“Here,” Ingo moved to lower his cupped hands to the gritty coastlands sand, though Akari jumped out and down the rest of the way before he could reach it.

With her out of his hands, Ingo settled into the cool sand himself, leaning back against the wall of water-damaged boards of the overturned wreckage that provided him shade.

Today was a rather humid day — the previous days’ rainstorms had left sticky air in their wake. And while it was appreciated that the dark clouds would stop emptying their supply onto the two of them, the humidity was almost worse in the coastlands’ climate.

Well, for one of them, at least. The moisture in the air kept Akari from drying out so quickly, but with the poor man cooking in his multiple layers and black coat under the glaring sun, Ingo was not faring as well.

“Ugh,” Ingo groaned, taking off his hat to wipe at the accumulating sweat on his forehead. “I apologize, it seems our schedule has many more stops than I’d intended today.”

“Phi-phi,” Akari squeaked reassuringly, watching him practically peel his thick coat off of himself and begin rummaging through the supplies in his pack. She wanted him to know that she was appreciative he was managing himself better than he had been the last few days.

Ingo pulled out a flask and popped the cap off, tipping it to down a few big gulps of cold water. He wiped at his mouth after and took in the sight of their shaded shelter briefly, a few fingers of light reaching through into the cool darkness where the hull’s wood had cracked. At the far end of the stretched shelter opposite to Ingo, the edge of the surf lapped gently with its repetitive motions. Reaching out, pulling back. Reaching out, pulling back…

And Akari had shuffled through the sand to meet it, reaching a flipper out to feel the cool ocean water as it pulled across the shaded grains. He knew what she wanted to do.

“I think I should rest my engine here for a while.” Ingo screwed the top onto the bottle and slumped back against his pack. “I should be ready to resume travel shortly, but until then Miss Akari, you may venture into the waters. Just please don’t wander too far from this station, remain near where the wreckage provides shelter, out of the open waters.”

The casual allowance surprised Akari somewhat — he’d never let her do so before, but perhaps he’d taken her seriously when she asked him to trust her a little more, and allow a bit more freedom.

Well, she wasn’t going to waste a moment of this little bit of freedom he’d just given her.

“Phi!” Before he could say anything else, she bid him goodbye with a wave of her flipper and leapt forward into the surf, swimming out further under the protection of the overarching wreckage where the shallow sands began to dip down. She’d already decided she was going to find and bring something back for Ingo — perhaps a basculin spine? Or a qwilfish quill? Or maybe even a Lumineon scale! Perhaps even all three if she was quick about it.

—————

And now, a snippet from I Won’t Leave You Behind. This one is much shorter:

—————

No, this was the behavior of a mother. Or rather, one that was grieving.

Jörmun was not a male like the Pearl Clan had always told him, like he’d always just went along with. Like he’d always just assumed because of that notch in the dorsal fin.

It wasn’t a male marker. It was nothing more than a poorly-healed scar. Jörmun was a female. And she was out of her mind with rage, trying to find who had done this to her ill-fated offspring.

Ingo’s eyes darted between the destroyed eggs, all the tiny fragments scattered across the snow with the yolky contents pooling in the nests and the footprints.

She thought they’d done this to her eggs.

A deep bellowing, more felt then heard, shook the mountainside. It reverberated through Ingo’s chest, an uncomfortable rumbling in his ribcage that shook everything inside with the overwhelming realization that they’d been drowning in a danger that went so much deeper than they’d even realized.

“Akari, we must depart.” Ingo’s eyes scanned the mountainside, searching for that telltale dorsal fin to come cutting through somewhere along the snowy stretch of fog that surrounded them. “Immediately.” He emphasized when she didn’t move. She looked at him with wide eyes, realizing for herself what was happening.

[ruvviks]

PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS YOUR OWN OC OR PAIRING.

Nathan and Ruben share a bond more powerful than most; mutual understanding through past experiences no one should ever have to go through, and through past actions so horrible they cannot be spoken of. Their grief and the blood on their hands binds them to the STEM technology they created, which has alienated them from the rest of the world— but they give each other the comfort they have both longed for so desperately for years, and that is all they need. They are each other's counterpart; you cannot imagine one without the other, like two sides of the same coin. Through their pain, their grief, their desire, and their regret, they have become one.

anna akhmatova, the guest // bones; equinox // 'i won't become' by kim jakobsson // agustín gómez-arcos, the carnivorous lamb // by oxy // achilles come down; gang of youths // czeslaw milosz, from 'new and collected poems: 1931-2001' // 'extended ambience portrait from a resonant biostructure' and 'migraine tenfold times ten' by daniel vega // a little death; the neighbourhood // marina tsvetaeva, from 'poem of the end' // by drummnist // katie maria, winter // 'nocturne in black and gold the falling rocket' by james abbott mcneill whistler // micah nemerever, these violent delights // body language; we are fury // 'the penitent' by emil melmoth // chelsea dingman, from 'of those who can't afford to be gentle'

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[icewindandboringhorror]

this is not the exact one I watched but I saw one of these "dish scape" things at someone's house who actually has TV (like they pay for dish/cable instead of just watching stuff online) and I think they're meant to be relaxing atmospheric stuff that you mostly ignore, but I sat there for 35 minutes watching absolutely engrossed.. further proof that I genuinely think my brain is incapable of experiencing boredom lol..

[glowingreverie]

.

[justsomuchhacking]

So like another thing about the transgender mecha discourse is like... the mech can be a metaphor for empowerment and an extension of the customizable self, but specifically for transfemmes the metaphor also works in the other direction!

The mech is safe. And it is familiar, and you have gotten used to controlling it. You are told that your highest purpose is violence, but that's not true about you, though it might be true of the mech.

The mech is safe. It is many layers of cold steel and machinery between you and the world. When people see the mech, they see power and strength. But you will have to crawl out of it if you wish to be seen and known by your name, instead of your callsign*.

The mech is safe. It does not take courage to pilot - it takes courage to leave. Anonymous, stoic violence in a shell that is not your body vs the horrifying ordeal of crawling out of a numb pile of metal and hoping people will love the weird-looking girl who is a little unused to socializing. On account of all the mech-piloting.

Anyway if I was going to write transgender mecha fiction the robot would be the closet. War is hell, truth is life, get out of the fucking robot, girl, and live!

Other small things I would include in an anti-war transgender mecha story:

"Why did you stop being a mecha pilot? You were so good at it!"

Patriarchal military industrial complex discovers trans people are just better at using the weird neural mech piloting interface. This plays out as badly as you'd expect.

"cis" pilot who has an unusually high sync with the mecha and the veteran pilots who Definitely Know.

Nothing good ever happens as a result of mecha battles and the reader should start to feel anxious about which beloved character Isn't Going To Be The Same after this one.

This would of course be very difficult to pull off in a way that's like... as fundamentally entertaining as giant robot fights where the giant robot is a metaphor for personal agency and the power of the individual, where a very traumatized trans girl incinerates mecha hitler with a blue-and-pink laser beam she got from self-actualizing. I recognize that my version is harder to make and definitely not for everyone. But I think it should be made. Both should be made!

*historical note here about callsigns - in fiction people choose their own but in the military these are chosen for you by your unit - and if yours is cool it usually means that your unit thinks you're a dweeb. If you try to make people use a callsign you chose for yourself, there is no doubt at all about whether you are a dweeb. So for me a callsign is a terrible stand-in for a true name. Knowing this fact ruins movies, because every Cool Callsign Protagonist makes you think "Iceman? Oh, he definitely got caught masturbating in the walk-in freezer".

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

I miss main story Sylus so much (;_;)

Don't get me wrong I adore memory Sylus. Soft!Sylus is everything to me. But I have to admit that I really want to see more of the other equally valid and real side of him as well. That being the rough, morally grey crimelord we see during Long Awaited Revelry and in his Anecdote. Apart from Sylus on the job being hot as hell, there is so much about him and his motivations that we don't know yet and that I'm dying to find out.

