#there's a few missing but I'm not confident enough to post them just yet

[angel-roses-delight]

collection of doodles I've been doing during classes ☆

[pomefioredove]

mirror

summary: vil falling in love with you type of post: short fic characters: vil schoenheit additional info: romantic, FLUFF, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, takes place during/after book 6 author's note: vilyuu is such a good and underrated dynamic I'm never not obsessed with it. always thinking about him. holding them like dolls making them kiss mwah mwah

One might be bold enough to assume that actor and model Vil Schoenheit had been a victim of Eros before.

With the world under his thumb and millions of adoring fans at his beck and call, it was easy to fantasize about the image of a shining star that had left a string of broken hearts behind him. His persona of perfection gave off such a dazzling impression that any other truth is simply unimaginable. Beautiful, talented, devoted...

...Untouchable to such a degree that the very truth of the matter was that Vil Schoenheit had never been in love. He had no use, let alone time, to indulge himself in something that he found distracting at best and frustrating at worst. For most of his life, romance was nothing but another part to play, a frustrating rumor to dispel, a disaster to witness, something that nagged at him from the outside yet never made itself a home within him.

This idea of the confident heartbreaker Vil Schoenheit was nothing but a reflection of the image he put out, shone back at him by tabloids and fan accounts. It was a hollow interpretation, fueled by fantasies of a Vil that didn't exist in flesh and blood. And so, every time an invasive interviewer or pesky reporter inquired about the state of his personal affairs, he answered truthfully: Vil Schoenheit could easily go throughout life focusing solely on his career, on improving himself, and not miss out on anything at all.

There have been very, very few things that Vil has called himself an idiot over. That answer was one of them.

Because the very second he saw you again after being separated by Styx, the want to smack you for being so reckless in coming after him was only secondary to his want to hold you and cry until his water-proof mascara was running.

Love is such a strange emotion. Vil could never understand why Rook was so obsessed with it, how the vice housewarden fell in love with every beautiful person he saw. For his whole life Vil thought it to be painful, to be distracting, to be finite and often times nothing but a shallow reflection of all of one's ugliest traits.

And now, it made him feel weak and messy. He hated feeling messy.

...And yet, what he wouldn't do to have his lipstick smeared over your mouths. To have you see him with his hair undone and eyes bleary with sleep, and to see you in that state as well. It was not the time, nor the place, but he wanted to cradle you in his arms until this terrible, sickly feeling of longing you'd left him with went away.

For the first time in his life, Vil was suddenly terrified of being alone.

No, not alone- he was terrified of being without you.

To never see your smile again would be a fate worse than death, worse than growing old and haggard. How terrible to think that just one simple person could so easily undo everything about him, and yet, he wanted more of that very feeling. He would unwrap himself layer by layer for you if you asked, taking off all of the years of discipline and poise, and lay vulnerable before you so that you could be soft and simple together. Vil had always regarded romance as difficult, but falling in love with you was surprisingly easy.

He did not have to save Grim from the Underworld, despite what he claimed. Such a risky move cost him everything he loved, everything beautiful about him, everything except for you. And as much as he mourned for himself, he knew he would do it again and again if it meant saving the smile on your face.

And perhaps he was too wishful with his thinking, but he could have sworn he saw that same familiar glimmer of affection and admiration in your eyes when you met his gaze. As if you couldn't even see the pasty, wrinkled mess he'd turned into, and were peering at something behind it.

It made him feel utterly exposed and offered him no comfort, but the thought that you were looking at something not even he could see lingered in the back of his mind, even after his magical energy was rejuvenated.

He had become so familiar with everyone around him being a mirror, reflecting his carefully crafted image right back at him, showering him with two-dimensional praises, that being seen as an object of flesh and blood and tears was a strange notion. To behold his presence and see a person with wants and needs and flaws rather than a flat surface, a decorative magazine atop a coffee table, left him with a strange feeling in his chest. The thought both bothered and warmed him.

Vil Schoenheit was so hopelessly in love with you, and it didn't hurt. It wasn't difficult or ugly or forced, it took not even the least bit of effort. He sunk into the feeling like a warm bath which never grew colder, and he let that be his new reality. It felt strange to imagine that there was a time where he didn't love you, where he didn't look at you as if you were the moon itself, where you weren't such a part of his being that he couldn't imagine life without you.

And he never expressed these feelings in words. They existed inside of him, running through his veins like the very blood that kept him alive and warm, and they weren't distracting, just another part of him that he kept tucked away to occupy his thoughts on rainy days.

...But the best part of it was that he didn't need words. Because when you looked at him, when you saw the Vil that not even he could see, you could already tell they were there. The mirror, the pane of glass that had always existed between himself and others, was non-existent for you.

Vil thought that someday he might be able to see himself through that glass the way you did, but he was perfectly content with simply looking at you instead for the time being.

[toriaaniin]

No, It's Not FaceTime

Hey! Me again 😜

Shortly after I published my Lock It Down post (link at bottom of the page) I heard from a post-reader who said:

I think (Nicola) was video chatting with Luke while the music was going. You can make the box smaller when you are video chatting. Just a thought. But yes; has to be them

I love getting feedback from post-readers, so thank you to this person for sharing their thoughts!

Okeydoke... here's why I stand by this being Nicola's lock screen and not a FaceTime (FT) chat...

Let's start with this image because oh my, what a sweetie!

This is my lock screen, and my pup Juno. She passed away 3 years ago now, and I miss her terribly!

I'm sharing my screen with you because it has something in common with Nicola's lock screen: the date and time at the top. Note that the date and time do not display in this fashion when the screen is unlocked. For that reason, we must assume that Nicola's phone is locked when this photo of her holding her phone was taken.

To test out the FT theory, F @mrsfingertondepanini called me. There are a few things to make note of here (refer to photo below. The screenshot of F on the left is mine, and the one of me on the right is F's)

I answered the FT call from my lock screen. Meaning I didn't unlock my phone to answer. F DID unlock her phone to call because she needed to access the FT app.

My screen (left) does not display the date and time. My phone is locked. I didn't reduce the size of the video image of F because it didn't occur to me to test that... SO I don't know whether if I had, I would be able to see the date and time display. What I do ask is "why would I make the video box of F smaller?" That action would require me to do the whole 2 finger reducing-size maneuver. There seems no point to it. There's nothing about the image of Luke that suggests it's been made smaller (left/right image is to the edge of the screen)

Yes, we each had a little tiny video image of ourselves in the bottom right corner. Note however that our wee video isn't quite 2" tall and less than 1" wide. I did try to make mine larger, but it reduced itself back to this size moments later. On Nicola's phone, the image looks to be at least 2" plus in size, square. Further, Our little videos sit about 1/2" above the bottom of our phone screen, and there's a border to the right of our image box too. On Nicola's phone, the image is tucked right down to the edges of her screen, bottom and right side.

I've circled a little green dot at the top of F's screenshot. There's one on my screenshot that lives in F's hair. In both cases, the green dot (indicating that the camera is operational) is on the right side of centre. You'll note that Nicola's green dot is on the left side. I'm not sure what that indicates. It will not indicate that she is recording or in live video call like our right-side green dots do.

The two most important findings of all...

The primary image of Luke suggests that he's outside and in the sunshine. Nicola's Neutrogena event is in the evening. If Nicola truly was FTing with Luke, he would have to be in North America (likely West Coast) to reflect time zone differences. Possible... but probable? Even though Luke is currently MIA, I would suggest that it's not likely he's in NA.

Nicola wore black to the Neutrogena event yet the image in the bottom right corner of her screen is wearing white (blurry with pixels, but you can still see the white). If the image on the bottom right was a live recording, we'd see Nicola in black.

F and I had fun (as evidenced by our laughter) when testing out the FT theory. Because of our findings we are confident that Nicola is not FTing Luke.

One last thing just for the heck of it. Another reader asked me if I thought the primary image of Luke on the lock screen was also taken in Brazil. Bottom line is I just don't know. I do, however, have a photo that - while different - is also very similar... enough so that perhaps it can lend weight to my (your?) belief that the primary image IS Luke. Here you go...

Luke looks really puffy in this photo! It was taken back on mid-April 2023 - allergy (polin!) season. I suspect his seasonal allergies had a very bad hold on him that day, poor guy!!

I hope this information helps you to set the FaceTime theory aside😘

Aaniin Xxx

[hellsite-proteins]

also, do you know any other fun proteins where the amino acids react with eachother to form a new chemical? like residues 65-67 in GFP cyclysing to form the chromophore?

to start, i had a bit of a hard time finding the right search terms for this question, and a lot of what i found is more focused on synthetic or enzymatic methods used in labs, rather than lists of natural examples. if anything is wrong or missing as always pls lmk! i rambled a lot so that info is going to get hidden under the cut, but here is the tl;dr of three relevant PTMs

one takeaway I had from trying to find things is just how unique GFP actually is! it has been important enough for studying biological systems that its discovery was awarded the nobel prize in 2008, and a lot of incredible chemistry went into modifying its structure to make other fluorescent proteins in different colours. this is important if you want to look at more than one thing by fluorescent microscopy, and was done by altering residues around the chromophore to influence its protonation state/pKa through the local environment.

disulphide bonds:

so many proteins: insulin. RNAse A. chymotrypsin. etc.

isopeptide bonds:

the collagen-binding domain of S. aureus Cna and probably several bacterial pili have intramolecular isopeptide bonds

Vibrio cholerae, which causes cholera, makes isopeptide bonds to cross-link actin in its host

there are more examples of isopeptide bonds on wiki

biaryl ethers:

a lot of these are not made by ribosomes, and it looks like all of them are fairly small and funky looking peptides, but i think that has to count at least a little bit. here are a couple:

patellamide A

telomestatin (the wiki page on this one is so short and as far as i could tell, we aren't even sure yet if this is made by ribosomes or not so i'm really pushing things here on what counts)

letter sequence in this ask matching protein-coding amino acids:

alsdyknwanytherfnprteinswheretheaminacidsreactwitheachthertfrmanewchemicallikeresidesinGFPcyclysingtfrmthechrmphre

protein guy analysis:

for all the time i spent on this post, the protein itself is kind of underwhelming. its a shorter one with three alpha helices and a small, two strand antiparallel beta sheet, with some loops in between. this could be a real peptide, or it could just be the confused ramblings of an algorithm trying to make shapes out of an input. the confidence score is pretty low, so as usual my bet would be on the latter option, but who knows? maybe this could stably exist in real life? dream big and all that

predicted protein structure:

the main keyword i was using was 'protein cyclization', so i'm sure i missed a lot, and most of what i found is focused more on synthetic methods, but i was still able to get some good information.

this first article here gives a nice overview of protein cyclization, and a lot of different and super neat ways it can be done. if anyone wants me to give a more detailed breakdown of this article i would be happy to, since i'm not sure how clear it is to people without much of an organic chemistry background.

this next article gives an overview of post translational modifications, and also looks like a good resource with a lot of information. there are so many different PTMs out there, so if you'd like me to discuss one in particular a little more, let me know as well.

this gave me a few specific PTMs to find examples of.

the first and most obvious is disulphide bonds, which are what you are describing, but far less unique, so i also want to give some other examples

another example is isopeptide bonds, which are formed between an amine and carboxyl group just like a regular peptide bond, except that these amine and/or carboxyl groups are part of the side chain, not the peptide backbone

and finally, i found biaryl ethers, which i had never actually heard of before, and are only made by microbes and scientists, and are interesting for pharmaceuticals

there are more examples that involve cyclization with the backbone, and other types of PTMs beyond cyclization, but i've already spent too long on this, so if you want something more specific then you have to ask for it

[infamous-if]

Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

[legendary-69420]

MOMENTS - 4 (Extras ✨)

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 2) A/N : If any of you are Italian, I'm sorry in advance..... (I just searched up random things and put that in together) (Also that the last part was inspired by the iconic Adele live) ______________________________________________________________

The interview room was alive with chatter and the hum of cameras as Charles and Mark settled into their seats, visibly drained but still carrying the post-race adrenaline. Both had narrowly missed the podium, finishing P4 and P5 respectively, but their spirits remained light enough to handle yet another round of media questions.

