#have some pain pls

[timethehobo]

Here to make yall cry. What if we have to make a decision and this happened?

[olasketches]

two sides of the same coin

[vaggieslefteye]

HUSK, Hotel Bartender & Concierge | 1x04 - Masquerade

"Oh, I FORGOT — you're the wise-old bartender who's seen it all! Get the fuck over yourself and pour me a real drink."

[flowercrowngods]

something so monstrous pt.2

(in which kas feeds from steve and triggers a bad migraine pt.2)

🤍🌷 read part 1 here this part gets really intense on the migraine. descriptions of immense pain, fever dreams, and vomiting, some body horror imagery bc pain can be fun like that

Time and space lose all meaning as Steve remains on the precipice of something that is too violent to be called sleep, but not harsh enough yet to be unconsciousness. Real sensations evade him as everything turns into pain immediately. Even the twitch of his finger becomes a thundering blaze of blinding pain shooting through his body and settling behind his eye until he is sure he will wake up blind. 

The fear of that is everpresent, the blind spots too real to ignore every time it goes like this, and he imagines how they will grow. He imagines how they get worse every time until one day the pain inside his skull will be so immense it will take his eyesight in exchange for alleviation.

And even though it is unbearable, he opens his eyes whenever he can, just to make sure he can see still. It’s an added veil of terror that covers him whole and consumes him slowly but continually. 

At some point he notices something cold and wet being placed over his eyes, adding another layer of darkness that is welcome, even if it leaves an imprint of pressure and sensation on his forehead that makes his skin tear around it, his skull cracking and caving in beneath the touch. 

And still it helps a little, pulling him further toward consciousness but not further toward the pain itself. But Steve can only whimper weakly in response, six feet under a thick cloud of cotton-filled smog that even turns breathing into a chore, polluting his lungs with fear and horror and agony without compare.

He does fall into a fitful sleep at some point, grateful for the short reprieve, but it does nothing to alleviate his exhaustion. 

It feels like his eyeballs are being pushed into his skull for what must be hours upon hours, and the pain is so unbearable, so horrible, that he's not at all surprised when nausea rises in his chest, his body responding to its current state with confusion and a hard-reset. 

Steve keens, trying to roll onto his side, groaning at the flares of pain shooting up into his skull and down into his limbs. They only worsen the nausea and it's pure instinct that gives him the strength to sit up. 

"Kas?” he whispers, swallowing thickly against another wave. "Bathroom?” 

Instead of giving him directions or pulling him up to drag him there, Kas wastes no time. He gets up off the floor, approaching him with shuffling steps once more, and gently but quickly lifts Steve off the bed in a hold — firm, yet gentle — that brings another sting of tears to Steve's eyes. Pain and vulnerability and the need for everything to be over. That’s what makes him cry.

Still he manages to hold on, his head rolling onto Kas's shoulder, the skin of his neck blissfully cool against Steve’s overheated forehead pressing into him. 

Make it stop, he thinks. Longs. Aches. It’s supposed to be over. It’s all supposed to be over now. 

He whimpers again, and imagines that Kas is the one to softly shush him this time.

The coolness of Kas's neck is gone all too soon as the vampire sets Steve on the hard, uncomfortable bathroom floor. He doesn't go far, though, crouching down beside him and holding him up over the toilet. Steve can't see anything, but still he’s grateful that Kas left the lights off, the bathroom tinged in the same darkness as his bedroom. 

Pathetically, Steve rests his forehead on the toilet seat, chasing the coldness of it as pain and nausea reach their peak. It’s disgusting, but be’s not strong enough to care. A whine breaks from him, and he wishes Kas would leave. Even though the cold hand on his neck feels good, and even though he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up right now. 

I'm not weak, he wants to say. And maybe he does. But he can't recognise his own voice right now. 

"Not weak, maybe, but pathetic." 

No. 

"You know you are." 

Shut up. Go away. 

It doesn't make sense for Mr Munson to suddenly be here with them, to stand in the doorway and watch his nephew, who is more monster than human these days, holding up the pathetic form of Steve, who is more pain than human. More smoke than human. More vulnerable weakness than remotely human.

Go away. Eddie? I want him to go away. Tell— Go ‘way. 