I will also freely admit that a huge part of the reason for why I fell for Sylus and why he still has me in a chokehold is his complexity, his duality. I like that he is neither devil nor saint. Neither black nor white. Neither red flag nor forest full of green. He is so much more multifaceted and layered. He has real tangible flaws, and is certainly not a harmless cinnamon roll. He is a loverboy, yes, but equally a dangerous criminal whose hands have and will continue to kill others. And this duality is what makes him a great character in my eyes.

Hell, as much as it hurts me to witness, I like that he monumentally fucked up his initial meeting with present MC. And the narrative is very clear on this — his actions towards MC were wrong. He was forceful. He was cruel. Let's not sugarcoat this. Sure, us players know why he went about doing it the way he did and we feel bad for him as a consequence, but that doesn't make what he did in any way right or justifiable. MC was right to feel fear and disgust, and she would've been fully justified in never forgiving him imo. And honestly, I think Sylus would agree. He realizes just how badly he screwed things up, even if it took the harsh but true wake-up call from the shopkeeper to bring him to this realization. And it's a hugely important moment, both for him as a character and for his relationship with MC. Afterwards, he puts in the conscious effort to do better. To be better for her. To make things right. To me, this decision and commitment of his wouldn't have hit nearly as hard or been as meaningful if his prior actions hadn't been what they were. They proved that he is capable of real self reflection and growth. It's a massively important moment in their relationship.

The rocky start to their relationship also makes cards like Razor's Dance so impactful. Same with Goodcat Code and some phone calls and interactions where Sylus' fears and insecurities regarding MC's feelings toward him shine through. With the context of his behavior in LAR, it's completely understandable for him to have these fears. He knows he fucked up. Had he been a cinnamon roll made up of purely green flags, neither his feelings nor MC's would have made sense. Nor would MC's eventual forgiveness, and ability to once more see in him what others cannot, be near as powerful.

I don't know, am I making any sense with this or am I just rambling lol 😅

My point is that I love and appreciate all sides of Sylus. Both good and bad. It's what makes him him. And I would no more want to trade or give up main story Sylus than I would memory Sylus. I want big bad ruthless boss of Onychinus just as much as I want soft loverboy Sylus. They are equally important to Sylus' character. He wouldn't be himself without either. It's a package deal.

Perfect/flawless characters bore me. If Sylus were simply soft and green through and through, I would've lost interest. Honestly, I most likely wouldn't have downloaded the game to begin with. It was the danger mixed in with the comfort that drew me in.

It's like a friend and I have discussed many times — the fact that the hands that have wrought violence and death upon countless people are the very same ones that touch his beloved with such reverence and tenderness, is incredibly hot. Duality ftw.

So needless to say I am waiting with baited breath for the day when we will finally see main story Sylus again. Or for that matter, just a memory of Sylus in boss of Onychinus mode.

🐉❤️ 🐦‍⬛

[kianamaiart]

hi kiana! i am so sorry to bother you but i was wondering if you could help me out? i want to be a storyboard artist, and at the college i'm going to you're able to major in story and concept development. would you recommend that or is that, like, sticking myself with too limited of a skillset? should i just major in 2D animation instead? im only asking because youre like. a huge inspiration to me and i respect you greatly!! no pressure at all and thank you so much for your time if you choose to respond!!

Mmmmm I personally think it's a good idea, when you're first starting, to get REALLY good at one thing. Don't stop developing your other skillsets on your own time but I think it's easier to get your foot in the door if you're #1 at one thing rather than like #3 at many other things

Then once you're in the door, other opportunities open up. Though I'm a board artist, I would character design a lot in my free time and tried developing the skill on my own. Once I started on BCG I got an opportunity to freelance character design on our show and have done visdev for a lot of shows in development at different studios after getting those initial credentials

also, just an added layer to this, 2D animation is not really a field in most productions in the US. but if you live in Canada, you're probably better off going the 2D animation route since, to my knowledge, there aren't as many preproduction opportunities out there

[sunniedesi]

The Decay of Andy and Leyley: the bad, the ugly and the terrible

Now that it’s been a while since I finished the Decay route, I think I’m ready to finally analyse this chapter as a whole. I’ve collected my thoughts and read through a couple of people’s opinions here and there… just to be utterly disappointed. I knew casual fans generally didn’t understand much of the subtext for tcoaal, but damn are they completely lost with this one. Maybe it’s the fact that I only interact with a small echo chamber of the fandom that does get it, but after all the terrible takes I’ve had the displeasure of seeing, I think it’s time I leave my own. There is quite a lot to comment on, since this part of Decay builds upon several plot points of the story: the quarantine, the entity, lord unknown, and namely, the main duo’s upbringing and relationship. While I’d love to pick apart every nook and cranny of this episode, this analysis will only focus on Andrew and Ashley’s relationship, as that alone has plenty of things to dissect for one post. I will also comment on some of the changes done to the previous episodes and what that could mean for the next routes. (More below the cut, this will be a long one).

But before I begin anything I want to start with a disclaimer of the obvious; yes, this game is fucked up and the relationship is toxic, horribly so (wow, who would’ve thunk it?). If things weren’t messed up before then they certainly are now, so I understand why nobody would want to touch this game with a ten-foot pole. In fact, I’ve noticed many let’s players who’ve previously played it either not mentioning it or going as far as to delete every video they’ve made on it (not dropping names here but I had a couple of videos in my watch later taken down mere minutes after I saved them because of this). I often see people saying “it’s just fiction” as a defense for talking about this, which is totally valid, but my view of it is a bit different. It is fiction, yes, but also something that could very easily happen in real life and that a lot of people could (unfortunately) relate to. That’s what makes it uncomfortable and gross, and that is exactly the reason why we should talk about it. As per words of the author “although unpleasant, true [CHAOS AND MAYHEM!!!] can only be achieved by unearthing the root cause of one's issues and addressing the underlying decay.” Even if you think it’s icky and gross that doesn’t disqualify it from existing. Moreover, it calls for analysis as to why it makes you feel gross, which might I add is an impulse reaction to something much deeper than a simple “nooo they’re related,” as there are many layers to this from a moral, ethical and psychosexual perspective.

So… let’s talk about it. 

The Bad: Andy and Leyley

The beginning of the episode tells us a lot about the upbringing of our characters, though most of it was writing on the wall if you paid attention during episode 2. We play as Andrew, examining his psyche and going through the motions of how to be a walking disappointment. As he cooks, cleans, excels at school and sets order in his family, he accomplishes a level of independence many don’t reach until adulthood, all before the age of 10. Yet every single mistake, as small or out of his control as it may be, is a cause for reprimanding. Renee doesn’t spare the emotional rod with him per se, expecting Andrew to go above and beyond for tasks that she should be responsible for. And whenever her live-in maid complains or dares to set an even playing field, such attempts are crushed by repressing him further into his shell. Berating, insulting, belittling him.

Nothing he does is ever enough, and it can’t be,  lest giving him hope of ever meeting others’ expectations, of ever doing better. The more suppression, the less of his independence, say or personality, the easier to control. The less of Andrew the better. And as such, Andy was born: a sorry replacement for Andrew’s essence, easily malleable and capable of becoming everything you want him to be. Many believe Andy is a result of Leyley, but really

Andy was a nightmare of Renee’s own making. And speaking of nightmares, Leyley’s origins aren’t much different. Having a second child as a middle finger to your disapproving family is no good if you don’t intend to raise said child. But what’s the need when Andy is there to do it? Disciplining a kid aching for attention is far too taxing for Renee, especially one with as much attitude as Leyley. So, instead of inflicting more trauma as she’s done with Andy, she lets him pass his own over to her, creating a direct pipeline to the cycle of abuse. It should be noted that in one of the new visions available we see that Renee is an older sister herself, and was expected to also go above and beyond for her sister despite being completely disregarded by her family.

In other words, her treatment of Andy and complete neglect of Leyley are anything but surprising. It’s all she’s ever known. (Not excusing Renee, I hate her with a passion, but it’s important to know where everything is coming from).