The interviewer smiled warmly, leaning forward. “Alright, Charles, let’s start with you. Your number, 16—why did you choose it?”

Charles adjusted his cap, his expression thoughtful but relaxed. “Ah, well, originally, I wanted the number 7. It’s my lucky number,” he said with a slight smile. “But when I joined Formula 1, it was already taken. So, I thought about my birthdate—16th October—and decided on 16 instead. It’s still personal, and now it feels like mine.”

The room nodded appreciatively. A simple, elegant answer—just like Charles.

The interviewer turned to Mark, their grin widening slightly. “And Mark, your number—69—definitely a unique choice. Care to explain?”

Mark leaned back in his chair, his trademark smirk making an appearance. “Well,” he began, his voice smooth and teasing, “no one in F1 has ever chosen it before. Gotta be a trailblazer, right?”

The room collectively stifled laughter, a few reporters hiding their grins behind notepads. Mark’s mischievous glint didn’t waver.

“But on a more serious note,” Mark continued, his tone shifting slightly, “the number has… a balance to it. If you think about it, it resembles yin and yang—opposites complementing each other. Harmony, you know?”

Charles’ lips twitched, clearly fighting back a laugh. Mark, of course, wasn’t done. With impeccable timing, he turned to the nearest camera and threw a wink, the kind that sent fans into a frenzy.

The room erupted in muffled laughter, and even Charles couldn’t hold back his grin this time. Mark was unapologetically himself, and somehow, he made it work.

---

A few days later, another media event brought them together. This time, the interviewer asked a simpler question. “Let’s reintroduce you to the fans. Tell us your full name and a little about yourself.”

Charles, ever the gentleman, nodded and straightened up. “Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc,” he said, his tone smooth and confident. There was a subtle elegance to the way he said it, every syllable rolling off his tongue with ease. A murmur of admiration swept through the room.

Then it was Mark’s turn. He leaned forward slightly, a playful glint in his eyes as he began, his deep, resonant voice dripping with a rich velvety Italian accent.

“Marco Alessandro di Salvatore Valerio De Fiore Spencer,” he said, his voice lingering on every syllable, each name rolling off his tongue like a melody.

The room fell completely silent. Even the usual background noise—the faint hum of cameras and shuffling of papers—seemed to vanish. Everyone was captivated, hanging onto every word, the sheer elegance of his name leaving them momentarily stunned.

Charles, seated beside him, blinked. His lips parted slightly, and his gaze was fixed on Mark—not in irritation or amusement, but in sheer awe. It was as though he was seeing Mark in an entirely new light.

Finally, Mark broke the silence with a small chuckle. “Well, that’s Marco in Italian,” he added casually, his teasing grin returning. “In English, it’s just Mark Alessandro di Salvatore Valerio De Fiore Spencer.”

The spell broke as Mark's soft laughter rippled through the room. A few reporters scribbled down his full name, while others exchanged amused glances, still processing what they’d just heard.

Charles exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes briefly darting to Mark’s, who was clearly enjoying the reaction.

Mark caught Charles’ gaze and raised an eyebrow. “What? Surprised I have a fancy name, Leclerc?”

Charles’ smirk returned, but there was something softer in his expression. “Not surprised. Just… impressed.”

Mark leaned back, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Good. I’d hate to disappoint."

---

The drivers’ lounge was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of music playing from the speakers. Mark, draped in his Ferrari hoodie and resting lazily on the plush sofa, tapped his phone screen in an attempt to figure out Instagram Live. He had never done one before but, frankly, boredom had pushed him into uncharted waters.

The live stream flickered to life, and Mark’s face appeared on the screen, brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the interface. “How the hell does this thing work?” he muttered, squinting at the flood of comments already pouring in. “Oh—wait, someone liked my post.” He grinned triumphantly, completely oblivious to the scale of his fanbase.

“Wait, wait,” he paused, holding his phone closer to his face, “what the heck? 20 million likes? WHAT? When did this happen? I just posted that picture two hours ago!” He blinked in disbelief, his jaw slightly dropping. “Is this normal? Charlieeeeeee!” he suddenly called out, his voice echoing through the lounge.

Charles, seated nearby and scrolling through his own phone, looked up in confusion. “What now, Mark?”

Mark turned the camera toward him. “I’m on Instagram Live. Say hi to your fans!”

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Salut,” he said with a half-hearted wave, clearly amused but too tired to put up a fight.

Mark beamed. “There you go, guys. Charles Leclerc himself! Now you can stop asking where he is.”

A notification pinged, and Mark gasped theatrically. “Yay! Someone started following me!” he cheered, pumping his fist in mock celebration. His excitement was so over-the-top it was hard to tell if he was serious or just playing around.

The comments were already descending into chaos:

“Why is he so cute and hot at the same time 😭😭”

“Someone tell him that he’s literally famous 💀”

“MARK!!! You have 55+ million followers and still get excited over one follow? 😂🥲”

“He’s so unserious, I love him 💀🤣”

“SHOW US YOUR ABS, KING!!”

Mark scrolled through the comments, chuckling. “Show my abs? What is this, a thirst trap competition? Charles, are you seeing this?” He tilted his phone to Charles, who just shook his head, smirking.

Just then, the music from the lounge speakers shifted to a catchy pop tune, and without warning, Mark began to sing along. His voice was rich and melodic, effortlessly hitting the notes. He didn’t even seem to realize how good he sounded, casually leaning back into the sofa as he sang.

The comments exploded:

“HIS VOICE??!?!?! 😭😭😭”

“HOLY SHIT HE’S UNREAL”

“Someone sign him up for a record deal, NOW.”

“The audacity to look like THAT and sound like THIS 🥲”

To make things even wilder, a notification popped up that made Mark pause mid-verse. “Oh,” he said, eyes wide, “Wait. Is that—?” He squinted at the screen. “Oh my god. Sabrina just joined? Are you guys serious?” Meanwhile across the room, Charles' jaw tightened after hearing Sabrina's name.

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “No way, this is insane.” Mark started scrolling through more names. “Guys, Sab is here! My Instagram Live is a freaking concert now.”

The comments begged him to continue:

“PLEASE SING MORE.”

“Mark is ICONIC af”

“He’s unreal… cute, hot, talented—someone STOP him!”

Mark playfully winked at the camera. “Alright, but only because you asked so nicely.” He leaned back and started humming a slower, emotional tune, his voice sending shivers down the spines of everyone watching.

The live continued in chaotic perfection, with Mark alternately singing, bantering, and losing his mind over celebrity interactions, all while fans spammed the chat with increasingly thirsty and unhinged comments.

As the stream finally wrapped up, Mark waved goodbye. “Alright, that’s enough chaos for today. Thanks for making me realize how famous I am, guys. Byeee!” and shot a last wink at the camera.

The comments exploded one last time before the feed cut off:

“HOW IS HE SO CUTE BYE.”

“Mark Spencer is a menace to my sanity 😭😭😭”

“I NEED HIM TO GO LIVE EVERY DAY.”

--OFFICIAL END OF VOLUME 2--

(Volume 3 will take time...)

[atoltia]

Thanks for worrying, but I'm fine.

March begrudgingly posts a request on the notice board for ore. He didn't expect that he'd have to handle the newbie in town like that.

TW: some blood, some swearing

-0-

The past week was particularly rough.

Ever since Adeline began the upgrades for the town, things have been hectic at the forge. The usual order of nails, screws, and bolts were quadrupled, and alongside the massive order for reinforced tools it had been hell for both him and Olric so much that they had to resort working around the clock just to keep pace with the schedule.

It would have been fine. March was used to high production work, even though it got mind numbing plenty of times. Pressure was nothing. The physical labor of it all was manageable. It would have been under control.

If only they didn't start to run out of fucking ore.

March found out quickly when taking stock. At the rate that they were going, they were gonna run out by midday Thursday, if not Wednesday evening, next week. Olric offered to go back to the mines but he vehemently declined, stating that they would be delayed even more if he went (and he definitely didn't say that didn't want to see his brother hurt).

Getting the ore from Balor would cost them a fortune. And that's assuming the man has the ore in stock in the quantities they needed in the first place.

If they didn't get the necessary materials by then, the entire initiative would be delayed by at least 4 days and he will not have that.

So against his better judgement, he decided to make a request on the notice board.

-0-

He didn't expect much from it

The notice board was often used for small quantity items like missing ingredients for the Friday Night stew or a few sprigs of foraged herbs. Not a fuck ton of metal.

March managed to wrangle a deal with Balor to get the entirety of his stock at a discount, but it wasn't even close to enough. The next town was days away, and ordering from the closest guild would take them a month. He was getting to the point where he would have relented and allowed Olric to go mining and leave him at the forge.

But apparently he didn't need to.

He started noticing it late into the night.

Both the brothers haven't seen Sandra much lately, with everyone being too busy with Adeline's plans. March would see her every now and then, zipping through the town hauling wood and stone from days on end. She'd stop by the inn every once in a while, but she'd only eat her meal, chat for a few minutes, and head back to wherever the fuck. It was insanity.

He'd been seeing her dragging herself through town, the pickaxe that she bought from him weeks ago strapped to her waist, at almost the same time every night. It became a such frequent occurrence that when he'd look out the window at that exact timeframe, she would be there.

She wasn't carrying anything else, not that he could see, besides the pick and a small bag.

Besides maybe the exhaustion.

He could see it in the way she walked - the slow, dragging of her feet instead of the usual confident stride. The loose grip on her bag, the slight unfocused look in her eye.

March didn't know why that sight of her pissed him off.

-0-

The deadline loomed over him as he made the orders to his standard. Olric managed to haggle a few crates more of iron from a few travelling merchants and the cost of them made him very unhappy. But at that point, there was nothing else they could do. It didn't help that Olric injured his arm so the option to go to the mines was no longer on the table, as well as March having to work even more although his brother insisted that he still could be of assistance.

Neither of them has seen Sandra at all since yesterday, but that didn't matter. It really didn't matter.

(And yet why was he annoyed that she kept passing through his mind?)

-0-

They were in trouble.

There was only a small bucket of bars left and still a fuck ton of nails and fasteners to make. None of their contacts pulled through and Balor still hasn't come back from his emergency supply run. Adeline kept asking him if they would make the deadline.

He was at his wit's end.

That was why he was particularly annoyed when someone knocked on his door that night. It wasn't his brother, Olric wouldn't have knocked if it was him.

Tossing a rag rather harshly on a nearby table, March stalked towards the door and yanked it open, snarling when he saw it was Sandra of all people.

"What do you want?"

The woman merely smiled and stepped aside, revealing a trolley stacked with crates. The crates were full of ore- all the copper and iron that they could possibly need, stacked neatly on top of each other. He couldn't believe it.