The hand wanders, pulling Steve against cool skin again so his forehead rests against the toilet no longer, basking in the cold touch and the warmth of a body to hold him. 

"Safe," Kas says, and Steve wants to badly to believe him. Wants Wayne to leave, wants everyone to leave and just let him suffer in silence and solitude like always. 

Wayne starts talking again, but Steve can't hear him this time as he suddenly heaves and retches, throwing up what little he had to eat today. Over and over and over.

It goes like this for a long time. He has no idea how long. Has no idea where he even is anymore. 

The world tilts a few times when he loses his grip, his arms buckling, his hands spasming and giving out, and still he never falls. Only ever feels the cold, damp skin of Kas’s neck. 

Kas has to carry him to bed when he's done and on the brink of passing out again, and Steve doesn’t mind this time. Kas also hands him a glass of water or two before pushing him back to lie down again. That’s nice. 

The wet cloth returns, and Steve isn't aware of his surroundings for much more after that.

—— 

The next time Steve comes to, he feels like he was freshly dragged through Lover’s Lake until his lungs gave out. His head is pulsing violently, his senses are sluggish and everything feels foggy. He has no idea where he is, the room pitch black around him as he lifts a lukewarm damp cloth from his eyes. 

A soft groan falls from his lips as he stretches his aching, cramped limbs, rubbing his hands over his face and regaining the feeling in his body. Little pinpricks of phantom pain shoot through him, his mouth tastes like ash and his head protests rather violently against his pathetic attempt at sitting up. 

He is disoriented and something about his vision is still messed up, something in the depths of the room not quite right and leaving him with a dizziness he can’t quite shake, followed by a wave of anxiety that something’s wrong with his eyes. 

He blinks. Blinks again, finding more things in the strange room as he does, his sluggish brain slowly catching up and filling in the blanks.

It all comes back to him like a tidal wave when he suddenly finds himself blinking at a pair of red eyes, softly glowing and wide open. 

“Kas,” he croaks, his throat absolutely parched. 

One second he’s wincing at that, the next he finds a cool glass of water pressed into his hands before the eyes and the shadowy form they belong to retreat to the foot of the bed again. 

 “Thanks,” he murmurs, stalling as he takes a sip. Embarrassment rises in him, but he doesn’t want to apologise. The thought of that somehow makes the vulnerability that much worse, so he tries to ignore it. It’ll all be fine if they simply not acknowledge it. 

He wants to ask for the time instead, wants to know how much the migraine took from him this time, but he knows Kas doesn’t really understand the concept of it all, let alone know the numbers. 

A silence settles between them and it’s somewhere between welcome and uncomfortable. Just like everything that happens in Hawkins. It makes Steve feel like a ghost again, but this time he’s a ghost in the room, not just in his own head. He’s the one who’s out of place.

With a little sigh, he places the glass on the makeshift nightstand again and falls over onto his side. His head is mad at him for it, still feeling too fragile for sudden movements, but lying down feels better than sitting.

There’s a huff from Kas that sounds more amused than derisive, so Steve looks at him. Looks at the shimmer in those eyes before closing his own again, not wanting to be looked at right now. Not wanting to face it.

“You,” Kas says then, his voice quiet and without the edge of that animalistic growl. The sound of someone who’s not meant to speak at all. The souvenir of someone who was human once before Evil grabbed him and modified him to His liking. 

“Me,” Steve says, an automatic response, just as quiet. He’s listening. 

“How… How are…” Kas struggles, huffing in frustration at the words that refuse to come, but still it’s the most coherent Steve has ever heard him. It makes him sit up half way again; leaning his weight on one arm to focus all his foggy and cloudy attention on the vampire trying to ask him how he is feeling. 

No more words come, though, the question half finished in the air between them. But somehow it makes Steve smile. Just a little bit. This feels important. And huge.

“My head hurts,” he answers truthfully, amused when Kas’s eyes snap back to his. To search them. To communicate something.

“Hurts?” 

“Yeah. It will, for a while. Always does. Nothing to do about it, really.” He wishes he felt as indifferent to it as he sounds, but that’s just the tiredness clouding his tone. It’s fast approaching now that he knows he’s relatively safe. Now that he knows he can rest. His arm gives out and he slides, slowly this time, back to lie on the pillow. “But it’s not as bad. And the other pain is gone, so…” 

So. He could go home now. He should, probably. Ignoring the weakness in his bones and the exhaustion in his every fiber. If he closed his eyes again right now, he could fall asleep. Still, maybe he should—

“Stay,” Kas says again, and Steve really should have figured. He’s not quite well enough to really fight him on that, though, so he shrugs. 

