#so will I project my more anxious and harmful habits onto them? yeah

[polybiusplayer]

Anxious habit.

[zipstick-writes]

Inktober 2020 Day 8 - Teeth

Virgil woke up slowly, feeling drained and having no recollection of anything that had happened in approximately the last 12 hours.

Damn, he thought, I must be really fucking sleep-deprived.

After a few moments of staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, Virgil sat up. He got out of bed and drew his curtains.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck why is the sun so bright?

He shut them again.

“Ughhh, I need coffee.” He said quietly. Too tired to get changed out of his pyjamas, he put on his black-and-purple-tartan hoodie on top of them. He put the hood up as he knew the others would have the windows open, letting in the way too bright why is it so fucking bright sunlight, in an attempt to shield his eyes.

-

Logan was in the kitchen, smearing some Crofters strawberry jam onto a slice of toast, when Virgil came down the stairs of the shared house. And by god, he looked awful. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, which, while an unhealthy habit, Logan suspected wasn’t too far from the truth. Still, he felt the need to voice his concerns.

“Virgil, are you feeling alright?”

Virgil jumped at the voice, like he didn’t realise Logan was there.

“Yeah.” He responded, sounding very much not alright. “I just need coffee.” He said, stepping into the kitchen. “Where’s the coffee machine again?”

Logan abandoned his toast and led Virgil to the counter where the coffee maker was.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he asked. “You don’t seem very attentive. Maybe you need something other than coffee, perhaps.”

“Yeah okay, I’ll grab some mints or something.”

“Something other than sugar. Would you like some toast? You can have my slice if you’d like.”

“No thank you,” Virgil responded. “It’s yours anyway.”

“Oh it’s quite alright, I can simply make another slice and you need to eat something. You look like you’re not too far from passing out on the spot.”

Too tired to argue, Virgil accepted the toast and started fumbling with the coffee machine as if he had forgotten how it worked.

“Would you like me to help.”

“Yeah, please.”

Logan made Virgil his cup of coffee and handed it to him. Virgil took it, mumbled what sounded like a ‘thank you’ and stumbled towards the table in the living room. Logan would make sure to check that he’d eaten it later.

-

Virgil sat down at the table in the living room and set the toast down in front of him. He picked it up slowly and took a bite out of it. He chewed for a few seconds before he bit the inside of his cheek, which, while uncomfortable, was usually not this painful.

Whatever, he thought, it’s not like it’ll kill me, I guess. He continued chewing.

Oh shit can I taste blood?

“Logan!” he called into the kitchen. “I bit the inside of my cheek and it’s bleeding!”

Logan came hurrying into the room and set his toast down on the table across from Virgil’s.

“Open your mouth.” Virgil complied and Logan looked inside. Virgil noticed his eyes widening slightly, but didn’t question it. “Yeah, that’s blood. Bite down on this cloth for me,” he passed Virgil a clean white cloth, “and try not to spit, as that may worsen the bleeding.”

“Thanks, Logan.” He said, stuffing the cloth into his mouth. Logan nodded and sat down to eat his toast.

-

Roman came downstairs, sketchbook and bag of art supplies in hand, to work on an art project for school, when he saw Logan and Virgil sitting at the table, Logan munching on a slice of toast while Virgil had a cloth in his mouth. Weird, but Logan didn’t question it. Virgil had his hood up, which wouldn’t be unusual if it weren’t for the fact that he kept trying to pull it further down as if to shield his face with it. Also, he was pale. Like, really fucking pale. He looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in a month.

“Hey Virge, have you slept? You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Roman. Much appreciated.” He quipped, but he sounded so tired that any bite it might’ve been intended to contain was gone.

“Yeah, okay, enough with the sarcasm. You honestly look really tired, you should probably get some sleep. Go take a nap or something.”

“But I just woke up!”

“Well you sure don’t look like it. Go back to sleep.”

“Ugh, fine.” He said finally, grumbling under his breath but still very much audibly about stupid princes and their stupid perfect sleep schedules.

Virgil yawned, and why are his teeth so damn sharp? It looked as if he’d put in some of those fake Halloween vampire fangs, only less cheap plastic and more oh my god are those his actual teeth?