"Your order."

March looked up and she held up the request he pinned to the board days ago, all crumpled up and torn at the edges with several colors of dirt smeared on it. He was aghast.

"You're insane."

A laugh tinkled the air as she leaned against his doorjamb, her arms folded over her chest, her long, dark hair mussed over her face. A satisfied smile rested over her face. "I'd like my reward now, please."

"Right."

He didn't exactly expected this to happen, but he got the reward as promised. A bag full of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Without a second thought, he grabbed the rather large sack of tesserae beneath the counter to give alongside it.

He wasn't prepared for the frown that crossed her face when he handed her both items. "Anything wrong?"

"I thought it was only the jewels?"

The redhead shrugged, waved his hand at her. "You've given us enough to last for months. Just take it."

The frown never left her face, and he really didn't know why it annoyed him even more. His jaw dropped when he watched her give it back.

"Thank you, March. But I don't need it."

"Just fucking take it."

"No."

"God's above." The snarl came back as he grabbed the sack from her outstretched hand, but hastily withdrew when he saw her flinch ever so slightly.

It jarred him.

He looked up with a brow raised, finally taking the time to look her over. She was covered in dirt and grime, her clothes were damp as if she fell into a river hours ago and just left it to air dry, her hair was a tangled mess.

Her usual pristine clothes were torn in several different locations, her hands were raw, scratches riddled her arms and legs.

There was a deep gash on her leg. Blood pooled on the stone at her feet.

Sandra's breath was labored, her eyes almost dead from fatigue. She wasn't leaning against his doorjamb to relax, no. She was leaning against it so she wouldn't collapse.

It infuriated him.

"Fucking damn it, come inside."

March rolled his eyes when he saw her raise a brow, not moving an inch.

"I don't want to track blood on your floor."

"I don't care."

"It's alright, March. I'll just go home."

"You are not," he snapped. With a huff, he took his coat and stepped out, pulling her to him. "I'm taking you to the doc-"

It was quick enough that he didn't fully process it. One moment he had his hand on her elbow and the next he was pressed against the wall of his shop, both his hands gripped tightly behind his back.

His body tensed as he felt her chest press against his back. The warmth of her breath tickled against his ear. He didn't know if the loud pounding was the blood rushing to his ears or the fact that his heart started to beat radically against her close proximity.

"Please don't." Her voice was low, dangerously so, as she gripped him tighter, making him wonder where she got this sudden strength as she was so close to toppling over just mere moments ago. "I don't want to hurt you, March."

With that, he felt her loosen her grip, gently pressing at his wrist in comfort before taking a few steps back as he turned around. The amused smile was once again on her face.

"I appreciate the worry, March." Her voice was a little strained, but lighter compared to before. "Really. But I just want to go home." And with one last salute, she left him there without much of a backwards glance.

And still, he couldn't get the scent of her perfume off of his senses.

-0-

Two days later, he wouldn't ever tell a soul that he sent her a perfected silver pickaxe.

---

This became way longer than I anticipated it to be lmao

I like to imagine March likes being manhandled asdasfas

This is the third installment of my March x Farmer series, you can check out the rest here!

Previous story: What his eyes can see, part 1

Next story: Lean on me

[velvetures]

Helluuuu!! I saw your post about sending requests and mine is actually a really simple one cause I don't have a creative but I just though about a ghost hurt/comfort story

Little Secrets

A/N: So this is very self-indulgent... I hope you don't mind. I think there are quite a few people who struggle with taking meds for depression/anxiety or feel guilty for it. Me included. Hopefully, this helps everyone feel valid, seen, and supported. Summary: Task Force 141 is where you belong. But it doesn't make the work easy by any means. You finally get the help you need and try hiding it. Ghost notices and is the one who sets you straight. T/W: depression/anxiety themes, medication, guilt, insecurity of reader, fem reader, and I'm sure I've missed something, so let me know.

photo by: pedropcl

You couldn't keep fighting it for any longer.

Staring down at the two orange bottles of pills in your hands and the directions packets in the other, you felt like you'd failed despite the psychiatrist you'd spoken to reassure you that this was certainly not a failure. Your brain kept refuting that this was a step in the right direction. Working as a professional and legal murderer should've meant you had no feelings. No failures of regulating your emotions or having such miserable trouble falling asleep at night. That nice woman who'd put the prescription in for you said it would take two to three weeks to see a difference. It felt like no time, yet an eternity all at once. Relief felt so far away, but insignificant compared to other people you often compared your personal struggles with.

You weren't homeless, you could eat without worrying, you had clothes and shoes all of the time, and never needed to wonder if you would have enough money to take care of your responsibilities. Education hadn't been a problem, you were well-respected despite being a woman in such a male-dominated field and kept up with your work extremely well. At least, when your brain decided to deny that you had the ability to do anything. Or... repeatedly try to convince you that nothing you did was worth a damn or actually made you useful. Vicious cycles of fighting with your own brain, knowing that you shouldn't feel or think this way but have no strength or way of stopping. None of the "hacks," meditations, or affirmation bullshit touched that panicky feeling you had mere minutes after laying down at night.

The pills shaking around in your hands were your last resort. And they made you feel so fucking embarrassed as you tucked them in your pockets before entering back into HQ. Praying to god that none of the 141 would see you with them or hear that slight sound of them rattling in their bottles. By grace or luck, you were able to avoid all of them and got back to your quarters to stash them under your bed in a small ammo box repurposed for some personal belongings. The directions you'd thrown away on your drive back, just taking a picture of them for reference and ditching the paper copies so you wouldn't have to keep track of those.

"This better fucking help," You breathe out heavily to yourself.

Staring up at the ceiling and almost dreading having to take one tonight before bed and the other when you wake up the next morning. Daily reminders of how you couldn't be hard and cold like the others. Cool and collected like Gaz, confident like Soap, unaffected like Ghost, or just so very reliable like Price. It made you feel like the weak link needing support. You'd never needed it before, and within two years you'd suddenly realized that your own mind was winning in a fight you'd never even been aware of fighting in the first place.

Keeping all of them in the dark about this would be safest. If they didn't need to question your stability, then it wouldn't feel like such pressure to perform. And hopefully, after a few weeks, things might start to shift a little. Maybe enough to where you could begin sorting out the other problems without the image of a cluttered attic representing the state of your head. Taking care to not raise the alert of the 141 wouldn't be easy. Always noticing everything out of sheer training and sharpened instincts. Having no other good ideas... You just settled on doing everything you could to keep your little secrets under wraps.

In the following couple of days, you’d become adjusted to the routine of taking your medications on the surface level. While the one tasked with easing you anxiety and depression wasn’t going to take effect for quite a while longer the other -a sleeping aid- was definitely making a significant impact. You were able to actually fall asleep and stay that way, problem was, with a couple missions impending in the near future, you were getting concerned that if you took them when you were supposed to -on a schedule- that staying awake would be next to impossible. And if you didn’t take them at all… you didn’t want to deal with the consequences of breaking a much more healthy habit.

And the reason you were so worried about the missions was because of a reoccurring problem that the 141 began finding you falling victim to. Thankfully you were all on leave, making it a lot more acceptable, but they still began walking into different rooms around HQ to see you sleeping soundly. No matter the noise level, temperature in the room, or the space you’d fit yourself into. And no one was quite as intrigued with your sudden change in behavior was the Lieutenant.

Ghost liked things to have order, and often used regiment or habit as a very small form of comfort when he felt that his physical situation was one that could be trusted. And while the others just thought you’d found a new safety in HQ and enjoyed sleeping somewhere safe, Ghost could see that something much different was happening. Your sleeping wasn’t a new habit.

It appeared far too quickly, and you oftentimes didn’t look like you had much control over it. There had already been three times where he’d watched you fall asleep on one of the guys late in the evening without as much as a single attempt to fight the drowsiness. While Ghost didn’t like to think that he cared that much about you, he found himself paying even closer attention to you than he had before.

“There she goes…” Soap chuckled quietly, pointing to you on the couch; head laying in Captain Price’s lap, eyes closed and sleeping deeply with your arms tucked against your chest and lying on your side.

Price had a loving hand on your head, and had been idly petting your hair much like a father would despite being hardly of age to act it. Yet, Ghost felt that Price’s warmth towards you wasn’t the entire reason you had yet again fallen asleep before 11 o’clock. Purposefully he’d been keeping count, and this was the fifth time in a week. More than enough to raise alarm with the others… but he was still waiting silently for someone else to bring it up.

Price chuckled, glancing down at you. “I carried her to bed last time,” His pointed look at each of them was more than enough to guess what he was about to say. “Someone else needs to, otherwise you’ll be voluntold.”

Ghost internally groaned. Not only was that kind of behavior what made people soft, but it also made seeing through the mask of affection far more difficult. But before Soap or Gaz took initiative, the Lieutenant was up on his feet and approaching Price with every intention of being the one to take you back to your quarters. Looks got thrown around the room, and Ghost wasn’t stupid enough to not notice. It was the first time he’d gotten this involved, and there was certainly a spectacle of him picking you up carefully enough to not wake you.

Even though he was quite certain it would take a lot more to get you up than that.

Your door opened up into warm, glowing light from a little lamp you’d left switched on. He catches sight of your quilt on the bed and the little rug that made the polished concrete floors look so much less like the jail cell his own quarters resembled. The whole room smelled like you too. Sweet, and a lot like cinnamon rolls. Probably some type of candle or other smelly thing that you had thought was worth spending money on. Plenty more reasons added to the list of what separates the two of you. Debating your differences or the reason you preferred your quarters smelling like a bakery wasn’t his purpose for bringing you back to your room.

But even with laying you down on your bed and pulling the sheet and blankets over you, Ghost wasn’t seeing any of the possible signs that could lead him to better understand what was going on with you. Nothing is out of place though. Your room is pretty much spotless save for a sleep outfit you’d laid out for tonight, but wouldn’t have the chance to get changed into. And right about the time Ghost decided he’d been looking into your business too much, he bumped into your nightstand.

It knocked something off into the floor, bouncing under the bed and clattering a bit.

Ghost sighed, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling and having quite the frustrating experience of dealing with the sudden responsibility of making sure you were cared for. And that meant picking up whatever shit he’d been too busy watching you, to not knock somewhere under the bed he’d have to fish around and find. So he knelt down and pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flash to spot a tube of chapstick near the bed frame foot.

That, and an ammo box with your initials spray-painted onto the side of it.

Compared to everything else, it didn’t look like it fit amongst the rest of your things. And damn if Ghost didn’t have a sudden gut feeling that it was the reason you’d been sleeping so much. Why you’d been so out of character; Setting his teeth on edge. Reaching out… Ghost grabbed the lip balm and got back to his feet and sit it down on the nightstand where it couldn’t be as easily disturbed again.

“G’night kid.” His whispers fell on your unconscious ears as your Lieutenant dismissed himself from your room and back down to his own space.

***

You woke up in your bed after falling asleep somewhere unintentionally, for the who-knows-which time. Just like before, left in whatever clothes you’d been wearing and all of your blankets tucked up tightly around you. It left a lingering sense of disappointment in yourself. A little pinch of sadness rested like a rock in your stomach. You couldn’t really remember falling asleep to begin with. If you ended up keeping this little habit going, there’d be no doubt you would risk everyone on a mission falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

All because of this damn medicine.