“Fine,” he mumbles into the pillow, halfway back to slumberland already. 

There’s movement on the foot of the bed, and before he knows it Kas has tucked him in again, draped across the pillows as he is. It’s still unreal, that, but Steve won’t complain. What’s even more unreal, though, is the image Steve gets of Kas curling up by the foot of the bed in a similar position. As if he still means to keep watch. 

It’s ridiculous. A little weird. And sort of endearing.

——

The next time Steve wakes, everything around him is a little brighter, daylight fighting weakly to fill the room, but it stands no chance against the large wooden planks and thick curtains meant to block it out permanently. 

He blinks away the heaviness, taking stock of his body. There is a crick in his neck and burgeoning cramps in his side and hip from the position he’s still in, and this head still is a pulsing, aching mess — but no more than usual. 

He taps the pads of his fingers to his thumb before flexing his hands. Only then does he stretch the rest of his body and announce his wakefulness. 

Opposite him, at the foot of the bed, Kas is already awake and still in the same position that Steve saw him last. Did he even sleep? Does he need that? Or has he just been staring at Steve, watching him, ready to carry him to the bathroom again for round two. 

The thought of that makes his skin crawl.

“Hi,” he says to fill the silence that is all too inviting for his spiralling mind.

Kas grunts, but it sounds more like a hum. Sort of gentle around the edges. He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem at all fazed that they’re just kind of staring at each other. Steve swallows, not really sure how to go from here.

He fists the blanket and rubs the linen bedding between his fingers, feels the rough fabric catching on the callouses along his hands as uncomfortable seconds tick by. Still Kas doesn’t move. 

“Listen, man,” Steve says at last, thinking back to yesterday’s events and the vampire’s sudden care. “Thanks, alright? What you did, that was, uh. That was nice. You didn’t have to do any of that.” 

Another hum, and it occurs to Steve that Kas is back in his normal state, retreated back into his mind, hiding from the world himself now that it no longer needs him. It’s a strange thought, that Steve being hurt would be what brings him back. If at all. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. Maybe it as just a coincidence, or maybe Kas tasted something in his blood that made him want to improve Steve’s physical state for selfish purposes. That’s probably more likely.

But it makes him feel even more wrong-footed than before, and it leaves him hyper-aware of the situation. Of their dynamic. Indifference and annoyance and… He doesn’t want it to change, doesn’t want some kind of debt between himself and Kas — especially not when Kas has no means to really settle it. But he also can’t feign some kind of gratitude when what he feels the most is mortification and embarrassment; and he sure as hell doesn’t want Kas to know that either. 

So he throws back the blanket and gets out of the bed, a little dizzy at first, but he doesn’t care as he slips into his shoes and hurries out of the room. 

He just wants to leave. Get out of here and go home, go back to bed and get over the mortification of having been seen like this. Of having been taken care of. By someone who doesn’t even like him. By someone who hissed and snapped at him one moment and then carried him to the bathroom the next. 

“It looks like there’s nothing human left in him, but we do have data that suggest otherwise.” Owens’s words echo through his mind as he crosses the living room. “It seems to be in hiding, the Munson part of him; that’s our hope at least. That you can get him back out one day, make him win over the vampire part. It could be like a self defence mechanism, I guess. We hope he can still be coaxed back into the land of the living. How, though, we don’t know.”

Was this what happened? Has Steve’s weakness triggered the human part of Kas’s tortured brain to take over? No, that can’t be. 

It seems unreal. Unlikely. Wayne telling him stories or Dustin talking about their campaign, that should have helped. Even Mike playing the guitar, or Robin rambling about something or other; all of that was much more close to who Munson was. Or used to be. Eddie Munson never struck Steve as someone who took care of people naturally. Someone who stepped in. He stepped up, sure, but only ever for the wrong reasons. 

It makes no sense. So it must be wrong; just Steve’s exhausted brain grasping at straws. It usually does that, anyway. Nobody knows if Eddie is even still in there. Part of Steve hopes he’s not. 