Funnily enough, Leyley’s personality isn’t as innate as many believe. It’s easy to see her as the “difficult child,” but in reality, everything she does is a cry for help. We’re dealing with a lonely, undisciplined girl, disregarded by the world as a crybaby and a freak, left to be raised by trash TV and her clueless older brother. The result of this terrible concoction is a self-loathing, marshmallow spine of a boy and a lost, shrieky viper of a girl. Neither can like each other, because they don’t like themselves. And neither can help the other, because they refuse to see themselves for what they are. These are Andy and Leyley, the antagonists of the story.

As much as people have difficulty separating Andy and Leyley from Andrew and Ashley it must be noted that, from a narrative perspective, these are entirely different characters. Andy and Leyley are the immature, worst traits of our main duo personified: Andy is a paranoid pushover garnering resentment every time his buttons are pushed, while Leyley is nothing more than a scared little girl, terrified of abandonment and terrified of change. The more they push and pull, the more they test and bring out the worst in each other, the more they decay. But if these are Andy and Leyley, then who are Andrew and Ashley?

The Ugly: Andrew and Ashley

I believe the cliffhanger route is where we get to see the most of these two, though glimpses of them can be seen in the Shots and Such route. Andrew we know (thanks to his lengthy pov) is a crude and relentless antisocial who can’t stand anyone. He only does so out of keeping appearances, instilled by his mom, but just like her, is incapable of caring for anything. Something Ashley is very quick to point out when they were children.

We also see he’s very manipulative, sly and finds fun in (mentally) messing with people and romanticising the shit of his life, perhaps as a way to feel something other than the misery it bestows upon him. However, not playing nice can only bring trouble, so he hides behind the mask of the innocent pushover (Andy). Needless to say, this is a life full of lies and deception, utterly unsatisfactory. It will never fulfill his true desires and can only push him further into nihilism. But what are his true desires? 

Well, to be seen and understood, the one thing no one’s ever bothered to do. No one except the mess of his own making. Ashley, the girl Andrew raised, is full of wit and charm. As seen in the flashbacks, she’s perceptive and quickly calls bullshit whenever she sees it. She doesn’t play nice, she doesn’t put up a front, she’s everything Andrew could be if he wasn’t afraid to show his true colors. This last bit is why I would argue Andrew is so drawn to her, that and of course all of the trauma bonding. As Andrew says himself, his attraction is pathological, i.e. unreasonable and irrational, a result of his loneliness and conditioning from childhood. And as much as I agree that it is paraphilic in nature, I do believe there is a logical side to his attraction; Ashley is loud, obnoxious and annoying. Carefree and unbothered, the flip-side to his Andy facade. In fact, she hates having to keep up appearances and how everyone around her is a phony. For Andrew, the man that has endured years of suppression and self-loathing, it is a relief, it is liberating to have someone just as bad as him. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid of him. Someone who could meet him at the same level; an equal.

Continuing with Ashley, one of her most emblematic traits is that she’s self-assured and doesn’t care about anything or anyone except for Andrew. This is quite the contrast to Leyley, who is incredibly insecure, selfish and does not care for Andy, only the reassurance he brings. And how do we know Ashley cares about Andrew if Leyley does not? Well…

This flashback is the single most important piece of information we get from the whole chapter. So let’s analyze it from the start. Julia takes Andrew to visit Nina’s grave, bringing back a slew of emotional turmoil he’s still haunted by. He immediately goes home to unpack it with Ashley.

(because god knows he was thinking about her the whole time he was talking to Julia). Ashley shows her first signs of maturity in the conversation that ensues, accurately pointing out the impending doom of Andrew and Julia’s relationship, and being a little more… introspective.

It’s clear that Leyley’s view of relationships is skewed, to say the least. She barely distinguishes romance from platonic love and has a very childish take of sex being "gross and all men want.” I’ve seen many people, before and after this chapter release, theorize that Ashley is asexual, something that’s always bothered me to no end. It’s one thing to just headcanon a character having “x” sexuality for the sake of it, but here people were using a headcanon to explain a critical part of her characterization, one of her Leyley traits. It is reductive and misguided, not to mention a terrible example of what asexuality would actually look like. Because this isn’t an innate characteristic from Ashley, it is a sign of immaturity, and to a certain degree, also insecurity.

Leyley has been conditioned her entire existence to believe she’s loathsome and undesirable, so anyone sticking around would never be out of their own volition. It would have to be a transaction, give and take. If Andy and Leyley marry it would have to be this way, a selfish exchange on both ends. But as she says: “different is fine, sometimes.” This is Ashley talking, taking into consideration Andrew’s needs for once and for all, which is the reason she made a move after he woke up. She understands his needs and is willing to put out for him, thinking maybe it could be good for her too. 

But boy does he fumble hard. Which I don’t blame him for, dude wasn’t in the right headspace at the time. Though this is the moment that set Ashley’s development far, far behind square one. She didn’t take the rejection well. For once she was doing what he wanted, and he pushed her away (mixed signals much). He began being very cold to her afterwards (albeit in a fruitless attempt to repress his feelings, which as we see through the puzzle sequences, the more he crushed his feelings on the outside, the further they spread on the inside). The moment Andrew reached out for her again, a year later might I add, he did it because of Ashley, or rather Leyley, needing to be reprimanded and set on the right track (with the massage parlor job).

This sealed the deal for Ashley that the only way to secure Andrew’s attention was the way that Leyley used to do with Andy: bitch and moan until he pays attention. In other words, it’s Andrew’s fault that Ashley is the way she is… though he’s not entirely aware of it, as seen in parts of his pov. And to a certain extent, Ashley also plays a part into why he’s so apprehensive to the idea of liking her. Her childish nature and refusal to grow up is proof to Andrew that if she were to indulge his desires, it would be to keep him around, but it wouldn’t be reciprocal (which is ultimately what he desires the most). 

This is my main takeaway from the cliffhanger route. I won’t be theorising much on what the outcomes for this route could be (more on why later), though I will be referencing this heavily for the analysis of Shots and Such.    

Also the symbolism in this scene is quite strong (couldn’t fit it into the previous paragraphs but wanted to bring it up anyway).

Her painted nails are trashy, and Julia's nails are painted. Andrew stares in silence as Julia rings away...  

Also:

This is after you destroy the Leyley plushie on the wedding cake scene, to retrieve Ashley's choker (which can later be used to create Andrew's partner... which also grants you a star). Originally, the plushies were watching cartoons, but now that Leyley is gone... something else surfaces. Interestingly enough, if you refuse to destroy it when prompted, the narrator will say "what are you, some Andy?" And if you try again after that, it won't allow to you to tear it apart, saying "you've made your choice." Very strong symbolism there. Let's move onto Shots and Such now.

The Absolutely Terrible: the Decay of Andy and Leyley

A terrible, disgusting, horrifying and necessary ending. Necessary to really discern the differences between Andy/Leyley and Andrew/Ashley, plus why the former will ALWAYS be a pointless, troublesome pairing. They hurt, abuse and tear each other down in the most sadistic and depressive ways possible. Long gone are the days of their playful banter, they are now replaced with just plain ol’ spousal abuse. Even when they try reviving their spark with their quick banter about the vacuums, it is soulless and dry, the damage done to their dynamic far too damming to ignore. 

They are never honest with each other, and they’re always afraid and resentful of the other. The only thing keeping them together is codependency and lame sex that sometimes distracts them from how miserable they feel. The one sex scene in this chapter reads like a dagger to the heart, because it is everything neither of them wanted to happen. Andrew yearned for something reciprocal, for him to be seen. And as much as he begs and pleads for Ashley to understand, Leyley’s fear of abandonment overtakes her, diminishing the little trust she had for him and respect she had for herself. As a result, they both hated the encounter, and the only two solutions are ending themselves or committing to a life of such misery.

In the splat ending, we indulge Andy’s desires of ending it all, and Leyley reluctantly follows, scared and unsatisfied until the bitter end, but unwilling to let go of her Andy. In the Shots and Such ending, we indulge Leyley’s fantasies of a forever union, which turn out to be anything but the ideals she had for Andy and Leyley’s marriage. It is more of the same old horrific abuse, dishonesty and bickering over nothing, with maybe one glimpse of honesty forced out by the alcohol every once in a blue moon. 