Roman pointedly ignored Virgil's strangely large teeth and went into the kitchen for some cereal.

-

It was two days later, and no-one in the house had seen Virgil.

Patton was beginning to get seriously concerned.

“Roman, when was the last time you saw Virgil?”

“I haven't seen him since I told him to take a nap on Wednesday.”

“Roman, that was two days ago!” He said, beginning to panic. “He hasn’t even come down for coffee! Do you know how unlike Virgil that is?”

“How about we go and see how he is, just to make sure he’s alright? You know how he is, sometimes he’ll shut himself in his room and forget to have food. A bad habit, but undertandable.” Logan reasoned.

“Yeah, but not for two whole days!” Patton exclaimed. “Come on, we gotta check on him right now!”

-

Logan knocked on Virgil’s bedroom door. No response, not even a grumble. Strange, he thought, that is highly unlike Virgil.

“Virgil, are you okay in there, kiddo?” Patton called anxiously. Still no response.

“We’ll come in now if you don’t answer!” Roman added.

Logan opened the door and stepped into Virgil’s room. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off, and Virgil was in bed, asleep. Logan noted idly that he was still wearing his hoodie.

“Virgil, are you feeling all right?” Patton asked worriedly, walking up to the bed. “We haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

No response. I never realised Virgil slept that deeply, Logan thought

“Virgil, buddy, you gonna wake up?”

Patton lightly shook Virgil’s shoulder. This, it seemed, was enough to wake him, up as he rolled oven in bed and yawned.

His teeth are unnaturally sharp, Logan noted.

Virgil sat up in bed.

“That’s gotta be the best sleep I’ve had in years. How long have I been out?”

“Uh, well.. a bit longer than we were expecting you to sleep, but I’m sure it’s fine-“

“Patton, how long did I sleep?”

“Two days.” Roman butted in, as h knew Patton would likely struggle getting it out.

“Two days?! I didn’t know that was possible!” Virgil exclaimed, turning to Logan. “There’s no way that’s possible, right?”

“Well, ordinarily no, but you’ve been asleep in here for two days, there’s no disputing that.”

“Oh, okay, I gue-“

Virgil yawned again, cutting himself off.

Patton was looking at him strangely. And so was Roman. And Logan.

“What? What is it now?”

“Well the thing is, kiddo, you've kinda got... Fangs.”

Virgil leveled them with an unimpressed stare.

“Seriously? You expect me to fall for that? My teeth seemed perfectly normal yesterd- Well I guess it would’ve been two days ago, wouldn’t it? Either way, the point still stands. I know you’re messing with me.”

“Actually, perhaps it would be better if you were to see for yourself.” Logan said. “How about you look in the bathroom mirror? Then you’ll see that what we’re saying is indeed not a falsehood.”

“Fine.”

-

Virgil let himself be dragged into the bathroom by Roman, and opened his mouth.

“Well shit, I guess I do have fangs.”

-

“You want some toast, Virge?” Roman called from the kitchen.

“I'm not really feeling hungry actually.”

“Alright then.”

Just then, Patton opened the curtains, letting sunlight pour in.

“Agh, why is it so fucking bright?” Virgil complained.

“Language, Virgil.” Patton scolded. “It’s not even that bright, anyway.”

“I don’t care, just close it! It’s hurting my eyes!”

“Alright, sorry kiddo.”

“Virgil?” Logan called from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been doing some research, and you’ve been displaying all the signs of vampirism. In other words, I believe that there’s a possibility you may be a vampire.”

“Logan, I get that you’re the smart one and all that, but I’ll have to disagree there.” Roman piped up. “As much as I love a good vampire tale, they’re fictional. Made up. Not real.”

“Oh they’re real. They just haven’t been very well documented. Very little research has been conducted and so there’s not much we can know at the moment about them, but they are very much real.”

“Okay, nerd. Guess I can’t refute that.”

Virgil was beginning to look anxious.

“Does this mean I’ll have to drink blood to survive?”

“Well, you never had any negative reaction to the toast I gave you on Wednesday, and based on what scientists do know, Vampires only need blood to speed up healing. The onl food that is actually harmful to you would be garlic.”

“He can’t eat garlic? Can we change him back?”