One that you needed to grab from under your bed, and sneak into the kitchen so that you could have some water and food. You'd seen one of the tens of sites -during your research of your pills- that it would help digest it better... whether it actually worked or not wasn't something you could tell. But either way, a doctor had said it, and plenty of people taking it agreed. So you grabbed the pill, shoved it in your pocket, and went out into the kitchen to find a glass.

The floors felt cold even with socks on. And while a steady rain poured from the sky, you were more heated with concern that someone would notice you. Notice your sleeping issues, the way you crawled around in the morning for the first couple hours before the pills began working, or the shady way you hid your face in the refrigerator while swallowing down your medication. Surely the stuff had to be working since you'd not been struggling to get your work done throughout the day. But maybe that was the hard part. Taking pills to fix your head, but needing your brain to recognize whether or not you felt better.

"Oh god help me..." You mutter quietly, searching past Soap's energy drinks and Gaz's revolting jug of green juice to find something you could make for breakfast.

A cabinet door shutting behind you nearly stopped your heart. Seeing Ghost's dark eyes evaluating your reaction didn't make your heart rate drop back to normal either. In his typical day-off wear, a pair of well-worn jeans hung low on his hips and an old SAS t-shirt you'd seen him wear countless times stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. No doubt he'd been up since four. Quite certain he never actually slept, you wondered momentarily if he could benefit from the sleeping tabs you took. But quickly that got covered in anxiety when his eyebrows furrowed at your expression.

"Nothin' to eat?" He asked with a smooth voice, nodding to the refrigerator door you still held open dumbly.

"N-no... just a bunch of shit drinks." You reply, letting the door shut and noticing that he's got a brown bag with grease spots at the bottom corners. He just nods, looking off into the empty common room. Like he's trying to think of the right way to talk shit about both Gaz and Soap's bad choices in hydration.

"Sit. I've got enough to share." He jerks his head to the other side of the counter, turning that wide back to face you, leaving no room for argument.

You're swallowing down a thick bite of a bagel with god-knows-what in British style as Ghost brews tea. Silently making you a cup as well and standing stiffly with both milk and sugar on the table with the expectancy that you tell him how you like it. Not really unusual behavior from him... typically you get along just fine. But it's the fact that he watches so heavily.

"Just sugar, please." You say through a mouthful, covering your mouth with your hand.

He nods, but then starts putting the sugar in, mentioning something about fucking Americans before sliding the mug closer to you with a couple of fingers. Those damned eyes are just as observant as ever when you crumple up the finished sandwich before he even steeps his own drink. It made you nervous. Wondering if those pills were helping with your appetite too. The psychiatrist said it could; Something about feeling less stressed can give your body more opportunities to worry about being hungry. It was one of those facts on the medication packet you'd taken pictures of.

"Plans for today, L.t.?" You ask, sipping the tea, eyes grazing over the cup rim as you stare at the back of his head.

Mask rucked up high enough to eat and drink freely he nods his head. Leaning his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter

and resting one hand back.

“Yeah, you?”

You shake your head uselessly, “No. Maybe some laundry, but I’m not really even due. Wouldn’t be worth the water in the machine.”

He hums lowly, taking a drink of his tea. You can hear his swallow and a steady exhale of air that follows. Whether it’s him cooling off the steaming cup or just breathing, you cant tell. But it’s so steady that you actually mimic the tempo of it. Feeling the way it expands and contracts your lungs smoothly. Almost settling. Much like L.t. himself in that way. Terrifying until you see just how easily you can be around him. He’s always quiet and composed, even when there’s plenty of reasons not to be. You wished it was something you could do too. Maybe it would help the task force if you didn’t have to spend your energy keeping yourself at an unnoticeable level of consistent panic.

“Know anythin’ about cars?”

“No,” You’re quick to add on. “But I can learn fast.”

You watch the way the back of his mask slides down further and how his head tilts from side to side to settle it comfortably. Seeing the rest of the tea get dumped into the sink and his own sandwich bag get crumpled up. He’s silent as he washes the cups used and methodically cleans up after the pair of you. Even reaching across the counter to swipe a couple of crumbs off your t-shirt with a subtle nod to his own satisfaction.

“I like to hear it,” His hand palmed at the back of your neck. Gently tugging you off the barstool, and grabbing your jacket to toss it to you. “You’re comin’ with me then.”

Learning about cars actually became quite easy… when Ghost was teaching.

He explained the parts clearly, what his goal was, and didn’t get pissed when you handed him the wrong size socket wrench on the first try. On the other end, you’d only been working next to him -well, sitting on the wheel well- for a couple of hours when you started getting tired again. Almost helpless to your own frustration, you yawned. Fighting the sleepy feeling valiantly, and taking as detailed of mental notes as possible while watching Ghost’s greased knuckles tighten a bracket holding his master cylinder in place. Surely it was a cosmic joke. L.t. was fixing his brakes, and it felt like someone had stomped on yours.

“Hand me that,” He muttered, head stuck down in a gap between his engine block and alternator, still effortlessly pointing at a pair of channellocks. “And get in for me.”

You did as he asked, yawning one more time. Trying to blame your sudden exhaustion on the rain pelting the metal roof above you. Sliding into the back of the car and kicking off your boots to let them rest on the concrete floor outside of it. Attempting to be polite by not getting any dirty spots on the mats of the -very original- DB4 GT Aston he’d given you trust to even sit in. The leather seats help you glide into the driver’s seat, giving you a very slim look at Ghost through the gap in the hood.

“What exactly am I doing in here?” You ask, loud enough so that he can hear you.

It prompts his head to pop up from inside the engine bay, giving you those same, observant eyes from earlier. He looks back down, reaches in and taps on something harshly, then looks back to you.

“Roll it over.”

The car starts effortlessly. Practically purring under you, and echoing in the metal hangar making it sound all the more ruggedly beautiful. The whole car hums, and as you watch Ghost go back to focusing on something in front of him, you feel the heat come through the dash. It’s a perfect storm that lulls you even closer to sleep. A dangerous thing, considering the one man who could figure out what was wrong with you was the only one close enough to see. Hell, you weren’t even sure he didn’t already have it figured out, and wasn’t planning some way to tell Price about it and have you removed from the task force.

Unfit for duty.

You could just picture it now. Red pen in Price’s handwriting detailing your medications and how it was grounds from honorable discharge. Perfectly common in the military, but it felt like death in your hazy mind.

Not that you could fight it for much longer.

Because by the time the Lieutenant had finished his little bit of work, he came into sight of you, slumped over in his driver’s seat with you lips parted and your arms wrapped around yourself. Nothing short of a pretty sight for sore eyes. His car had damn near rocked you sleep, and for once, Ghost felt his heart couldn’t take the feeling of waking you up. He’d watched you all morning. Gauging your reactions, your lack of conversation, and the way you tried to keep from showing him any sign of being tired. Initially he wanted to be angry. Mad that you were hiding something from the team… from him. But seeing you sleeping there, he knew there was a fight in your head. A fight he knew well. So he left you there to sleep.

Turning off the engine to keep from filling the garage with exhaust, but pulling up one of the small space heaters close to the open door to keep you from getting cold while he worked. Making small adjustments, looking over future jobs, and even entertaining the thought of adjusting you over in the seat a little bit so that he could drive-test his handiwork. But that didn’t come, because Soap arrived with a grin on his face and no idea that you were sleeping.

Until Ghost told him to lower his goddamn voice.

“Sleepin’ again bonnie?” Soap chuckled to himself, looking at you before back to Ghost. “How long’s she been out?”

Ghost shrugged, “Few hours.” Really he hadn’t been watching the clock; far too comfortable to concern himself with it.

“I know you’ve been tryin’ to figure it out,” He started back, resting his hands on the hood. “Why she’s doin’ this so much. Have ya’?”

Ghost shook his head. “No. Not yet, but I’m not concerned.”

Johnny laughed softly, slapping Ghost on the back and beginning to walk away. “I never took you for the type to be worried, L.t.. But since you’re so reassurin’ I’ll take it t’heart.”

Any way Ghost came at that statement, he felt himself on the end of a losing battle. Maddening. Losing a fight wasn’t in his nature. Even if that meant he had to take some of the most fucked up torture to reach it. But what bothered him more than Soap knowing he was concerned about you was the knowing you weren’t okay.

Days out in the field were bad enough. But when they got worse, you were always there. And maybe you didn’t feel much better than he did, yet you always held softness. For everyone. For him. A kind of understanding and acceptance that wasn’t required, or exactly approved of in this line of work. You could keep a secret better than anyone he knew, and while he didn’t burden you with a single one of his, there was always the foreign comfort in being able to come with them if he wanted to. Hiding your own feelings wasn’t right though.

Selfish maybe. Thinking it was okay to linger in his own issues and still demand you give him yours.

But hiding behind his rank and position over you meant he could make that kind of decision without any questioning. A type of don’t fucking ask why that saved him face when carrying you from his car back to your room after you still hadn’t woken up nearly seven hours after passing out in his car. Shouldering open the door just like the night before, he expected to see nothing out of place. The same lip balm on the side table, the same rug, and maybe a different night shirt since you’d mentioned doing laundry. But there was something out of place. And damn if it didn’t make his gut twist up in a ugly kind of feeling. One he’d not felt in years, but certainly recognized as soon as he spotted the orange pill bottle sitting on your bed.

It made sense.

The sleeping. The different behavior. The reason you’d practically swallowed a whole fucking sandwich for breakfast when a cup of tea would typically be all you stomached until afternoon. And thank god… you were finally starting to look a bit fuller. Getting prettier every day, and he finally had something to place the blame on. All hesitations about you being able to handle the upcoming missions faded once he got a good look at the bottle. A medication, funnily enough, that Ghost was well-acquainted with. It wasn’t part of his own personal line-up in his medicine cabinet, but it was one he’d taken for a while.

You’d been in need of some help, and luckily for you, it hadn’t been nearly as hard for you to get help as it had been for him. Actually asking for what you needed -and while frustrating- decided to try and manage it without anyone else’s knowledge. Ghost couldn’t think of a better scenario. Realizing that the only thing he needed to know about was your side effects, and how to best manage them alongside you. Thank fuck you weren’t sick… well… sick in a way that someone couldn’t help you with. A way that he couldn’t help.

So, he sit down in on the floor in your room and waited.

Your wake-up call came in the form of sleepy eyes opening to see the massive silhouette of Ghost sitting in your floor. Dark eyes much softer than you’d expected, and a much more concerning sight of your pill bottle resting in his massive hand. A sight that sat you up ramrod straight in your bed, gasping softly and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell Price.” You sputter, rushing to get the words out of your mouth. Terrified that he’s going to get up and run out the door. Just sitting long enough to let you get a good look at his plan before exposing you to the Captain as some sick kind of satisfaction.

His eyes narrow a little, “Don’t tell Price?” His voice sounds hoarse. “Don’t tell Price?”

It sounds that much more broken and gritty when he repeats it. Standing up to meet you a bit more level, fisting the pills in his hand, and lightly making them shake. He can’t understand your fear. Completely blind to the fact that -much like him- you’re fearful of being shamed. Misunderstood for it. Or worse. Ghost can’t recognize why you’re looking at him as if he’s going to be the reason your life ends. When in all reality, you don’t see how he’s trying to figure out why you didn’t feel safe coming to him.