No matter the end, they’re both together forever as Andy and Leyley, dragging each other down into the lowest of levels. It’s pointless and bleak, and it certainly sent the fandom into a frenzy. You think the people defending Andrew “I’m normal” Graves or the people saying Ashley “did nothing wrong” were bad? Well, just as this route brought the worst out of the Graves, it also brought out the worst of these fans.

Every time I look into the comments section of a video or discussions for this chapter, it’s a constant shit-flinging contest of who had the worst upbringing, who has the worst personality, who is the most abusive, (which most people seem to be pointing fingers at Ashley for that one). It’s all blah blah blah who’s the woest of the woe. And worst of all, plenty of men (they’re almost always men) saying “Andrew should beat Ashley up some more.” I understand that Ashley’s worst traits as Leyley were amplified in this chapter, but honestly, men who had that takeaway from this chapter disturb me more than the game itself. Heck, even mother-of-the-year Renee calls bullshit on this:   

(context: this is a rhetorical question, the answer being no, obviously.)

Let’s get one thing straight: no character here is worse than the other. They’re both awful, they both beat each other, they both abuse each other and they're both victims of each others’ abuse. The tragedy here is that they are as much victims as they are perpetrators, with no end in sight, because the more one hurts the other, the more retaliation ensues. Characterizing one as the worst is, again, completely reductive and overlooking the point of the ending: nothing gets better because neither got better. We only saw Andy and Leyley in this route, with brief glimpses of Andrew and Ashley, that are quickly crushed by their inability to disengage from their toxic habits.

I think it’s clear to see how Ashley is regressing more into her fears (Leyley), given the threat of being murdered by the only person she has left forced her into that state. She doesn’t want to die, she’s terrified of death, and wants the security she believes Andy will bring her back. Except Andy is the one harboring resentment, as Andrew is the one trying to work past it. And to the people who think we’re playing as Andrew and Leyley in this route because “we chose Andrew,” no we’re not. There’s a reason the beginning of both the Andy and Andrew (shots and such) routes look the same in terms of the area we explore in the demon realm. 

There’s a reason why he keeps devolving further and further into resentment for Leyley. The “Andrew” choice means nothing if Ashley refuses to stop being Leyley. And her regression is reinstated by the selfish decision to kill Andrew in the bullets ending (and yes, I’m calling it selfish, since it is once again denying Andrew of his need to be rid of the Andy and Leyley dynamic). This reinforces Andrew’s belief that Leyley doesn’t want him, that his love is one-sided, and that she doesn’t care for his needs. The moment this choice (shooting Andrew) is set in stone it’s game over for both, because one can’t heal without the other. Again, nothing gets better because neither can get better.

The only difference between both routes is that when we pick Andy, Andrew surrenders. He’s hurt, battered and confused, but Andy’s instinctual need to please Leyley reigns above all. He knows it won’t get better, he doesn’t know how to make it better, so to hell with it. If we choose to be Andrew, Andrew never surrenders, insisting there must be a way to fix this, but can’t due to Leyley’s insistence. This leads to Andrew's decay, as he devolves into a mixture of Andy’s resentment boiling over and Andrew’s sadism. The logical part of him (which is Andrew’s lingering care for Ashley) tells him to disengage from the fighting. But his resentment (Andy’s decay) is overpowering his love for her. It gets to the point where both Andy and Andrew become undistinguishable, as they have melded to become his most deranged self. Surprisingly, something similar happens with Ashley, who also struggles to surrender in this route. There are two moments of honesty in the Shots and Such route, the only moments we get to see Andrew and Ashley completely. First is Andrew comforting Ashley’s sobs:

Here, Ashley was actually honest with him for once, which allows both of them to open up. This exchange is much more lighthearted compared to the rest of the route because both are meeting each other at the same level, talking through things together, addressing their happiness and where they want to go. Ashley shines through, taking genuine interest in Andrew’s happiness, but before things can settle…

Ashley must face her fears of freeing Andrew, trusting him. And she doesn’t, because let’s remember, we chose Leyley in this route and let Ashley decay. So once again, things go back to how they were, pointless resentment. There was also a time where Andrew opened up, and that’s when he was drunk out of his mind.

He put his front down, enough to indulge in his paraphilia but not enough to fully express his love. The mixed signals are strong with this one, which further confuses Leyley. However, when they go to sleep that night, Andrew opens up about his needs, about needing Ashley to see him for the mess of a man that he is and still accept him. Ashley takes the stage, reassuring him that she knows all his secrets and loves him regardless. Andrew is honest about why he pushes her away, because it’s the last thread of normalcy he has left. However, things quickly go back to normal, when Leyley refuses to give him a kiss due to all the times he pushed her away. At the end of both of these scenes, we hear a sad music box tune, a sad reminder of how crucial these scenes are. How easily things could be fixed with the care and honesty they warrant, and how easily they fall apart out of simple reluctance and conformity. 

This is a constant thread we see in their relationship, throughout flashbacks and present time, as well as symbolisms throughout Burial and Decay. The choice to not only trust, but to be honest with one another despite their fears could’ve been the fix they needed all along, the one thing they needed to mature. Their bond is so fragile, so easily twisted, that the only way to salvage any semblance of tenderness is to address their underlying decay. I find it funny how there are still people (few but still some) who were disappointed to see that Decay wouldn’t be the "normal" route. I read a few comments of people wanting their relationship to be fixed and be a normal sibling dynamic. To which I just have to say, that is way more delusional than the people who expected any routes of this game to be all fluff and rainbows.

The relationship was already screwed from the get-go, but here’s the hard pill to swallow: having a normal relationship is not the fix they need nor want. The paraphilia has consumed Andrew so thoroughly that his only solution is to completely wipe his brain or fully indulge in it (possibly the two routes of episode 4), while Ashley has to let go of her selfish, childish desires to recognize the Andrew she wanted has been there all along if she cares to meet him there. Is it an unsavory solution? Yeah. It’s gross, morally and ethically reprehensible. But that’s just who they are as people. And accepting themselves for who they are is ultimately the last ditch effort they could ever take to salvage this volatile, fragile relationship. I mean, this optional dialogue really puts it best:

(This is the single line of dialogue that actually made me tear up btw, not even the splat/shots and such ending tore into me so much as this line). 

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is, at its core, a cautionary tale of generational trauma and the cycle of abuse. How far will people go if pushed to their limits? Is it ever possible to remedy yourself once you’re at the point of no return? And is that remedy worse than the sickness itself? Can the doomed ever be redeemed? And if so, what are the necessary steps to take in order to redeem yourself, before it all goes dark? Andrew and Ashley can keep longing for one another all they want, but until Andy and Leyley are ripped and torn to shreds, neither will improve, and are fated to decay in the coffin of a different apartment, one built out of their own hangups and fears. We’ll see what episode 4 has in store, I trust the author will give us a satisfying conclusion. And speaking of the author…

The Meh: Changes to Episode 2

This new update brought about a couple of changes to the previous episodes as well. Namely, the wording for the decisions that split the story into Burial and Decay, as well as revamping the Burial route. I’ll be honest… I’m not a big fan of some of these.