“Relax, Roman. I’m perfectly fine with avoiding garlic. It’s a bit of a bummer but I can deal with it.”

“If you say so, but don’t come crying to me when you’re craving garlic bread “

“Trust me, I won’t.” Virgil responded, glaring at Roman, though there was a slight smirk on his lips and a joking tone to his voice.

“So he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t eat garlic?” Patton asked.

“Yes, that is correct.” Logan replied

“But what about when we go out? What will the sun do?”

“I don’t go outside anyway so why does it matter?” Virgil joked.

“Based on what I’ve gathered, while prolonged exposure to the sun can have some serious negative health effects, exposure for a short length of time can be painful, but is not necessarily harmful. However, I do recommend that when outside you apply sunscreen to reduce any effects on your health it may cause.” Logan explained.

“Alright, got it, thanks Logan. Now that that’s settled I’m going back to my room to get some homework done. Bye.” Virgil said, and disappeared up the stairs.

“Well, today’s been interesting.” Said Roman.

"Yeah," Patton responded. "Yeah, it sure has."

[twinkbouttapounce]

@geraltwhumpweek

TITLE: Think Happy Thoughts

PROMPT DAY: Day 2: Potions

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: Recreational drug use, self harm, bad trip as viewed by a sober onlooker

SUMMARY: Geralt takes some White Gull in the woods while Jaskier supervises. His high is ruined before it even really begins.

WORD COUNT: 1,987

AUTHOR’S NOTES: researching does tend to be my favorite part of writing so I had a lot of fun with this one :) It can be read pre-relationship geraskier if you so choose.

Geralt was an anxious person, Jaskier had come to find, and as such it did not shock him in the slightest when Geralt expressed his habit of using certain perception-altering substances recreationally.

While they had done a number of said substances together, Jaskier had yet to see Geralt on White Gull. It was intriguing to learn that there were witcher-specific hallucinogens, and Jaskier had jumped at the opportunity to assist Geralt through his high.

He’s had a vague idea of what to expect. Geralt had given a brief overview of the standard effects, namely describing the warm floaty feeling he took the unfinished potion for. He would likely hallucinate, and he would be overly emotional, but he would be calm. The calm seemed to be Geralt’s favorite part, a stilling to the endless buzz in his head. Jaskier could definitely appreciate that, having tried a number of herbs and elixirs to still his own thoughts.

Geralt had taken the potion when they set up camp for the night, just before the sun had started to set. An hour later the effects began to take hold.

It started with a softening in Geralt’s eyes. Jaskier knew he took care to keep his pupils a relatively human size but seeing them expand wider, wider, until only a thin ring of gold surrounded the dewy black was a gorgeous experience. The giggling was the next most apparent. Geralt had a delightful way of wrinkling his nose when he giggled, though he never did it sober, and the sluggish way he paused before Jaskier’s jokes seemed to click made it all the better.

It was around when Geralt began contentedly staring off into space for lengthening periods of time that things started going downhill.

A couple passing through approached them, amicable as any until they saw Geralt. Even with his posture loose, armor shed, and expression soft it was clear who Geralt was. If his inhuman eyes were not enough, then his hair and nearby swords were, especially with how his reputation as the White Wolf had been gaining traction.

“Witcher,” they had hissed, and Geralt’s smile had faltered.

Seeing as he could hardly let passing strangers ruin his friend’s good mood Jaskier stood to intervene.

“How might I help you this evening?” He greeted, shifting their attention from Geralt to himself.

“We don’t need help from anyone who associates with that Butcher,” the husband had replied.

Jaskier would have had half a mind to fight the couple for that, however, he didn’t think Geralt would appreciate the effort even in his heightened state. He tried for diplomacy but the insults continued. Murderer, freak, demon, the words piled until Jaskier could tolerate no more.

“It’s getting rather late, if you don’t need anything I think it might be best for you to move along and find a nice place to camp, yeah?”

The couple seemed to deliberately miss the point, moving closer instead. It was only when Jaskier made casual mention of needing to help Geralt sharpen his swords that the pair took the hint and scurried off into the deepening night.