“You’ve been takin’ these… fallin’ asleep on everyone, and-and struggling for who knows how the fuck long…” It’s hard for Ghost to keep his tone even, thinking about it. “Why didn’t you tell me. you should’ve told me. Said something. Anything.”

Caving in on itself, your chest burns. Eyes locked on his and scanning every confusing moment of emotion and each shift as it comes and goes.

“You wouldn’t…”

Ghost takes a fast step closer, “I wouldn’t what?” His hand drops the pills on the bed and quickly grabs your face, soft fingers pressing into your jaw. “I wouldn’t get it? I wouldn’t do what you needed me to? Wouldn’t let you sleep on me?”

Your lips open in surprise at the softness in him. All of him. The gentleness of his fingers, how his eyes lay silkily on you. Even his voice, falling so softly despite it’s rough tone and deep sound, feels like he’s terrified of you being scared away from him. Like that gentle hold on your face is all he can manage, and he’d rather do anything other than let you pull away from it.

“You have to know…” he starts weakly. “You have to know that - that I would do… anything you needed me to. Anything to make this easier for you. Even somethin’ small, I’d do it for you, honey.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated 🤎

[into-fiction]

HYGTG snippet: gelphie dates

The first date Elphaba takes Galinda on is…rather a disaster actually. 

Not on purpose of course, she just didn’t plan as well as she should. Elphaba had tried to take them out for a nice dinner in the city, similar to the first date Galinda had taken Elphaba on. Except…she’d not accounted for the weather. 

The sky turns grey and starts to grumble almost immediately after they set out. The pair turn around early, but still end up getting absolutely soaked on the boat ride back.

Shit, Elphaba thinks, shucking her jacket off to sling around Galinda's bare shoulders as if that would help stop the deluge at all. Galinda's gonna hate me. 

But contrary to Elphaba’s initial fear, Galinda doesn’t seem to mind at all. She clambers out of the boat and takes Elphaba’s hand, tugging her to the courtyard, where she throws her arms out and twirls in a circle.

It's late evening, and most of the other students are either in their dorms or already in the city, likely hiding out until the rain stops. There are just a few lamp posts still flickering, a gentle orange glow that reflects off Galinda's pale hair.

“Come on!” the blonde calls, squealing as she turns and wet ringlets fall into her face. 

“Aren’t you worried about your clothes?” Elphaba asks. And your face? She wipes her thumb under Galinda’s eye where her glittery makeup has started to run.

Galinda pauses briefly, peering up at her. “Do I look terrible?” she asks.

“You look beautiful.”

The grin that spreads across Galinda's face is like sunshine all itself. “Then who cares? Now dance with me!”

Galinda takes her heels off so she doesn’t slip, her once-pristine curls plastered to her head as she giggles and whoops and spins. Elphaba has so rarely seen her like this, as if she doesn't have a care in the world and is no longer scared of who might see her.

When she presses her lips to Elphaba’s, she tastes like pure joy.

***

Determined to make up for it on their second date, Elphaba plans a simple picnic in the fields beyond Shiz. She packs up everything they need in a large wicker basket, buzzing with excitement as she waits for the afternoon sun to rise.

The girls make their way out of Shiz right on time, not a hint of clouds or rain in sight. They chatter back and forth about various things, Galinda trying to steal snacks out of the basket. 

“Where are we going?” Galinda asks, walking confidently in front despite not knowing the way.

It’s a warm autumn day with just enough breeze to ruffle the edge of Galinda’s pink dress. She's got her sketchbook tucked under one arm, and her face is shining as she glances around at the view.

Which is, of course, why she completely misses the dip in the path. Elphaba has to drop the picnic basket in order to lunge for Galinda, but in the end, both things end up tumbling to the ground. Their carefully planned lunch scatters into the tall grass as Galinda yelps and collapses. 

“Galinda!” Elphaba cries. She hovers for a moment, worried about her girlfriend and her girlfriend’s pride and her girlfriend's clothes (and her girlfriend’s pride over her clothes)…all reasonable things.

And the food, too, of course.

But Galinda is laughing, dusting her palms off on her dress even as she gets to her feet with a wince, ankle already swelling. Elphaba gives her a hand, holding her arm tightly when she wobbles.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine!”

Galinda looks around, finally spotting her sketchbook where it's splayed across the grassy floor. A noticeable boot print stains the open pages, the edges wrinkled and the drawing underneath smudges and ruined.

“Oh no, Oz, Galinda, I'm so sorry.”

Elphaba rushes to pick the sketchbook up, but the damage is already done. Her heart sinks a little as she realizes yet another date has gone wrong.

“It’s okay!” Galinda leans up to give Elphaba a peck on the cheek. She takes the book from her with careful hands. “It's just one spread, Elphie. No big deal.”

Elphaba ends up carrying the blonde back to school, Galinda a warm weight on her back as she hums in her ear, her arms wrapped around Elphaba’s shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re not upset?” Elphaba checks. Galinda presses a kiss to Elphaba’s temple and then knocks their heads lightly together. 

“Stop asking that, Elphie!” she says. “I think this was still a wonderful date. And look- I got you right where I wanted.”

Despite the teasing note to her girlfriend’s voice and the second kiss placed on her neck, Elphaba can’t help feeling a little disappointed in herself. Oh well. Third time’s a charm?

***

The third time is somehow the worst yet. 

By the time they return to the dorms, mud splashed up their legs and leaves falling from their hair, Elphaba is starting to think she’s been cursed.  

“Maybe it’s a sign that I’m not cut out for dating,” she grumbles, her hands fidgeting with the blanket on top of them. Galinda's hair is slightly damp against her shoulder as the girl leans against her.

“Oh, Elphie. Don’t be so dramatic! I still had plenty of fun.”

“Dramatic? Galinda, every date I’ve tried to plan has turned into a disaster.”

“That’s not true! I think they’ve all been perfect.”

Elphaba feels her chest clench, a little guilty and a little in love. “You’re just biased,” she says softly. She sighs, feeling her shoulders slump. “I keep trying to set up fun things for us to do, and they just keep backfiring.”

Galinda shakes her head, giggling softly in that adorably breathy way of hers. 

“That’s just it, silly. We don’t have to do anything or go anywhere to make it a perfect date.” Galinda rolls over until she’s fully in Elphaba’s lap, smiling fondly at her as she gives her a kiss on the lips. “Just being with you is already everything I need. I mean it.”

“You do?”

“Always.”

A bubble of warmth spreads through Elphaba’s chest, loosening any of her previous worries. She sighs, leaning in so her forehead rests on Galinda’s.

“Well,” she says softly. “I guess I must have some luck.”

“Hm?”

Elphaba grins, wrapping both arms around Galinda’s waist and pulling her even closer, ducking down to press an open-mouthed kiss to the girl’s jaw just to watch the way her cheeks flush bright rosy pink. 

“After all,” she finally says. “I did manage to get the prettiest girl in school.”

[genericpuff]

Scamlords is at it again.

A few nights ago, there was a sudden blow-up in the /r/webtoons server showing a new announcement from Snailords -

For anyone unaware, Death : Rescheduled has been on mid-season hiatus since October. And it's now, and only now, that Snailords has suddenly decided the comic is ending after it returns, but readers can get an extra 20 episodes... if they fork over $1k in merch sales.

Now, this could be a lot worse. They could be threatening not to return to the series at all unless their readers hand over money. But considering it's practically just one degree away from that, it's still pretty nasty. Not to mention, the further they divulged in their reasoning around this "idea", the more confusing it got.

They also even revived their @snailordsrant account on IG which, for those of you who were there and can recall, was the same account they used to put one of their own fans on blast over some very mild criticism.

None of this makes any actual sense, for several reasons:

1.) I literally fail to see how getting $1k in less than 24 hours is worth shoving in an extra mini arc of 10 episodes if you don't even have it planned out. Why do that to your audience or to yourself? Why drag things out just to scrounge up an emergency $1k? Why not just be honest with your audience and run a GoFundMe or just say , "Hey everyone, I've run into some financial troubles, I would really appreciate it if you could FastPass my newest episodes or donate to my Patreon or buy some merch so I can cover the costs". It's really telling that this shithead doesn't have enough confidence in themselves or their audience that practically worships them that they have to resort to this kind of underhanded shit to get the money they need. I wanna make it clear that this is NOT like a Kickstarter stretch goal or anything that incentivizes readers to support their work, they're instead holding the length and future of their series over their audiences' head (which they've done before) for money. That's not an incentive, it's an ultimatum.

2.) Maybe I'm misreading / being stupid (someone pls explain if I'm missing something here) but I literally don't see how their comment about working 50 hours a week explains why they're suddenly getting their fans to pay out $1k worth of merch in less than 24 hours. For anyone who doesn't know, $1k per episode is an example Webtoons uses in its post discussing how they pay out creators (this came after the platform got called out 2 years ago for paying creators too little, there are undoubtedly creators getting paid less). And yet for some reason $1k is apparently the difference between 10 episodes and 20? How does that add up? And is the bit about them wanting to buy boba supposed to be a joke? Where's the punchline here?

3.) They say they have writer's block and they want to use the money to "motivate them", but then just a few slides later they say 10-15 episodes is what would make them the "happiest" so which is it? Do they want to write 10 episodes or do they want people to pay them to write 20 episodes so they can draw the fluff scenes that they apparently want to draw? If you have an ending planned out, why rush it or drag it out depending on how this "fundraiser" goes? Why not just write the ending you want to write that will serve your story best? Why shove in an extra mini arc that you don't even have full confidence in writing and then try to compare it to a "super expensive cake"? What are you doing? Speaking as someone who's had trouble getting motivated in the past, suddenly getting a month's rent worth of money to do it doesn't necessarily solve that, it just turns up the pressure, and if you're not someone who deals with pressure well, then you're more likely to wind up just burning out entirely rather than fulfilling that goal.

4.) The fact that they did, in fact, hit their goal just makes it all the shittier to think about because their audience is mostly made up of teenagers who worship the ground that they walk on. It's horrifying that they keep pulling these stunts with their audience, and getting away with it to boot - and Webtoons, as a company, keeps enabling it by allowing it to happen by hosting and promoting people like this.

Anyways, there's already a lot going on here that's sketchy, but then... they went and deleted their posts. At the time of this happening (as I was there to witness it all play out in real time) I assumed this meant that they had hit their $1k goal - especially as they had been showing their progress on their IG and they were already at $900 after just a couple hours - but it gave me a sinking feeling seeing them delete it because they had also been called out by some brave readers telling them that it wasn't exactly a good look to essentially blackmail their audience through their own content into giving them money.

Snailords deleting it gave me a stronger impression of "burying the evidence", especially now that they had the money. By all accounts, they could do whatever they wanted now.

So what did they decide to do?

. . . Huh?

Okay, take a second to actually think about what Snailords has done here. Because I know some of you will go "oh, it was for charity all along! that was nice of them!" but . . . I don't know about the legalities of collecting donation funds under false pretenses, but morally speaking, it's a really shitty thing to do. They stripped away the choices - limiting them to three - of what their readers could donate to, and what I think their readers don't understand - due to being mostly teenagers - is that they're tax-exempt individuals and they just unknowingly gave Snailords an easy $1k tax write-off. You really, really shouldn't collect donation funds like this without being honest, it's just a shitty thing to do, especially after you've already collected the money. It mostly just comes across as damage control on Snailords' part to make it seem like they were always planning to donate to charity, when in reality, if they wanted to donate to charity, they would have been honest about that at the start. Again, even if they wanted to do that from the start, it goes to show how little confidence they have in themselves or their audience that they have to stoop to methods like these instead of just doing it honestly.