For starters, this new update made me realize the author, as offline as she appears to be, is keenly aware of people’s opinions of the game and takes quite the contrarian attitude to people who miss the point of the story (something I can’t blame her for entirely, and seems to be the reason why things escalated so much in this chapter). Take for example the Grave Mistakes vision, Andrew explaining why they’re not addressing the Toxisoda thing anymore, and going as far as to add a bloody sprite for Ashley in the Burial route (something a few people were complaining about back in the day). Also, there is an optional dialogue in the highschool flashback that feels like a clapback to the Renee mod:

I’m glad the author is aware of people’s criticisms and takes the time to sort through them, but part of me wishes she didn’t try to over-explain some plot points. The thing that I originally loved about the game was the subtle storytelling, how it takes you a couple of playthroughs to fully understand everything lying beneath the surface. It plays tricks with you and makes you think about the characters’ true intentions, goals and desires, all the way until they spiral out of control and pretenses can’t be kept anymore. I liked that Ashley has a little back and forth between wanting to trust Andrew, being unable to because of her insecurities, and falling back on the trinket. But now…

The choice kinda spells it out for you already. For one, the choice of dialogue feels a bit clunky and also redundant given the next couple of lines confirm this already. The change in the olive branch choice, with it now being reflect/decline, doesn’t bother me as much, but this feels a little too in your face. Same thing with the changes to the Burial vision. I like that you have to put the green plushie back in the cage at the end, as it’s something you also did earlier in the puzzle, so it feels less contradictory. But the change to this line…

It’s honestly giving too much away. People go through the Burial route because they want the siblings to trust each other, and they select the left door for the questionable outcome because they want to make the questionable choice. However that route turns out, whether good or bad, is for us to find out as we play. And mind you, I already know it’s not ending so well given the hex Andrew gets in Burial is the same as in the Decay Andy route. That just cannot be any good. Plus, the fact that Burial is all about burying things under the rug. I suspect that while Decay is more about Andrew due to its reflective nature, Burial will be all about Ashley due to her nature of compartmentalizing. I imagine both Burial and Decay will have their own good and bad routes, but I’d rather not jump the gun into assuming what each will pan out to look like, as chances are I’ll be completely mistaken.

And I say this as a good portion of the fanbase was proven wrong with this new update, in terms of what Decay and Burial are about. The general consensus used to be Burial = romance, Decay = hate. Some fans even came up with the bizarre defense that the game is not so bad because the incest is totally optional! It's on the player to pick it. All the while you have Andrew grabbing Ashley's belt loops and cuddling her on the couch in both routes...

I can appreciate asking people to look at what's beneath the surface and analyze things a little more critically, but that was just plain wrong lol. In the back of my mind, I always hoped that Decay would address some of Andrew's feelings to completely shut down all the "optional" nonsense. Welp, that it did... way more than I anticipated.     

Anyway, my point with this last bit of the rant was that I hope these changes don’t become a trend of the author trying to make things clearer for normies or paying any mind to them, as that would only cheapen the storytelling. Those who get the story get it, and if not, they can read people’s shizo analyses online. But I don’t need my hand held throughout the game; I like figuring things out on my own. To wrap things up, I’ll just say I’m very happy with the outcomes we got. They were terrible, but necessary for the reasons explained above. I was originally very scared of the Decay route, as I didn’t know exactly what to expect and angry Andrew scares me. But this has quickly become my favorite episode of all and I can only hope the next ones do it justice. Keep cooking Nemlei, you’re doing good.

[whispersleo]

The "T" in LGBT stands for Tevinter!

prompt: “The “T” in LGBT stands for Tevinter: Either Krem, Maevaris, and Tarquin hanging out, or a headcanon of a Tevinter character being trans (Dorian, Neve, other NPC, etc.)”

drawing for the @transthedasfest check more works here on AO3

How Neve being trans fits her already amazing character narrative; a headcanon study

First of all, I’m really excited to share this drawing with you. Neve is one of my favorite characters and has been since the very first time I saw her in my first playthrough.

Now, as a transgender man, I really enjoy creating and writing about trans characters in general. It makes me happy, I love it, and it personally helps me feel better about myself as a trans person. Like anyone, I have no issue making a character trans just because—there doesn’t always need to be a deep justification behind it. If you like the idea, go for it.

That said, my headcanon of Neve being trans isn’t just a random choice. I’d love to share a bit of my reasoning behind it.

While I have no problem making any character trans, I do think gender plays a significant role in shaping some of them. There are many characters who simply wouldn’t be the same if they hadn’t been raised as men or women. Immediate examples that come to mind are Lucanis and Illario—I feel like their rivalry wouldn’t be quite the same if they hadn’t both been raised as men. Now, would I ever complain if your headcanon is that one of them is trans? Absolutely not, please share your idea with me. But I think you see where I’m coming from—Neve being a woman feels like an important part of her character. However, I don’t think she would be drastically different if she had been raised as a boy.

To me, this only adds another layer of complexity to an already rich character like Neve—a trans woman facing injustices in Tevinter. I mean, we already know the Shadow Dragons are basically the best LGBTQ+ support group in all of Thedas, so it fits perfectly. Plus, the stories Neve shares about her childhood wouldn’t really change if we assume she was perceived as the opposite gender. She’s always been curious, always asking too many questions.

Diving deeper into her being trans, I think it would be really interesting in the context of the community headcanons we’ve built around how exactly being trans works in Thedas. I usually bring up the use of herbs and magic, but I’ve also explored the idea of blood magic being used with Tarquin to create a functional member, for example. This could be fascinating to explore with Neve—how her aversion to blood magic might make her reject the idea of using it for bottom surgery.

And let’s not forget that every trans person is different! Not all of us want every surgery. For example, I’m perfectly comfortable with my vulva and don’t feel the need to change it, though I’d love to get top surgery. I think it’s important to talk about this because sometimes people say that writing trans characters without surgeries turns them into a fetish—and yes, sometimes it is fetishization (in my case assume it's always a fetish), but other times, it’s simply because we’re all different people with unique needs.

Anyway, I hope this all makes sense. I love Neve and hope to write more about her soon. I also hope you liked the drawing and that you have a day filled with pride in who you are. ❤️

[burnt-by-marigolds]

Why I think it's important that Astarion embraces the shadows

You know it's funny, at first I thought I was trapped by the shadows – cursed to live in them forever. But in time, I realised that darkness is as much a part of me as my fangs. This is only a curse as long as I refuse to embrace the shadows. So I decided I would.

I love how the choice between ascending and forgoing the ritual is designed: ascension grants an immediate reward (and thus presents an alluring temptation), but requires mass slaughter; letting go of the power comes at a personal cost, but saves lives and gives victims a second chance. If it was any other way, there would be no story in this choice; no dilemma, no conflict, nothing memorable.

I also think it’s crucial how in the spawn route, we see Astarion not only in high spirits (When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now), but also grieving. While he doesn’t regret his choice, he does feel sorry for his personal loss – which is natural and valid. And while I love that we can promise him to look for another way to walk in the sun again (after all, the Forgotten Realms are full of wonders – and the whole Multiverse even moreso), I also consider the narrative of him coming to terms with his condition (without giving up hope) much more real – and very important, at least to me.

I’d like to talk about two layers here: the more literal one, and the more metaphorical one.

The more literal one is pretty straightforward: we all have our limits in life. Some of them, we’re born with; some come up along the way; and other still are forced onto us. My first thought is neurodivergency or chronic illnesses, but I’m sure other people can name many more examples. You take medications or you go to therapy (pursuing the sun), but at the same time you just have to accept these things are a part of your reality, beyond your control. 

The more metaphorical layer makes me think of the Jungian shadow.

As some of you probably know, the Jungian shadow is the suppressed part of the psyche. It’s the facts about ourselves that are too painful or uncomfortable to acknowledge, facts we are unaware of, or facts we don’t like about ourselves and associate with shame. They make us behave in certain ways, often without us understanding why. And the more we sweep all of this under the rug of unconsciousness, the stronger the shadow becomes, constantly holding us back or making us repeat certain patterns (sometimes maladaptive) over and over.

(I’d like to emphasise that the shadow isn’t inherently “evil” – for example, we may suppress a trait or a behaviour because it’s culturally viewed as unacceptable, not because it’s objectively bad. The shadow is simply what lies uncovered, and may encompass useful and positive things as well.)

You probably already see where this is all going.

When Astarion says he has accepted the shadows as a part of him, he basically says he has learned to love himself just the way he is, without the need to become some better, idealised – and unattainable – version of himself. He has learned he is enough even with all the “less savoury” aspects – and it's clear it makes him feel free and more in control of his life.