Jaskier sat back next to Geralt with a huff, some sarcastic comment on his tongue. The witcher tensed. Frowning, Jaskier followed the other’s gaze into the forest and found not so much as a falling leaf. Geralt started to shake and nervousness stirred in Jaskier’s belly. Geralt was supposed to be calm, not look minutes away from bursting into tears. He waved a hand in front of the witcher’s face and called his name in the hopes of inspiring a reaction.

Rather than turning to the bard or swatting at his hand Geralt shrunk in on himself, muttering a sheepish “I’m sorry.” Alarm reared its head in Jaskier’s chest. Geralt looked smaller than the bard had ever seen him as his large, unfocused eyes stared through something in the distance. The way the growing moonlight pooled in his eyes made Geralt look entirely too vulnerable.

Jaskier’s nerves multiplied. He knelt before Geralt and put his hands on the witcher’s knees. Geralt flinched back from the touch, near falling over the log he had been sitting on. Jaskier hesitantly called for him again, only for Geralt to scramble back, more apologies falling from his lips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he begged. “I tried not to, I tried—”

Geralt cut off suddenly and his head whipped to one side.

“Geralt, you’re scaring me. I need you to talk to me.” Jaskier ignored the shake in his voice as he tried again.

The witcher gave no sign of acknowledgment. His hands dug into the ground, a hurt expression morphing features that had been so relaxed less than an hour ago. Geralt flinched away from nothing. A whimper built in his throat until it became a sob.

When the first tears ran down Geralt’s face Jaskier began panicking in earnest. Geralt reached for his swords with desperate hands and Jaskierer lunged to get to them first. Nothing good could come of Geralt having a weapon at the moment. He ignored Geralt’s sob, threw the swords as far as he could, and rushed into their tent for a blanket. Jaskier wrapped Geralt in the fabric before half dragging him onto a bedroll.

In need of some release for his nervous energy, Jaskier talked. He couldn’t be sure what Geralt was seeing, only that it scared him, made the witcher look young and afraid. His hands ran over Geralt’s back as the man rocked. For every apology from Geralt, there was a reassurance that he had done his best from Jaskier.

Geralt’s crying subsided eventually, replaced by an uneasy silence. Jaskier laid an arm over the man’s shoulders and pulled him close. The witcher shook where he was pressed into Jaskier’s side, and, unsure what else to do, he began humming a lullaby. For a bit, it seemed Geralt might have gotten through the worst of it.

When Jaskier was close to nodding off Geralt suddenly began thrashing. He cried out as if struck, fought to rid himself of the blanket and make it out the tent. The witcher stumbled to find his swords again. The nearest blade happened to be Jaskier’s knife, on the ground near where they had been sitting earlier. Geralt unsheathed the dagger and brought it to his arm. Blood welled over the skin before Jaskier could intervene, and Geralt raised the knife to slash at his arm once more.

At his best, Jaskier may not have stood a chance against the witcher, but Geralt wasn’t at his best. The bard tackled him from behind and Geralt howled. He bucked, an uncoordinated wildness to his actions, but Jaskier held on. He wrestled the knife from Geralt’s white knuckles, threw it away, and managed to pin Geralt’s wrists beneath his knees with the use of his full weight.

The broken cries that fell from Geralt’s mouth made Jaskier’s chest ache but he held steady. He had seen the scars on Geralt’s thighs and knew no monster or person could be responsible for the sheer number except Geralt himself. With his judgment impaired Jaskier couldn’t dare to hope Geralt would hold any care for his own safety. It was only after the witcher fell into another crying spell that Jaskier moved. Slowly, the bard let Geralt go bit by bit. When he was fully disentangled Jaskier stood.

With frantic motions, Jaskier gathered anything his panicked brain recognized as dangerous and threw it into Roach’s saddlebag. He fastened the bag to Roach, forgoing any of her riding gear in favor of getting back to Geralt sooner. He petted her nose in thanks before rushing back to the tent, assured that should Geralt try to hurt himself he would need to hunt Roach down first.

When Jaskier returned to Geralt the witcher was scratching angry red marks into his arms as he hugged himself. A litany of pleads, apologies and disconnected words fell from Geralt’s mouth, a match to the tears falling from his eyes

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed.