And do you really think Snailords will actually do those extra episodes? Or donate that money? This is the same asshole who has manipulated their readers for money not once but twice, and now seems intent on doing it a third time just for the charm. This is the same person who practically sabotaged their own comic, Freaking Romance, because they apparently didn't like the romance genre and may as well have only done it for clout / views / etc.

What was especially odd - and I found this out from folks who actually read Death : Rescheduled (I do not) - was finding out that it wouldn't make sense for D : R to end in as many as 25 episodes, because apparently, the plot has basically just gotten going.

So it does seem like this is foreshadowing that D : R will wind up just like Freaking Romance, rushed into an ending that wasn't expected. And this, of course, has the people who read their work confused because D : R was supposed to be Snailords' passion project, their magnum opus, the project they wanted to do. So them holding the timing of an ending that shouldn't even be happening yet for ransom contradicts that original intention. Really, it just goes to show that Snailords has no passion, they're just in it purely for the money, to a degree that I can't even cheer them on for being a hustler because it's missing the honesty and integrity.

And of course, every single time Snailords finds a way to backpedal and take his audience for a ride, they hop right in without a single thought for themselves.

And no, none of this is to hate on the readers directly, I hold Snailords entirely responsible for this - they have an audience of impressionable, naive, gullible teenagers, and they know it, and take advantage of it every chance they get. It's why they weren't just honest about wanting to collect money for charity from the start. It's why they resorted to basically holding their own comic's progression for ransom during its midseason hiatus. It's why the deadline was 24 hours and why the posts are now gone.

Thankfully the Internet does what it does - any evidence that Snailords was trying to bury is now all over reddit, and hey, just for good measure, here's a post on Tumblr that's been sitting in my drafts for days now, days after people have already seemingly stopped talking about it. Don't let anyone bury or forget about the stunts Snailords is pulling on their audience, with a platform that they've been consistently given by Webtoons, because that's what they want you to do.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Little Bit More

25/12: Promise & Phone Sex - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (f and m) A/N: this exists in the Every Little Bit universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

He always knew it was coming around, and yet he always hated it.

Her dad’s birthday was in between Christmas and New Year, that weird time where you don’t know what day it is, never seem to have enough food in and where you’re so disorientated in the post-Christmas haze that it’s like coming down from a sugar high.

It was the few times of year where she went away by herself, wanting to spare Billy from the absolute torture of being around her parents for a few days as she made excuse after excuse as to why they weren’t married yet.

Not that he minded, there was only so much of her mum Billy could take.

He’d seen her off at the train station, her duffel bag looking very much as big as her in the cutest way possible as she skipped off to the platform in her winter overcoat and scarf, the chill nipping at her cheeks.

It was only a few days. It was only a few days. He had to keep reminding himself. 

Billy sighed, tapping the remote control against his knee, only half-watching whatever terrible Friday night tele graced his flat. The pizza box was closed shut on the coffee table, having tried to cheer himself up with a takeaway.

His phone buzzed, and he couldn't help the smile that rose to his face, seeing her name in bright white letters on the face of it.

She'd promised to ring 9 o’clock on the dot, after all.

“Hiya, ya alright?” he answered, his voice sounding perkier already, his muscles relaxing once he heard her voice.

“Hey, you sound happy”, she replied low down the phone, and he could tell she was smiling by the way she said it.

“I am now,” he grinned, “just finished a 12 inch on my own.”

She groaned over the line, “Billy.”

“I'm joking, it's because I've heard your voice again.”

“Better,” she laughed breathily, “what you up to? Other than missing me, of course.”

He sighs, “Being a sad cunt, staying in with a beer watching whatever shite is on Channel 4.”

“Ooh dear,” she says unenthusiastically, “sounds dull, babe.”

Billy hummed in agreement, “What about you? What you up to?”

It was her turn to sigh, “fuck all, really. Mum and Dad went to go and see Mum's mate Jill, you know Jill don't you?”

“Yes, babe.”

“Yeah, well they left at five and are yet to be back. Convinced she's got them tied up in the basement.”

Billy laughed through his nose, “That actually sounds better than what she might actually be doing, chatting their bloody ears off.”

“Poor buggers, eh,” she laughed, “so I'm sat here on my tod.”

“What a shame you've got me to talk to then.”

He could hear her smile, “could be worse. You missing me?”

The alcohol had offered him a kind of confidence, and he sucked his teeth, holding back a grin, “You could say that. Missing something anyway.”

He heard her mischievous tone even over the crackle of the phone.

“Are you now?”

The line went quiet for a while, before a notification buzzed and Billy turned her on loudspeaker for a moment as he pulled his phone from his ear to check.

…has sent an image.

With one flick of his thumb, his jaw dropped, the depths of his gut becoming tight and hot by the picture she'd sent him. It was her figure reflected in a mirror, wearing clearly nothing but a large t-shirt (his, he noted) and pulling the spare fabric to one side to show her curves as well as her pebbled nipples beneath it.

“Jesus..”

She giggled over the phone, “is that a good ‘jesus’?”

“I-fuck, yes…”

Another one arrived, with her pulling up the hem of her shirt over her hips and expanse of her stomach, just beneath the shadow of her breasts.

“Christ, babe, what are you doing to me?”

She hummed, “sorry, you said you were missing me.”

Billy sighed looking at the photos, every now and then closing his eyes to will the feeling of her skin onto his fingertips, the warmth of her, the sounds she'd make for him. 

His breathing grew shallow as he reached into his jeans, wrapping one hand around his length, to softly pump himself, already half-hard since the moment the first picture arrived.

“Are you enjoying them?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Mmhm..” he murmured.

Another few arrived, in various stages. One where the shirt was fully over her breasts, one where she was wearing nothing at all leaning back to show her full naked torso, and one sat on the bed, the lines appearing where her hips met her thighs.

“Oh fuck…”

Over the phone, she could hear the clinking of his belt as he pleasured himself, “are you touching yourself, baby?”

He could only make a sound in confirmation, his throat closing as he fisted himself to the photos of her.

She sighed, as if her touching herself was expelling a deeply rooted desire, her hands sliding between her legs, the other holding the phone to her ear, “Mm…wish you were here…”

“-ffuck-me too, baby-”

His strained voice was enough to coax some slick between her fingers, using it to pleasure herself, laid back on the bed.

“are you on the sofa?...”

He swallowed, breathlessly replying, “yeah..”

“Do you remember before I left…” she started, and the memory nearly made Billy dizzy.

He was sat right where he is right now, legs apart to accommodate her kneeling there. She'd been annoyed that he was playing Xbox, and so, in an effort to make him lose his game, had knelt in front of him, pulled his sweatpants over his hips and eagerly took his length between her lips.

She'd gotten what she wanted. Before long, his controller was long forgotten and instead, his fingers were threaded through her hair, guiding her pace on him.

He can feel his stomach tightening at the memory of the sensation.

“Do you remember, baby?”

“Yes…”

“Hm..” she hummed, over the phone, while in her own bed began to hasten the pace of her self-pleasure.

"If I were there...do you know what I'd do?"

"What..." he breathed, his hold on his phone so tight without realising.

"I'd get up...off my knees...on top of you..." she muses, sighing at the feeling herself beginning to crest, "...maybe tease you a bit..."

"Fuck-no, baby, don't tease me-"

She let out a breathy laugh, "but why not? It's so much fun."

Her hips canted towards her own touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she held the phone loosely as the pressure tightened in her gut.

"What would you do, baby? If I was right there on top of you..."

His voice came strained, every stroke of his length in his fist drawing him close to fulfilment.

"I would - I'd fuckin' pull you down..."

She could tell he was close by the tone of his voice, and she bit back a smile, knowing he was much too far gone to even form a coherent thought.

"I'd let you fuck me...right there...be your little fuck toy..." She mused in a sort of whisper, "...you could cum inside me...as many times as you want, baby..."

Billy's lips parted, not even realising how his movements had become rapid, needy and quick.

"Oh fuck-"

On the other side she was close herself, and then she heard the prompt and pulled the phone away from her ear to see a request to switch to video call. She accepted without thinking and felt her gut twist at what she saw.

His jeans were pushed around his zipper barely, only enough to free his cock as he pumped it quickly. She was entranced as Billy pleasured himself in real time, her face growing warm at the effect she'd clearly had on him.

And then she heard it, a long shuddered whimper of her name, followed by, "Oh baby-"

She felt her thighs tremble as she came, warmth rushing beneath her hips and a tingling sensation rushing from her toes all the way up her spine, as Billy groaned deeply and spilled all over his fingers for her to see.

Her hand has slowed, overstimulation gnawing as she touched herself with Billy's languid thrusts into his hand continuing to pull a deep arousal from her.

Over the video she heard his laboured breaths, gulping for air.

When the video turned off she smiled tiredly and pulled her phone back to her ear, hearing his tired, exhausted voice.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed. She could imagine him, all spent and limp on the sofa, and the thought made her smirk and press her thighs together with want.

"Mm, you're telling me. Do you feel better now?" She asked demurely.

"Fuck you," he teased, "fuck, I can't wait for you to get back..."

She gave a short laugh, "Oh yeah? What you gonna do when I am?"

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he'd heard her, her brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted to ask him if he was still there.

But realistically, on the other end, a wide smile graced his face, his blue eyes all aglimmer with mischief.

And what he said had the power to shut her right up. Excitement made her stomach flip, wondering what version of Billy she seems to have unleashed. Gone was the shy, unconfident Billy she'd found. Her efforts in getting him to...unwind somewhat shocking even her.

"How did you put it, hm?" he laughed, with a smile so bright like he'd just opened a present, "My little fuck toy?"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[my-little-random-world]

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒇𝑨𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝑪𝑮𝑨𝑺 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚!

Hello, everyone 👋🏽 I'm back… maybe? We shall see.

It’s been a long time since I last posted. Life dealt our family a devastating blow, and we’re still healing—or at least, I hope we are. I never want to relive those unbearable days.

I'm still not ready to return to my other socials just yet, but I do feel safe enough to share this here.

To give context without dwelling: Some time just before Christmas, my younger sister was wrongfully detained for a week, accused of a severe cybercrime she didn’t commit. The charges were terrifyingly serious (near-terrorism level), fabricated by someone masking their actions through her phone. Our country’s slow justice system took a week to clear her name, but the damage was done. Her name was published, and the fallout shattered us. We retreated from the internet, especially social media, where armchair detectives vilified her and my family. It was horrifying. My sweet sister did not deserve any of it, and most esp our dearest parents!

I clung to books and reread many of my favourite classics. I also downloaded countless fanfics from AO3. To the writers: thank you. You kept me sane. And to my royal watcher friends (esp fAnnes) from my main account (@grandmaster-anne), your stories were lifelines, even if you didn’t know it. I’ve missed you all SO much.

Over the past couple of months, I started watching All Creatures Great and Small, and its warmth literally helped bring me back to life. It has reminded me that kindness still exists. It showed me that there are still people out there who will enjoy talking to you about almost anything, from the silliest things to the most serious, and they will not judge or take advantage of you. People who just genuinely enjoy each other...

Audrey and Siegfried (now my favourites) became my comfort. I have been thinking about them non-stop these past couple of months, and I just want to be part of a warm space again where I can talk freely about things I enjoy. I have read SO many fanfics about them. And it made days bearable. To the AxS fanfic writers—you know who you are—thank you!