Don’t hate me, but I think it’s more important than him literally walking in the sun. And let me reiterate – the point isn’t to forsake the sun entirely. Searching for it is an important endeavor – it symbolises making the word a better place. But I do believe accepting the shadow(s) is crucial to healing and an important first step towards any other goals.

This is who I am. In all my glory, for better and for worse.

[dippedinmelancholy]

Do you ever think how absolutely furious Rhysand had to have been when Amarantha tricked him and all the other High Lords save Tamlin, and Tamlin was the the only one given a path to freeing his court? Cause recently it’s all I’ve been thinking about.

Rhysand who has manipulated everything and everyone for most of his life, who undoubtedly could have easily seduced a mortal, even without mental powers, convincing her to say I love you within days, a month max. Yet it was Tamlin who was given the opportunity.

Good, honorable, brooding Tamlin who doesn’t bother to lie, who barely knows how to talk to anyone. Tamlin who is fury and passion and strength, who is exactly as he presents himself, who cares for nothing save for protecting his own people because they need them.

Rhysand is suave and sexy and shadow, he is manipulation and seductive whispers, he is dark power incarnate . . . and yet the vile, powerful general of Hybern wants Tamlin. She doesn’t even truly care for Rhysand in any capacity, Rhysand uses what is “left” of his powers to mind fuck her, literally, to make her believe she wants more of him, to make her think the sex is better than it was.

And yet even in being successful in doing that, no matter how good she falsely believes the sex is, she still only has eyes for Tamlin.

This isn’t me setting up Amarantha to be madly in love with Tamlin. She wanted him as a child, she’s gross and horrible. Brilliant and powerful, but utterly disgusting.

No, I just keep thinking about the insane amount of jealousy Rhysand must have felt, so many layers of it you can barely count them all. Rhysand could have broken the curse quickly enough, I truly believe that, but the reason isn’t because he’s more powerful than Tamlin. No, the reason is because he’s earnestly so much WORSE than Tamlin.

Rhysand will gladly break, torture, destroy and lie to any person to get what he wants, especially when he thinks its for the greater good. Their pain is nothing compared to what he thinks needs to be done.

But Tamlin is GOOD. He is honor bound. He is a man drowning in his own empathy, in his own duty. That is why it took him so long, and in truth, why he failed to break the curse on himself. He loved his court too much to allow so much pain, valued their lives so much they begged him to die for him. Everyone in his court is equal to him, every life deeply valuable.

Rhysand would have destroyed the Illyrians or the Hewn City whole cloth without flinching to protect Velaris.

Amarantha didn’t care about Rhysand beyond fleeting pleasure and maybe revenge if you believe Rhysand’s story. She wasn’t drawn to him because he was already dark and terrible. Already corrupted by power, with no lines he wouldn’t cross. He delighted in killing and torturing for her, again and again.

She was obsessed with Tamlin because he was good. Good and bright and handsome and honorable. Rhysand was little more than a mirror of cruelty.

[inkskinned]

she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.

in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.

it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.

i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.

sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.

and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.

once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?

i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.

my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."

the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.

[gamorahww]

Why Fiyeraba Are Perfect for Eachother, According to science MBTI

Through their differences, authenticity, sense of what's right, and just overall being well-meaning people, these two are a great example of how you can lift someone up, just by being your most authentic self and holding space for them to do the same.

Hello, this is a Fiyeraba analysis no one asked for. It doesn’t contain any spoilers for Wicked: Part 2.

Disclaimer Regarding MBTI: I know many people think MBTI is bullshit and even a bit limiting, when we talk about real life, and the people inhabiting it, but in the case of well-written, consistent fictional characters (which applies to both Elphaba and Fiyero) I think MBTI can be used without worrying about negative effects. That being said, enjoy the analysis of Fiyeraba through this lense!

I.) Context, If You Are Not Familiar with MBTI

When it comes to MBTI, there are two angles of looking at the types. One you are probably familiar with is the four-letter abbreviation (ENFP, INTJ, ESTJ, etc), but there is a deeper layer, where we are looking at those cognitive functions that each type uses. There are 16 variations of the four-letter types, but only 8 functions, that vary in order, and preference in each type. 

We identify four main cognitive functions in each type. Introverted types (their four-letter type stars with an I) are most comfortable using their introverted functions, and extraverted types (their four letters start with an E) are most comfortable with their extraverted functions. However as a person grows up, goes through life and evolves, they learn to harness their initially weaker functions better, and this gives them a more well-rounded personality, and a more healthier way of living in the world and be their authentic selves.

The order of the functions is also important, so whatever is in first place is their strongest function, and whatever is their last is their weakest.

You may be looking at this thinking “I didn’t ask for this”. And you are right, you didn’t, but bear with me.

So, lets sum it up: Each four-letter type has four main functions, and the extraverts are good at extravert stuff, while introverts are good at introvert stuff. Got it!

Now that we have this nailed down, lets look at these beatiful idiots then.

II.) Fiyeraba and Their MBTI Types and Cognitive Functions

Elphaba is an INTJ. INTJs are nicknamed “masterminds” by some people, because they are really good at big picture stuff. Ironically more often than not, if a story requires a villain with a large plan, they do tend to be INTJs. INTJs make for great villains in people’s eyes, with their no-nonsense way of going around in the world, and in a society full of rules and norms, they stand out, no matter what they do. Some people like to see Elphaba as an ISFP, that would mean that her introverted feeling is stronger than her intuition, but I think those people are wrong lol. Just look at the matter of seconds it took for Elphaba to realize that the Wizard is a fake once she was face to face with him, and then making a plan, and running away. Also, the trope of "you see me as a villain, so I will become your villain" is a common INTJ character trope, and applies to Elphaba super well.

Fiyero is an ESFP. ESFPs are nicknamed as “performers” or “entertainers”. They are usually popular, bold, original, and very observant. They are often considered as shallow, and superficial, which they can be, if they don't focus enough on developing their inner world, their intorverted feeling and their intuition. They are often impulsive, seeking newness, but they can easily fall into this superficiality as a routine, if they are not challenged.

Elphaba - INTJ - cognitive functions: Ni-Te-Fi-Se

(Ni) Introverted Intuition: Dominantly seeks deep patterns, long-term vision, and abstract connections for strategic planning. - Elphaba is the only one who intuitively sees Fiyero being unhappy. Later, as soon as her blinders of false hope are lifted after changing the monkeys, she almost immediately puts two and two together.

(Te) Extraverted Thinking: Structures external environments logically, focusing on efficiency and execution. - From information fragments she gathers at Emerald City, with her thinking supported by her intuition, she puts together the Wizard not having any powers, and seeing through his scheme. 

(Fi) Introverted Feeling: Prioritizes internal values and authenticity in decision-making, though less visibly. - She has a strong sense of what's right, and would never chose what is good for her over what she thinks is the morally right thing to do.

(Se) Extraverted Sensing: Engages with sensory experiences and the present moment, though it’s less naturally prominent. - Once she decides she will fly, she does. She is very graceful, knows how to use her environment to her benefit, although she is a bit slow to take action.

Fiyero - ESFP - cognitive functions: Se-Fi-Te-Ni

(Se) Extraverted Sensing: Focuses on real-time sensory details, enabling adaptability, spontaneity, and a hands-on approach to life. - He's obviously an amazing dancer, and finds joy in the sensory experiences around him. He has no problems balancing on books, jumping off places, dancing, having good old sensory fun.

(Fi) Introverted Feeling: Guides decisions through personal values and emotions, fostering empathy and authenticity. - This function is somewhat dormant in him, although you can see that he cares very deeply for the animals, and feels the need to let Elphaba know that she doesn't have to be "galinda-fied". He appreciates her authenticity and it makes him work more on his own.

(Te) Extraverted Thinking: Organizes actions logically and efficiently to achieve tangible goals. - He is not booksmart, but streetsmart, he recognizes when it is safe to do something, and considers his environment before doing so. 

(Ni) Introverted Intuition: Recognizes patterns and long-term possibilities, offering introspection and strategic insight when developed. - Him calling out Elphaba on her defense mechanism is a very good example of him tapping into his intuitive side, although he doesn't do it very often.