He pulled Geralt’s hands away from the bloody lines and held them to his own chest. Geralt looked at him and Jaskier let himself hope it was with recognition. The witcher’s eyes locked onto Jaskier’s throat.

“I’m sorry, Jask,” he said.

It was in no way the recognition Jaskier had wanted. He tried to assure Geralt he was fine, that he had long forgiven him for his misspoken wish, but Geralt’s eyes were still unfocused and he had no way to be sure his words were coming through.

The rest of the night proceeded in similar bouts of activity and stillness. Jaskier alternated between pinning Geralt’s hands and stroking his back. Geralt fell asleep sometime in the early morning before dawn, clutching Jaskier to his chest. When the sun rose and Geralt opened his tear-puffy eyes again the bard felt the tension of the night finally leave him.

“Back with me Dearheart?” Jaskier asked sleepily.

Geralt nodded, eyes still unguarded but aware.

“I… I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

Jaskier hummed and pulled Geralt closer. Of course it wasn’t supposed to go like that, he wanted to say. Instead, he asked, “Are you ok?”

Geralt seemed shocked by Jaskier’s question but nodded hesitantly. Memories of Geralt shouting with terrified eyes, of pulling the witcher’s hands from bloody tears in his skin, plagued Jaskier’s mind despite the exhaustion weighing on his body.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he started. “But it might do some good to talk about what you saw. You were yelling a lot but I couldn’t figure out what at.”

Geralt looked away and a shudder ran through him. He was quiet for a long time, long enough Jaskier thought he might be stubborn and refuse to talk. When Geralt finally spoke his voice was faint and heavy with emotion.

“Just… people. People I let down. You, Vesemir, Visenna, Ren—” he cut himself off and restarted. “People that died because of me and… the Trials. A lot of boys died during the Trials.”

Jaskier was hardly awake enough to process the enormity of Geralt’s near ninety years of cumulative guilt but he knew Geralt needed him, so he gave it his best.

“You haven’t let me down. And I’m not dead. The one time you almost killed me you didn’t, and every other time I’ve nearly died you’ve kept it from happening. I’ve met Vesemir, and I don’t think he would say you’ve let him down either. Also your mother is a thistle worth less than the ground she grows in. Fuck her and her opinions.”

It wasn’t his most eloquent, but it was enough for Geralt to look at him again. Fear seeped from the witcher’s shoulders in little measures until he looked himself again, no longer scared and young, but with hints of vulnerability still clinging.

“Right, let’s get you cleaned up,” Jaskier said after a moment. “You hurt yourself a couple times, got me all in a huff and covered in blood.”

Geralt looked down and made a face as if he were only just realizing how his arms ached. Jaskier gathered a cloth and one of their water skins then wiped away the flaking blood. He could feel Geralt watching him as he worked but paid him no mind. He needed a nap. When the cloth stopped coming away red Jaskier spread salve over the wounds, careful of the uneven redness around Geralt’s biceps where he had scratched himself. The bard pressed a kiss to each cut when he finished.

“matter to me,” Jaskier muttered between kisses, “You’re good and strong and beautiful and so brave. There is no shame in doing your best to help people.”

Geralt stared incredulously until the last of his injuries were cared for.

“Sometimes when I’m with you, you make me feel like a real person,” he said.

[dirtycreekwater]

Virgil scratches his neck when he's a bit nervous or shy, but when he's close to an attack he bites the skin around his nails. The others always know when they need to help calm him down to avoid an attack because of it.

ooh i bite/pick/dig at my skin when im like substantially anxious this should be fun to write (why is projecting your problems on your fave characters and torturing them so much fun???)

tw for self harm

~

bite. pick. bite. bite. pick. bite. pick. dig.

Just bite, and pick, and dig until the skin is raw. Bite, and pick, and dig until you can’t even feel your fingers anymore. Bite, pick, dig, breathe. Deep breaths. Bite, pick, dig. Dig, bite, pick. Breathe. Fucking breathe. You’re okay. Everything’s fine. No reason to panic. Thomas is okay. The others are okay. You’re okay.

pick. bite. bite. bite. pick. pick. bite. breathe. goddamn it breathe. pick. bite.

“Kiddo? Hey, kiddo. Look at me.”