Just as he reaches for the front door, ready to just get out of here and pretend like nothing happened, he feels a presence behind him. Kas followed him out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway now with an unreadable expression. It's the blank one he usually takes on, but where before it was normal, it throws Steve off now. Maybe because he saw how Kas can look at him. How expressive his eyes can get.

He holds them, the red shimmer a little dimmer out here in the brighter living room. 

And maybe it's the blankness in those eyes, or the lack of judgment in Kas's every action, but whatever it is, it makes Steve let go of the door and turn to face Kas properly. 

"Why'd you do it?"

The vampire inclines his head. Listening. Always listening. Steve doesn't know how he never noticed that. It seemed so primitive before. Like how a dog will react to its owner speaking, but never process the words. Kas processes, though. So Steve keeps going.

"Why'd you... You kept saying that word. Safe. Do you, uh. Do you know what it means?" 

Slowly, his eyes growing a little less blank, Kas nods. 

Steve looks around the cabin, swallowing thickly, still feeling so out of place in here, still feeling the need to run and leave it far behind. But something makes him stay. Makes him want to understand. 

"You wanted me to feel safe?" Again, Kas nods. "Why?" 

There is hesitation there, and Steve wonders if it's because he doesn't want to tell him, if he doesn't know the answer, or if he doesn't know how to answer. It's a loaded question, maybe. 

"Pain," he says at last, his voice barely discernible from a growl, but somehow Steve seems attuned to it now. Maybe because he listens now. Because he wants to know. To understand. 

He waits, watching as Kas struggles for more words once more. Just like last night. 

"Know... Know... pain. Know.” He taps his temple with a clawed hand, and Steve's heart falls, his chest aching with realisation. 

Right. He would. He would know pain like that. If what the doc says is right, if what Vecna taunted them with is right, if every working theory the kids have is right, then… yeah. Kas would know. He’s know something about pain. More than any of them. Pain so intense it splits you apart from yourself. 

"Shit," Steve whispers more to himself than to the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest to hug himself and keep from digging deeper, keep his heart from falling further, and keep the horror at bay. 

He doesn't want to imagine the kind of torture Kas went through. Is still going through, if what the doctors say has even more truth to it. If Munson is still in there, still suffering because human minds have a way of holding on to pain — Steve knows soemthing about that, too. 

"I'm sorry," he offers. It's all he can offer. In the end, it’s all that’s left.

And still it's so lame. It's not enough. 

But Kas just nods again, a pained shadow of a smile appearing on his face. Something transpires between them in that moment, Steve can feel it, but he can't really define it. Maybe some kind of understanding. Some kind of safety. 

"I gotta..." he starts, motioning to the door behind him. "I gotta go. Will you be fine? Did you have enough, y'know, to drink?" 

Another nod, and the smile widens a little. Looks a little less pained this time. 

"Good," Steve says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his shoulders to his ears, trying and failing to seem casual in the face of those glowing eyes. "I’ll– I'll see you around, yeah?" 

And then he's out the door, his head spinning and aching, his steps heavy with the weight of whatever has changed between him and Kas in the past twenty-four hours. 

... sooo. part 3 anyone?

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) 🤍 tagging for this work only: @forestnymph-666 @little-trash-ghost @jupitersgonemissing

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

things we learn about mulder in s1

he wanted to be an astronaut when he was young, and stayed up all night when he was 14 to watch his hero do a walk in space

he's scared to death of fire because his friend's house burned down when he was a kid

he went to oxford 10 years before the start of s1, where he dated phoebe and they, at the very least, made out on arthur conan doyle's grave (but it's implied they went all the way)

he is a fan of like. all of the sports. i cannot keep up with them all, but he sure can

he had his first case at the age of 28, where an agent died because he wouldn't take a risky shot

(and he remembers everything about the man who died- his kids, their ages, what they do for fun- all of it haunts him)

((he also, at the trial for the man who killed the agent, screamed that he "should die like an animal, you son of a bitch"- so much for cool and composed spooky mulder))

he always falls asleep on his couch to the point where i don't even know if this man has a bed

before being moved to the x-files, he worked for 3 years at the behavioral science unit, where he profiled serial killers