I can't promise to be as active as before, but I’m taking it step by step until I feel confident enough to express myself like I used to.

As a small personal offering, here are two videos I recently edited over the past few days. Working on them gave me the courage to return and share something I love. Also, I just felt like I couldn’t come back empty-handed after all those months. (Mrs. Hall would probably tell me I’m being daft for thinking that way 😅) But here goes (both are for public viewing, btw)

Once again, thank you! I truly can’t wait to dive into the most random and chaotic theories and revel in this space with you all! 🤞🏽🤞🏽

[ultrakill-confessions]

No idea if this goes against the rules, I re-read them a bit to make sure, though I'm not 100% confident. This post isn't intended as a vent, although it may read as one. ULTRAKILL has both helped and warped(?) parts of my life. I have a really horrible fixation on ULTRAKILL. I don't tend to scale things because trying to say "I'm a bigger fan than you are because X, Y and Z!!!1!1!" has always pissed me off and generally rubs me the wrong way. However, for me, I do feel like this is in a similar vein (vein like castle v-), and is GENUINELY to a worrying degree imo. Maybe someone else can relate? Unsure.

For context on some of this, I deal with a dissociative disorder, and I'm a split of V1. Even with that, I can only think of one other instance where it complicated an interest of ours this badly. I think about ULTRAKILL every hour on the hour, I'm not even sure if I go ten minutes w/o thinking about it. And I live a healthy (relatively) life! I'm able to do things, go outside, enjoy life to the best of my ability, hold a job, college, etc. and have gotten better w/ socializing (autism really messes w/ this one); I am just fucking insane about ULTRAKILL. This shit consumes a large chunk of my frontal lobe, hand to God. I constantly plan out and/or make fanfictions (though never post em because being an ao3 author is a little spooky, can't lie gehshe), drawings, animations. Dawg I even get GYM MOTIVATION from ULTRAKILL. Body goals? THE MACHINE. I listen to the soundtrack while I work out (my bias to Order, Death of God's Will, Colliding Stars and The Abyss and the Serpent really poke out here). In fact, ULTRAKILL even helped with my gender and sexual (not inherently trying to be NSFW here) identities! Legitimately made me come to the realization that we might align more with being agender than transmasculine, and that we have no idea what our disaster of a sexuality is collectively, so we just say queer! And even though it's still hard to express ourselves, that has helped so much in feeling more .. at comfort? Correct? I dunno. There’s also a lack of need for labels at all now. It feels so fuckin’ goofy to say this because it HAS consumed a part of my life to the point where I feel like I'm peak brain-rotting at times, however it's also really helped, too?? Like in the most oxymoronic way ULTRAKILL has helped me develop as a person. The imaginary scenarios and art I use aids me in my expression and thought and even brings out more of my creativity. Ironically, despite not really wanting to be perceived as a human being, it has made me feel more like a person. I have a love-hate relationship with it only for the intensity of how much I adore it. It makes me upset when I no longer feel like I’m “me” enough, and yet ironically it has helped me to be healthier in other areas. lowkey use it to cope w/ the religious trauma sometimes too haha I will say, though, for a while I thought (and still sometimes do think) it was ruining my mental state. The identity issues, artist envy, missing my source/individuals from it (+ pseudo-memories and heavy dissociation as a whole if I'm being real), and general hyperfixation woes get very heavy at times. Interest so bad I have to look away sometimes when I see voice actor work, SFM's, etc. Not very proud of that. I never express these issues heavily to anybody except my sibling and a few close friends, simply due to the nature of people, especially on the internet, along with the complexity of having to explain an illness that is so severely stigmatized. My current issue is just holding back from spending my money on merch lmao (I may just draw myself with it to cope /hj). I am cringe and I will soon be free! Apologies if this post is depressing and/or repetitive. uhh, I've seen some anons name themselves, so camaraderie anon here?? LOL sorry. (p.s shoutout to the sisyphus likers and people who hate his mischaracterization YOU ARE THE REAL ONES!!!)

-

[odessa-castle]

I'm bouncing around a larger post about Nishiki and the mortifying ordeal of being known, but in the meantime I'm thinking about Nishiki and Kiryu and how the clothes make (or don't make) the man. Like, beyond my visceral horror that Kiryu begged Nishiki to pick out a safe and boring suit for him in Y0 and then said he was envisioning something purple with gold stripes.

I'm thinking about Nishiki's incredible sensitivity to image and his need to control how he's perceived. I'm thinking about Kiryu's inability to let go of the past. I'm thinking about how KIryu dresses like who he thinks he is, and Nishiki dresses like who he thinks he wants to be.

There's some interesting incidental dialogue between Nishiki and Kiryu in Y0 while they're en route to the men's suit store. I wish it wasn't so easy to miss, because there's a lot to unpack here. (I'm just transcribing the English in-game subtitles here; I don't speak Japanese so I have no idea how loose vs. direct the localization is in this part.)

NISHIKI: …now that I think about it, you've been dressing like an old man since we were kids. KIRYU: Have I? NISHIKI: Yeah. The few times we got to pick our clothes, it was always like, "you're choosing THAT?" NISHIKI: I wouldn't say you're a plain guy…You'd pick shirts with weird prints though. KIRYU: Guess I forgot all that. It's weirder to me that you haven't. NISHIKI: Well, confession time. You're why I started caring about fashion. I swore I'd never go out dressed like you. KIRYU: Come on, I'm not THAT bad. [we have already discussed why kiryu is, in fact, that bad.] NISHIKI: [laughing] Aww, did I hurt your feelings? NISHIKI: Well, this time you've got me with you. I'll see my bro gets taken care of. KIRYU: Heh. What an honor. NISHIKI: Leave it to me.

Nishiki doesn't bring up Sunflower Orphanage much; when he does share memories of his childhood, those memories are kind of painful (see: "do orphans not get to dream?"). Kiryu's surprised that Nishiki remembers how they dressed as kids, but it makes sense that wearing a limited selection of hand-me-downs stuck with Nishiki so strongly. His clothes announced his poverty, and they weren't even his -- he had to share them with the other orphans, so what he wore showed he belonged to yet another stigmatized group. And I'm sure people picked up on those visual signals, especially other kids. Kids can be vicious, and appearance is an easy and immediate target! We don't know for sure how young Nishiki interacted with his peers and teachers, but given what the Morning Glory kids go through in Y3 (and given, like, everything about Nishiki), he probably didn't have a great time.

Kiryu frames his childhood as poor but loving, and places much more emphasis on the latter. There might be some rose-colored glasses at work there -- let's look at the flashback where Kazama tries (and fails) to violently dissuade Kiryu and Nishiki from joining the yakuza.

KIRYU: I owe you everything, but this isn’t about that. [...] We’ve looked up to you for all this time. Your car. Your confidence… The way everybody bows to you. We idolized you. I want that life, too. Is that so wrong!?

Nishiki doesn't really speak in this flashback, but like, Kiryu uses "we" enough for us to draw some obvious conclusions about Nishiki's own motivations. That being said, I don't think Kiryu's being dishonest or disingenuous when he describes his childhood as happy, and himself as well-loved. He's not ashamed of his upbringing, and he doesn't hide where he came from. Nishiki seems to have the inverse view. It's not that he doesn't love (at least some of) the people he grew up with, but what comes up first for him is what he didn't have. He didn't have money. He didn't have respect. He didn't have a cure for his little sister. He didn't have a lot of choice, right down to the clothes he wore.

(There's a whole other essay here about why Kiryu's and Nishiki's perspectives diverge on this, but I'm trying to limit the scope of this post. Suffice to say that, while I don't think game canon gives a timeline, I do think Nishiki was a little older when his parents were killed -- old enough that he actually remembers them, at least.)

The same mindset fuels Nishiki's interest in fashion. Yeah, part of it is that he's ribbing Kiryu, but I think it goes deeper than Kiryu wearing ugly shirts. Nishiki doesn't want people to look at him and see what's missing. Fashion isn't a means of personal expression for him, really. It's a message. It's the interplay of knowledge and resources and presentation: knowing what clothes read as successful and trendy and expensive, being able to afford those things, and convincing people that your successful important outfit makes you a successful important person. And he's not wrong about the social dimensions of fashion.

NISHIKI: Try sporting a suit that runs 500 grand for once. Trust me, you’ll see the world in a whole new light. KIRYU: Fashion’s not my thing. Besides, Kazama-san never wore flashy clothes. NISHIKI: You do realize he’s the family captain, right? Number two in the whole Dojima operation? You get to that level, you can wear whatever you damn well please. But for the rest of us, “flashy” is part of the business. KIRYU: So that fancy new car you bought was just “business”. NISHIKI: Yeah, and that fancy lighter of mine, too. Which you still haven’t given back. KIRYU: You want to play the rich guy, quit being so stingy. NISHIKI: But you get what I’m saying, right? People see the expensive car, the designer jacket, and the gleam of that little Dojima pin, they pay attention. A yakuza’s only as good as his image. [...] Take your buddy today. These squeaky-clean idiots, borrowing money just to blow on tits and booze… Nobody in this town gives a crap about substance. What you see is what you get.

That's our first take on one of the major themes of the game: what does it mean to be yakuza? Again, there is truth to what Nishiki's saying here, particularly in terms of the ethos of the eighties. I'm not an expert on the bubble era, but the worldbuilding in the game speaks for itself. People hail taxis with 10,000-yen bills. You punch money out of punks during random street battles. Nishiki keeps a personal bottle of high-end booze at a bar he's visited twice, mostly because he "can’t stand being taken for a bum." The act of spending is important, not what you're spending it on.

Nishiki's outfit in Y0 is perfectly suited (heh) to that outlook. And look, I might be inviting controversy here, but in context, I think it's a werq. Yes, it's loud. But the silhouette -- squared shoulders, single breasted, thinner peaked lapel -- is right on trend for the time period, and it fits him well. The colors look good on him. The bold pattern (no, it's not animal print) under the solid maroon is a risk, but he pulls it off. And excess aside, he knows when to pull back on the accessories. It's bright and confident and memorable, and boy would Nishiki like to be all of those things.

Also -- and importantly -- Kiryu would never go out dressed like that. Because we can't talk about Nishiki and Kiryu without talking about Nishiki's Mt. Fuji-sized inferiority complex. Mastering image doesn't just make Nishiki stand out; it makes him stand out from Kiryu. Let's go back to the beginning of the game.

NISHIKI: I’ll admit, though, you’re finally starting to look the part. You make a pretty convincing yakuza. You’re done with collections today, right? KIRYU: Yeah. NISHIKI: Good. That should put Kazama-san’s mind at ease a bit. KIRYU: Heh, dunno about that. But he always knew all I could do is fight. You’re the one who’s good at the dance.

Nishiki then calls attention to the "rags" that Kiryu's wearing, which...is not an unfair assessment. (TUCK IN YOUR SHIRT, KIRYU. HEM YOUR PANTS.) As the two of them walk around Kamurocho, Nishiki offers Kiryu plenty of hot tips, from meeting girls to making big bucks to cozying up to the brass. But even when Nishiki's opining on his area of expertise, there's a competitive edge to it. "You asking me to pick out clothes for you means you admit you have terrible taste," he tells Kiryu on the way to the suit shop. Kiryu tells him to shut up, but there's no actual hurt behind it. Kiryu doesn't really care that his taste in clothes sucks. Fashion isn't important to him. Most of the things Nishiki knows so much about don't really matter to Kiryu. And that makes Nishiki feel more insecure! Because if Kiryu rolls out of bed looking like a yakuza, if Nishiki's image counseling sessions aren't helpful or meaningful, if Kiryu can skip the dance and get to the top on the strength of his fists and convictions, then who cares about Nishiki's 500 grand suit or his hourlong hair care routine? If image isn't what makes a yakuza, what does that make Nishiki?