Elphaba and Fiyero have the exact same cognitive functions, but in a completely reverse order: Elphaba: Ni-Te-Fi-Se Fiyero: Se-Fi-Te-Ni I highlighted their strongest functions as seen above.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, whatever function is in first place is the strongest in a person, and whatever is last is the absolute weakest. And while the first and third functions are more easily accessible to everyone (due to them being extraverted functions in an extravert, and introverted functions in an introvert) the very last one, well, it’s difficult to learn to use.

For Elphaba her weakest function is (Se), that Fiyero is amazing at. (Se) can be used to assess your environment on a sensory level, to see and hear what is where, to notice details in how things look. People with well developed (Se) are great at the physical things, like doing your stunts, or dancing, jumping etc.

For Fiyero, his weakest function is (Ni), that Elphaba is just a natural at. (Ni) helps you see patterns in the world around you, and it has been described lovingly by people online as “being able to see the future” (does that ring a bell?) but also by recognizing patterns, seeing a big picture, usually noticing things that other people don’t.

So obviously those are two functions, that one of them learns from the other, right? I mean they just learn how to tap into them. Although they probably don’t as much learn from eachother, but see the other using it, and it makes their own relationship to this under utilized part of themselves change, and improve because of it. But while that is amazing, and will come very helpful to them in act 2/part 2 that is not the aspect that they connect through. What I really want to talk about is…

III.) Connecting Through Authenticity and Values - Introverted Feeling aka (Fi)

Look, you read those two words, you may think, okay, so it’s about people feeling things, like that’s normal, right? Everyone has feelings, so what’s the big deal? No, that’s not what it’s about. (Fi) is about what is _right_. It’s your values, that you hold so deep, that you can’t and won’t cut it out for anything or anyone. It what makes you you, and it is people with (Fi) that usually speak up for marginalized groups, and do the right thing, even if it comes at a personal cost. Introverted feeling is integrity, and it’s authenticity.

And as you can see, Elphaba has this in third place, and Fiyero has it in second. Fiyero should be amazing at this, but his integrity? It’s actually a bit… asleep. Why?

Looping is a phenomena that we call when an introverted person uses only their introverted, or an extraverted person uses only their extraverted functions. It’s a stress response. A defense mechanism. It’s unhealthy, and painful, because yes, your second (and fourth) functions are difficult to develop, but  they are part of who you are, you can’t just shut them out, without cutting pieces out of yourself. Kids live with their first and third functions, and then it is believed that throughout teenagehood, we start to engage our second function more. But when something bad happens to us, we sometimes turn this second function off as adults or as teenagers, reverting back to childish behavior. It’s not for fun, and it never makes us satisfied.

Fiyero is looping, and the mindset he presents in Dancing Through Life is the textbook version of an ESFP in crisis. It is literally a song about that.

“Mindless” and “brainless” are not there to reflect on his lack of intellect, but the fact that he is not integrating these important parts of himself that he should to assess what is right, and he choses not to think about the world around him. He is skipping over that (Fi) as if it was another hurdle in his way, because probably, at some point he realized that his integrity and authenticity doesn’t really matter to the world around him. His values nobody cares about, despite him having everything handed over on a silver platter. 

Escaping the Loop. When Elphaba steps into his life, and he sees her standing up for the animals, that’s the moment, she jump-starts this part inside him. He’s been literally sleepwalking through life up to that point. It is on the levels of authenticity that these two characters are allowed to truly connect, and it is this authenticity and integrity that allows them to see past everything else. (“It’s not lying! It’s looking at things another way.” IYKYK)

IV.) Growing While Lifting Eachother Up

For Elphaba, her personal journey is a strange one. She literally grew up in another bubble, but her integrity has developed. She is well in touch with her cognitive functions, but she is living in a lie, so her bubble is a lie. The fact that she could go through life for so long, not realizing that something was broken in the world, apart from how she was personally treated, goes to show you, what a good job the Wizard did with his manipulation.

Once she really first sees the problems in Oz is with the lion cub in the classroom. You can see her trying to fight for it, raise her voice, ask others to join in, to help and nobody responds, only Fiyero engages with her, asking “I’m sorry, we?” See how Fiyero immediately takes it upon himself, although he was not addressed directly by name, or in any other way. She looked in the general direction of her friends, and he was the only one who responded at all.

Elphaba, tries to solve the situation with her tried and true and tested intuition, integrity, thinking, but she lacks something. She bursts out emotionally, putting the class to sleep, safe for one Fiyero. She needs someone to show her how to take action in that situation, and Fiyero steps in. By that time, Elphaba helped Fiyero engage his values again, so he jumps in to help, and almost literally drags her with himself, moving her out of her comfort zone and out of class.

Up to this point Elphaba was told by Morrible to harness those emotions, but she also put a limitation on Elphaba with those classes. She thinks acting on those feelings is not always right, but these are not just emotions, these are beliefs and values and things that are actually important to her, so keeping them quiet is not the right path. But these two characters complement eachother, and bring out the best in the other, without pushing down anything in each other.  They make eachother stronger and more capable. In the class, Fiyero pulls her out of the limiting mindset she put on herself, and other put on her, and they actually save a life together, and after this neither of them are the same again.

Fiyero starts thinking about what’s right. About the day with the lion cub, and the person he shared it with. He spends more time "inwards" and gives less care about the physical world, and what he thought was important before.

Elphaba leaves to Emerald City with Glinda, not realizing she will be tested, in more ways than she can imagine. And when, at the end of the day she faces a situation, where she needs to take action against the biggest odds she has ever faced, and with Morrible on the loudspeakers disparaging her, she doesn't listen. She doesn't allow those limitations back onto her, she just closes her eyes and leaps.

And when she does, Fiyero jumps on his horse, as the entire world is starting to close in around Elphaba, and goes to look for her.

I guess you could say that together they are actually unlimited.

[colgatebluemintygel]

helloooooo <333 it’s been a while!! i haven’t really known how to come back to this account, or what to say. there’s a lot to say!! ummm where 2 start… i’m back! sort of! i’m so nearly finished up w postgrad, and i’ll soon be back to writing. i will finish on another ocean! but after that? i don’t really know lol. i have a million more ideas for wolfstar, but there is a huge ol something holding me back from even thinking about starting to write them. everyone will have their own feelings about jkr and the role that fic plays in promoting her brand, and a few layers below that, her beliefs. i don’t have the answers as for what’s right, but i can say with certainty that writing harry potter fanfiction has not sat right with me for a while now. i feel like i’m letting my trans friends down by being here. they would never, ever say this to me, or tell me that i should be ashamed, but it’s how i feel. and i do believe there’s a good reason for that. guilt can be a very good teacher; it’s very tempting to try and find ways to nullify it, to reason it away. but there’s a reason i feel guilty about my involvement in this fandom. because, to an extent, whether it is small or not-so-small, i am guilty. in a way, i am complicit. i’ve sat with my feelings on this matter for years now, and they have not changed; all the while, jkr has doubled, tripled, quadrupled, and quintupled down on her transphobia in ways that are truly, truly horrifying and that actively harm trans people every single fucking day. that is the reality, and i can’t separate the art from that. i know there are trans folk in this space who still find a lot of comfort in this world and these characters. we need to hold them extra tight in times like these, and to amplify their voices. when trans people tell you that it hurts them, harms them, to see people still casually buying merch or talking about the new hbo show, you need to listen. solidarity and allyship is not about platitudes. if trans people don’t feel safe in this fandom - which, i have on v good authority, many do not!!! - then we are failing them. we all need to do better.

beyond that, this fandom is totally fucking cooked. HAHA. umm? i’m genuinely baffled by the amount of creators i’ve seen chased out and harassed. this fandom is actively autocannibalising in a v unsexy way. and i honestly don’t think that’s going to change, which makes me v sad. in lots of ways i’ve been lucky: i haven’t been doxxed or deadnamed, or received death threats, but there have been months (even years) where i haven’t enjoyed being here one single bit. and that’s a buzzy environment to be in when you’re trying (and expected to) create for other people. not even medication can mollify my terror of posting another story for this fandom, which is fucked because they’ve helped me to confront my greatest lifelong fears LOL.

this post doesn’t really have a conclusion. there are a million reasons i should leave, and they’re all very good reasons. i still can’t fully bring myself to peace out tho, at least not until oao is finished. i promised yall (and myself) i’d finish it and i intend to do good by that promise!

again soon!!! tp <3

[dunzella]

Hii!! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering if you could write a continuation of the Yandere!Serial killer story! I loved it so much and I was super curious on how things would play out after the events of the original. You’re an amazing writer and I hope you have a great day/night!!