(also literally no one wants him on the x files they just keep him around because he is too dangerous to fire lmao)

he will go out of his way to make any kids involved a case he's assigned to feel comfortable and/or laugh as a break from the Heavy Moments (probably because he remembers being questioned while very young and how awful it felt)

he believes that siblings have a psychic connection (heartbreaking when you remember his sister disappeared when he was 12 and he only has access to the memories due to hypnosis)

he refused to let his parents call him by his first name and only went by "mulder", even as a child

[chronicpaingirlie]

Tips For Baking While Disabled :) <3

1. do stuff the “wrong” way [pt: do stuff the “wrong” way]

- my number one tip for literally everything is to do it the “wrong” way if that is the way that will make it accessible to you

- sit down while you prepare stuff. use a machine to knead your bread if it’s too hard on your hands. take as many breaks as you need. use disposable items like parchment paper, foil pans, and paper plates if washing dishes is too much. make things work for you however you need to

2. question everything [pt: question everything]

- if you have the spoons & the brain power, plan ahead & question what the recipe says you have to do

- do you really have to flour the counter & make an extra mess just to knead dough, or can you knead it in the bowl instead? do you really have to use an extra dish for this step?

- there’s lots of things like that that recipes will state as fact that can be adjusted to save you some effort

3. if possible, recruit help [pt: if possible, recruit help]

- i have a bunch of younger siblings who will almost always jump at the chance to help me bake stuff

- see if u can find a family member/friend/housemate/caregiver etc who is willing (maybe even excited!!) to split the baking workload with you

- it fr makes it so much easier even just to have someone who will help you whisk together your ingredients or grab something you’ve forgotten to spare you the effort of moving across the kitchen

4. lay out everything you’ll need ahead of time [pt: lay out everything you’ll need ahead of time]

- this includes all the dishes, utensils, and ingredients you’re going to use for the recipe

- this helps soooo much with my combination of adhd + brain fog problems (aka forgetting things and getting distracted constantly)

- i like to make a designated area (e.g., on the stove or on a separate part of the counter) to immediately put what i’ve used so I know that i’ve used it; this ensures that I don’t add something twice & that i don’t miss any ingredients

- it also makes less moving around in the moment/less getting up & down ! a godsend fr

5. take advantage of built-in resting times [pt: take advantage of built-in resting times]

- when stuff is in the oven, sit or lay down !! it’s free resting time !! pleaseee take advantage of it

6. make cleanup as easy as possible [pt: make cleanup as easy as possible]

- i like to put something under my workspace (bath towel, tablecloth, paper towels, etc) so that when i inevitably spill something, i can just pick it up and shake it off instead of having to scrub my counters

- if you can spare the spoons, scrape off and rinse out the dishes you used so nothing gets hardened & caked on

- fill everythingggg with hot water and leave it in the sink for later!! don’t push yourself too hard & try to do dishes right away; the hot water will make it so much easier for later & you’ll get a chance to rest

7. you don’t have to do everything from scratch [pt: you don’t have to do everything from scratch]

- baking something from a box is still baking!! boxed is good & will help you save spoons but still scratch that baking itch

- you can make just one element of your baking & buy another - e.g., buy pre-made pie crusts and make the filling yourself

- buy pre-chopped/frozen fruits for crumbles and tarts, buy pre-made frosting for the cake you bake, grab some cookie dough from the store and throw it in the oven !!

8. experiment & adjust [pt: experiment & adjust]

- find what works for you & what doesn’t. figure out what recipes you can do & what ones you can’t. see how much effort you’re physically & mentally able to put into baking (without overtaxing yourself!) & take that into consideration for the next time(s) you bake.

- i highly recommend writing down the stuff you figure out - it helps me to both remember & stick to my limits & saves me from pushing myself too hard

(some misc stuff under the cut bc this is so long)

a few things to invest in if you can:

1. kitchen stool [pt: kitchen stool]

- if you’re like me and have Shitty Legs, this means so much less standing & has been a lifesaver for me tbh

2. hand mixer and/or stand mixer [pt: hand mixer and/or stand mixer]

- if you have the strength to both hold up a hand mixer for up to five minutes at time, and to sit up while you do it, they’re almost always the cheaper option, and they take up less storage space. if not, the stand mixer likely will be more expensive & will take up more counter space/storage space, but will be a lot more worth it for you

- check ebay or local online markets for secondhand ones if you can’t afford new ones - I found a used but perfectly good stand mixer for $30 !