At the end of Chapter 6, Nishiki tries to look out for Kiryu again -- this time, by granting him a merciful death before the Dojima Family drags him to the Hole. It's one of my favorite scenes in the game. Nishiki's crying too hard to aim the gun properly; Kiryu tells him to man up and shoot. Finally, Nishiki collapses.

NISHIKI: Can’t do it… How could I shoot you!? Without you, I’ll always be nothing. Can’t make it as a yakuza… No. I wouldn’t even still be alive now if I didn’t have you beside me! I’m just… If you’re not with me, I’m useless! Nothing means anything!

Mastering image hasn't granted Nishiki anything of substance. At the end of the day, Nishiki's playing dress-up, and he knows it.

And I'm almost certainly getting into overthinking-this territory now (if I haven't gotten there already), but I kind of like the spin this puts on Nishiki ripping his expensive suit off in Chapter 14 when he decides to fight the Dojima Family at Kiryu's side. Like yes, ripping off your outer layers to get at the naked (so to speak) truth -- your irezumi, and what it represents -- is just Yakuza Storytelling 101. It's decisive, it's kind of dumb, it's great, it gets me hyped every time. But I like that Nishiki's honest answer to "what does it mean to be a yakuza?" isn't about looking the part. I am genuinely trying not to end this paragraph by saying that Nishiki must become like a dragon, but like...you get where I'm going with this.

Of course, Nishiki's back to playing dress-up in Y1/Kiwami. I'm not the first to call the Patriarch Nishikiyama look a glow-down (though I like the patterned white tie). Like, fashion-conscious Nishiki would look good in a Hedi Slimane/Tom Ford-esque skinny black suit. But he picks a silhouette you'd expect to see on a much older man, torso-swallowing pants and all. The slicked-back hair doesn't help. He's just so transparently trying to look bigger and broader and older, and he doesn't pull it off. Big Bad Patriarch isn't a good look for him, in any sense of the phrase.

A final thought: Kiryu's clothes, and Nishiki's commentary on them, are the subject of their first conversation in Y0 -- and of their last. Kiryu's costume progression in Y0 is a pretty obvious commentary on his journey, to the point where Kiryu and Nishiki explicitly call attention to the color connotations in their final exchange. As a Dojima grunt, he wears black, and it doesn't look good on him because "brutish thug who keeps his head down and does what he's told" isn't a role he's comfortable with. He wears white when he works in real estate, but the change in color isn't enough to sell anyone on his transformation into a civilian. Although it's a little rich for Oda "Red Clown Shoes" Jun to chide someone for not wearing a proper suit. At the end of the game, Kiryu's in his classic grey suit, and well, the game spells it out:

KIRYU: I’m not feeling black or white these days. This is where I’m at right now. I chose it myself. I’m making it a fresh start. NISHIKI: Fine, fine. See if I care! Wear it the rest of your life!

Nishiki, dismayed, tells Kiryu that the grey suit already looks dated, but for Kiryu, "fresh start" doesn't mean "on trend". His image might be out of step with how other yakuza view themselves, or want to be seen, but if he's always going to look like a yakuza, he might as well stake his claim on what being a yakuza means. Still, it's telling that, even as a young man, Kiryu looks like a throwback to an earlier era. As the series progresses, the games hammer this home more and more. How many antagonists tell Kiryu that he's out of touch with the modern world, that he represents a version of the yakuza that no longer exists, that it's time for him to make way for the next generation?

"Wear it the rest of your life!" is a funny little in-joke, yeah, but...it's a little sad when you think about it, isn't it? Kiryu gets new outfits from Y3 on -- and in every game, he ultimately puts the suit back on and heads to Kamurocho. It's exactly of a piece with how Kiryu views being yakuza. We, and he, can debate the exact extent of his retirement from the Tojo Clan's affairs, but the yakuza isn't a career for Kiryu, it's a set of beliefs he carries with him. He wears the suit the same way he wears the dragon on his back: as an indelible part of his self-image.

[gorgeouslypink]

hii pink. i'm a little scared to post this publicly but honestly what's the worst that could happen LMAO.

anyways,, i'm in a little bit of a rough spot w the void. i've reached the point where i can confidently say that i've had enough epiphanies to know that i'm doing everything absolutely right— i know that i'm the operant power and that there's nothing beyond or above me. every morning before my 'attempts' i pep talk myself/subconscious and basically remind myself that i have no limits and there's nothing i can't achieve and all i need to do is decide. i go in so confident and completely convinced that this is 'the one',, i affirm to keep my mind focused and place my awareness on being one w myself. i see the void as a state like any other. everything about my physical body and realm is a product of my assumptions so i know i don't have to jump through hoops to separate myself from my own creations. i could go a little more into this but honestly my mindset is perfect as far as i'm concerned.

i've been like this for a few days now ?? i'm not sure how many exactly but i know it's been long enough to completely purge the old story as i never walk away from an attempt discouraged and immediately revise it. i do have a small amount of opposing thoughts from time to time but they're really weak and i shut down them down immediately with a "these thoughts are not mine and have nothing to do with me".

i'm sorry this is a lot but i just wanted to give insight on my situation before i ask why i haven't 100% tapped in yet. i completely understand if you don't have any advice for me,, i'll keep persisting no matter what.

also to anyone else who might see this; it might not mean much but please don't be discouraged by my situation !!! you and i are totally different beings so my lack of complete success has absolutely nothing to do with you,, keep pushing and don't mind me :)

Hi love! I honestly stay away from LOA asks because I didn't use LOA during my own void journey and I have not researched it enough to be at a degree of giving others advice on it, as well as my opinion that the law is very reliant of interpretation, meaning it might be understood and utilized by everyone in a different way. However, I just thought that your ask was so sweet so I'll try my best to answer. I'll start off with this quote:

"If, having read this book, having a thorough knowledge of the application and working of the law of assumption, you faithfully apply it in an effort to attain some intense desire and fail, what is the reason? If, to the question "Did you persist enough?", you can answer "Yes" – and still the attainment of your desire was not realized, what is the reason for failure?

The answer to this is the most important factor in the successful use of the law of assumption.

The time it takes your assumption to become fact, your desire to be fulfilled, is directly proportionate to the naturalness of your feeling of already being what you want to be – of already having what you desire."

-Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness

During my own void journey, I struggled with the law. There are a few things that I manifested but others, I struggled with, including the void and I ended up entering without LOA. However, now as I've helped others on their void journeys, and have read more posts from all the amazing bloggers here as well Neville's work itself, I've realized that the thing that I was missing from my manifestation equation was exactly this: feeling my desire to be natural.

And how do you feel your desire to be natural?

"The essential feeling of naturalness can be achieved by persistently filling your consciousness with imagination – imagining yourself being what you want to be or having what you desire."

-Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness

So the key things to take away so far is that for our desire to come into fruition, we ourselves must rest easy in the feeling of naturalness (It needs to seem natural to you). How do you do this? Be persistently imagining yourself with your desire, imagine and feel it until it feels natural to you.

This is kind of like when you keep practicing something, like a presentation over and over, pretending like you're acctually presenting. At first, you kind of forget words here and there and it just feels unnatural but as you keep practicing, doesn't it feel way more natural and eventually it is just natural and you know youre going to wing it? Same thing applies to the void. You need to keep imagining that you've already entered, with whatever scenario that may be, over and over so that entering the void and succeeding feels natural to you.

This is why I personally vouch for SATS. In SATS, you turn to your imagination and feel yourself in the feeling of the wish fufilled and keep repeating until you fall asleep, so that you fall asleep in the state of the wish fufilled, allowing for you to attain a feeling of naturalness that will guarantee your desire.

You have to understand that the basis of the law is that an assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact. Anything you can assume and create with your imagination can come true, but the way to bring your desire into fruition is by attaining the feeling of naturalness and the method I personally interpret as the best way to do do is SATS, so I recommend looking into this and this post.

I hope this helps! 💗

[missycolorful]

omgg, i saw a few posts about the glass child stuff but never really got too into it bc i felt like they were always missing something. i wasn't really sure what that was until i saw your post, where you mentioned lullahs abandonment issues, and everything just clicked. it just all makes sense now bc i know one of the biggest proponents to the "chays STILL a glass child" is qphils seemingly continuing to prioritize lullah over chay, when looking back at most of said moments it does feel more like a dad making sure the child who was abandoned doesnt feel like that ever again. i also feel like some of the issues come with qphils falling into habits, lullah hasn't really needed extra help in a while, but i don't feel as if that notion has fully into qphils mind yet. i would just love if both lullah and chay got one on one time with qphil bc i love them together, but i think each of them often times holds something back for the others' sake, y'know? lullah and bads and/or chay and tubbos recent solo hangouts kinda showcase the difference in dynamic. anyways, tl;dr you have amazing insight and an attention to detail that i, and i feel like a majority of others, missed out on, and i would love to see more character analysis/insights done by you, if you're interested of course!

oh my goodness, thank you you're far too kind, haha!! 😭

yeah, tbh, I'm kinda surprised that part of Phil's reasoning was either not considered or even ignored. When he mentioned them "being alone," Tallulah's abandonment issues instantly came to mind; it's a huge part of her arc, y'know? So, yeah I can't see this as him accommodating Lullah's disabilities while disregarding Chay; rather, it was him thinking about her literal trauma. If it were switched (Chay had these issues, not Lullah), Phil would go for him in a heartbeat. Why people spun it as "he wasn't worried about Chay" is wild to me.

i also feel like some of the issues come with qphils falling into habits,

mhhm, that's about the crux of it. Yes, q!Phil has trained Tallulah in PVP , and neither he nor Chay recently hover over her during pvp, but when it comes to adjusting to how much his kids have changed, we're still getting there. And not just cuz of, like I said, being separated during Purgatory makes it hard for Phil to grasp what they went through. But bc he himself isn't quite in tune with his own emotions/trauma. It's a detriment to helping his children and growing as a parent, and is part of his own character growth that he is surely yet steadily going through.

And YES! I'd LOVE for the kids to have one-on-ones with Philza. They usually come in pairs, which y'know, is what makes a lot of these issues so difficult. The kids don't have time to be alone with their father, bc they're typically online with him at the same time. I crave that sole father/son bonding, not just bc they need it, but because I love their dynamic so much <3

tbh, i usually limit my character analysis to my main POV, sometimes others if I feel confident enough (i.e. Missa, Baghera). Last thing I wanna do is write analysis that does injustice to a character - any cc!phil fan knows this pain, both in this fandom and others lol! and also some characters I'm admittedly… kinda scared to talk about bc some fans get uber defensive if you talk about any of their negative traits; all fanbases have people like this, of course, crows are NO exception, but this one specifically just… I'd need to be prompted to discuss this character whom I won't specify haha. regardless, if you or anyone else ever wants to ask about my insights on qsmp characters, whether q!Phil or others, I'm more than willing to at least give it a try. thank you again! :)