I'm so happy you liked it!! lol sure I can do a mini continuation.

Stitches

Doll pt.1

Yandere! Serial Killer

Ever since he showed his true colors his personality did a 180 or maybe… this was his real personality all along, and you had just grown too used to "Cassidy". The soft-spoken girl with shy smiles and delicate hands—the one who blushed when you complimented her. The one who trembled when you held her hand. The one who had never existed.

Now, the sweet, blushing girl was gone—replaced by him, a predator lurking beneath delicate skin and soft-spoken words.

Your body was wrapped in layers of pastel pink—lace, silk, and too many frills to move properly. Puffy sleeves, ribbons, skirts so stuffed with tulle they swallowed your legs whole. You weren’t a person anymore. Just another doll in his collection, albeit a special one.

Because, unlike the others, you were still alive.

But you weren’t free. Not when he was always watching. Not when they were always watching.

The glassy, lifeless eyes of his dolls followed you wherever you went. Propped up on dainty pink shelves, slumped in corners, lying stiffly on his pink armchair like someone had just tucked them in for a nap. Their mutilated faces were forever contorted in pain. Some didn’t even have mouths.

The room he kept you in was a nursery disguised as a shared bedroom—filled with ripped stuffed animals their torn seams and missing limbs resembling his victims.

Powder-pink walls, plush carpeting, and an ornate canopy bed that looked stolen from a princess’s fairytale. A vanity with combs you weren’t allowed to use yourself, bottles of perfume he dabbed onto your wrists like you were some fragile doll in need of upkeep.

Everything was pink, suffocating, saccharine.

And when your stitches came undone from all your struggling, his long eyelashes fluttered, cigarette dangling between his fingers as he pressed his mismatched gaze onto you—disappointed, but not surprised.

"Tch, didn't I say stop touching it." His pink skirt swayed as he stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the blood staining your wrists. The delicate fabric of his matching tank top was splattered with tiny droplets, but he didn’t seem to mind. Without hesitation, he scooped you up, cradling you in his arms like a groom carrying his bride.

The pain was unbearable. The sting of raw, reopened wounds mixed with the eerie tingle of skin held together by thread. You felt like a broken marionette, no like some fucked-up Frankenstein experiment pieced together with love and lace.

He wasn’t gentle because he was kind. He was gentle because he was careful. He handled you. Fixed you. He cooed at you while he worked, stitching your wounds back together with an almost maternal sort of patience.

“There we go, bunny,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead as he tightened the thread. You whimpered. His lips curled. "All better.”

When the news played reports of pretty corpses found throughout the city, he hummed, running his fingers through his short blonde hair. His victims—faceless, lifeless dolls, all stitched up and dressed in pastels. The media had given him a name.

The Dollmaker.

But the moment you showed discomfort, he clicked his tongue and changed the channel—to something softer. Something girly.

"All that negativity will rot your pretty little brain," he hums. "You should be focusing on me instead, don’t you think?"

Your body tensed against his. His arms wrapped around you, snug, possessive. The longer you were trapped, the more fragmented your memories became.

But during your captivity you remembered him from high school his name is Cassius Morrow, the shy introverted sophomore at high school. Always blushing, always looking away when spoken to.

If he hadn’t been so meek, you might have realized he was watching you back then, too.

Now, the contrast was baffling.

A man who spoke in sweet whispers, who dressed in pastel pinks and frills, yet stitched your body together like one of his playthings... You were convinced he must have a Jekyll and Hyde situation.

Any autonomy you had over your body, vanished.

Your limbs weren’t your own anymore. Stiff, aching, pulled together by Cassius's careful, loving hands. Every movement sent a dull throb up your arms, your legs. When you walked, your joints creaked—not with age, but with tension, stitches straining against fragile skin.

He basically did everything for you.

Doing your hair. Dressing you. Feeding you. Lifting you onto his lap whenever he wanted to coddle you—which was often.

He carried you everywhere. Even when you could walk, he insisted.

"Shh, no fussing. Little dolls don’t strain themselves."

You were sick of it so you formulated a plan. You had been on your best behavior lately. So obedient, so sweet, so good for him. But that was because you were waiting.

Waiting for the moment he got too comfortable.

Waiting for the moment he left you alone just long enough.

That moment came one evening when you heard the screams.

They echoed from the basement—wet, raw, desperate. You had heard them before, muffled beneath layers of walls, but this time, he had left the door open just a crack.

You could hear the squelching sounds. The butchering and guts are being torn apart. His hums of nursery rhymes in content.

Cassius was busy with his latest victim, The loud, relentless sawing meant he wouldn’t hear you.

So you made your way towards the window, something subtle so he wouldn't notice your absence immediately.

Ignoring the pain burning through your joints, you pushed open the window. And fell through.

The cool night air kissed your raw skin, and for the first time in so long, you breathed.

You were outside.

For a moment, you thought you'd done it. You’d escaped.

But then you realized—there was no one here.

He had lived somewhere secluded, hidden. The road stretched on endlessly, lined with skeletal trees that loomed like watching figures. No lights. No houses. No passing cars.

Still, you ran.

Your stitches screamed, skin tearing where the thread pulled too tightly, but you ran.

You ran for what felt like hours—your body quickly tiring, tearing from the movement. You never let yourself fully heal, always ripping apart.

But none of that mattered.

You would find a town. You would find help.

You would be free—

~

Your vision swam in and out of focus as you came to, a heavy fog clouding your thoughts. Something was wrong. The air smelled different—cloying, metallic, laced with chemicals that burned your nostrils.

Not the perfume. Not the suffocating scent of rosewater and sugar that clung to his dollhouse prison. No, this was sharp. Bitter.

Your body felt weightless, yet impossibly heavy.

Then the cold set in. A hard surface beneath you. Restraints biting into your wrists and ankles. The dim hum of a fluorescent light buzzed above, flickering in and out.

And then—then you saw him. Biting his lip bouncing in place; he was standing over you, mismatched green and pink eyes twinkling in amusement, wearing nothing but pink panties and a white shirt as he tapped a syringe with two fingers, the liquid inside an eerie shade of pink.

Not pastel pink. No, this was deeper, unnatural.

"Ah, you're awake~" he cooed, his voice honey-sweet but with a hint of something else—excitement. "You had me worried, bunny. Running off like that? So reckless."

His fingers trailed along your cheek, his touch cold despite the warmth of his body.

"I was gonna fix you up nice and neat in our room like always, but…" He giggled—soft, airy, girlish. The sound sent ice crawling up your spine. "Since you wanna act like a broken little toy, I figured… I should make some improvements."

Your breath hitched. Your limbs twitched, but they refused to move.

Cassius noticed.

"Aww, feeling stiff? Don't worry, that’s just a little something I gave you earlier. Can’t have you squirming while I work, can I?" He sighed, feigning disappointment. "I really didn’t wanna do this, y’know. I love my bunny just the way she is. But you keep misbehaving."

His grip on your chin tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel small.

"I’ll be gentle," he promised, raising the dirty needle.

Liar.

You tried to thrash, to scream, but your body betrayed you. He had paralyzed you. You could barely breathe, let alone move.

He pressed his forehead against yours, sighing in bliss. "Shh… just let me take care of you. You don’t need legs to be a pretty little doll, do you?"

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

No.

No, no, no—

The needle pierced your skin.

And everything faded to black.

Don't worry Cassius always takes care of his dolls. ♡