Virgil looks at Patton. He’s worried. Great. Fucking idiot. Worrying the others for no reason. Everything’s fine. Stop doing this. Idiot.

“Virgil, if you can hear me breathe in for four seconds.”

No, Logan. No, he can’t. Breathing properly is hard. Biting is easier. Picking is easier. Digging is easier.

pick. bite. bite. bite. pick. dig until you bleed.

“Virgil, honey. Stop doing that.”

Patton grabs Virgil’s hands, and makes him stop. He wishes he didn’t. It was the only thing making him feel slightly better.

“Virgil, you have to breathe.”

He stopped breathing? But he was. It was sporadic, but he was definitely breathing. Why was breathing so hard? And why did it feel like there were butterflies that were on fire flying around in his stomach? God, why.

“Patton let go of his hands. Roman back up.”

Oh, god. They were all with him. They were way too close, but his hands are free now at least.

pick. pick. pick. dig. dig. dig.

“Virgil, no. Come on. Listen to me. Breathe. In for four, three, two, one.. Hold it for seven, six, five, four, three, two, one… There, now out for eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Good job. Let’s do it again, yeah?”

Logan ran Virgil through the exercise again, and again until his breathing evened out, and his hands were safe from the biting, picking, and digging.

“Come now, Anxiety. We have to clean your hands.”

Virgil reluctantly let Logan bring him to the bathroom. There Logan washed his hands with warm water, and soap then bandaged any open wounds.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Logan gives Virgil a look of sympathy. Virgil looks away in shame.

“Virgil, it’s okay. You can’t help it.”

Virgil looks back at Logan, and before he can stop himself lunges forward, and wraps his arms around his neck, and tries in vain to wrap his legs around his waist. Logan stumbles a bit, but is quick to catch Virgil.

“Hey, you’re okay.”

Virgil doesn’t believe that. He cries into Logan’s chest, and Logan isn’t really sure what to do. He just hugs him tighter, and soothes circles into his back hoping it’s helping at least a little.

Luckily Patton shows up, and takes Virgil into his own arms. Virgil immediately curls up to him, and grips onto his cardigan for dear life.

“Come on, kiddo. You should take a nap.”

No, he can’t. He has to make sure Thomas is okay. Thomas is more important than he is. Thomas is priority. Thomas needs to be safe. Virgil needs to protect Thomas. Thomas.

“W-Wait. No. Is Thomas okay? Let me see Thomas.”

Roman steps up, and places a gentle hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Thomas is okay, Verge. Promise. Focus on yourself for right now.”

Okay. Thomas is okay. That’s good. What isn’t good is the pain in Virgil’s hands he’s just now realizing is there. Fuck, how much damage did he do? He tries to move the bandages to see, but Roman quickly stops him.

“Don’t do that. You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

Okay, fine, but the urges to resume the self harm are still there. Apparently this is evident on his face because Logan, the analytical idiot he is, suggests a solution.

“You should keep your hands occupied so you are not tempted to do this again. Do you want one of your fidget devices?”

Virgil was sick of depending on those stupid things. Yeah, they helped, but that’s dumb, and he hates it.

“No.”

Logan seems surprised, and now doesn’t really know what to do.

“How about.. two of us hold your hands?”

Virgil’s face heats up at Roman’s words, but he’d be lying if he said that sounded like an awful idea.

“O-Okay..”

His voice sounded so weak, and stupid. He really, really wanted to bite his hand. He needed this dumb-amazing-idea to happen real soon.

As if Patton could read his mind he quickly brought him to the couch in the common room, and sat him in his lap with his back pressed against his chest. Roman, and Logan followed; they sat on either side of Patton.

Roman, and Logan hesitantly held their hands out, and waited patiently for Virgil to take them. It took a little while, but he eventually grabbed them.

Now instead of biting, picking, and digging his own hands he was holding, squeezing, and caressing his best friend’s hands, and everything felt right again. Yeah, the urges were still there, but for now he was safe.

~

sorry this is a little different from your prompt! i wasn’t really sure how to include the neck scratching, and i really wanted to project my own issues onto poor Verge lol i hope you still like it! also this is pretty similar to the other nervous habit mini fic i did. oops? im not really sure how else to write these. hopefully ya’ll don’t mind xx