3. latex/rubber gloves [pt: latex/rubber gloves]

- makes cleanup so much easier (especially if you have a hard time with hygiene, e.g. bathing or washing hands, extra especially with stuff like batter or dough that can be harder to get off, or with bad textures that will be on your hands)

- reusable ones you can drop in some water and clean off later if you don’t have spoons to do cleanup right away, and disposable can just go in the trash

4. boxed mixes [pt: boxed mixes]

- you’re still baking even if it’s not entirely from scratch!! boxed mixes mean fewer ingredients & steps, and shorter amounts of time spent upright/moving around

—

a few links:

justtherecipe.com clears away everything except the recipe for you - no misc stories from the author or ads popping up every 5 seconds . genuinely cannot recommend enough

baking with chronic fatigue

baking with hand pain

a few no-knead bread recipes (link 1) (link 2) (link 3)

[lizardkingeliot]

"I love you, Louis. Tell him I love him, Armand."

WHAT IF I SET MYSELF ON FIRE WHAT THEN

[exchangeyourexperience]

match my donations from today! (05/29)

most donations are only $5! pick at least one and match it!!

Help the late Al-Ameen's family escape Gaza (£10 - very low on funds!!!)

Help Sara and her family escape Gaza ($5)

Help Mahmoud's family escape Gaza (€5 - low on funds!)

Help Muhammed and his family escape Gaza (€5)

Help Ezzideen and his family escape Gaza (€5)

proof of my donations under the cut!

[lunarharp]

theres a magic that only exists cause we met

[ryllen]

Please read this by putting it through google translate image translation feature on phone and cry with me,

or i can summarize it to you

"Why does human help the weak?" [ You just do it automatically, don't u think? ] - Kalim [ I was taught to do so. ] - Deuce [ Helping others is a beautiful thing. ] - Rook [ It's a natural for the strong to help the weak. ] - Riddle

[ It's just human's instinct of wanting to survive together, is it not? ] - Trey Jade finds it weird, because in the sea, no thought will be given to the weak. The strongest will survive. Call it an ego on land if you want, but that is how it has always been in that big pool of deep never ending water.

Jade is a mermaid type who is rather sensitive when turned into human. Walking with legs feel like walking on knives for him. To counter that problem, he always had his transforming potion mixed with a lot amount of pain killers.

One time he started to feel pain on his feet, he refused to be helped as he is fixated of being a strong creature & not wanting to be positioned as something weak. When he finally let trey helped him, he kept asking if there's any compensation he had to pay for having Trey helped him. "It is just pure kindness for underclassman", Trey said. Having it not sitting right on him, Jade told Trey his secret about his human legs' sensitivity problem as a form of payment. "That's too much information for that price." "Such critical thing! I never tell anyone that information as it would endanger my life!" "So.., are you telling me because you trust me?"

"No. I am telling you because I want (to keep receiving) that pure goodwill from you, my senior."

"That's an unnatural & greedy remark from a benevolent Octavinelle's student. Such a bad boy, Jade." Trey touched Jade's face in soft scolding manner & it made the mermaid quietly flustered with feeling he never knew he could felt before. Finding Trey's affection dear to him, at some other time later, he pretended that his feet hurts. And he lied about not bringing any pain killers with him. Trey who was wary about lying Jade, used his magic to overwrite the pain on Jade's feet, so he could walk by himself. But Jade sulked. Because, rly, he just wants to be carried by Trey again. Sensing this, Trey gave in, and carried Jade on his back, pleasing him.

Previously seeing Trey danced with Cater & Rook at other events, Jade invited Trey to go to an abandoned castle. He asked him to dance with him.

"I want to look good in front of you. But I'm not good at dancing," Trey said.

"Good." Jade replied with a smile, happy with his awkwardness. "I am not familiar with human's dance either."

They started to dance. And flirted a little. "Your eye is like olive." (Typical TREY) And when they were about to kiss, 3 overblot ghosts broke in.

"'ll take responsibility" Jade said, instantly feeling responsible as he was the one who brought them there. He managed to defeat one of the ghost. But in the middle of battle, the usual pain started to seep in to Jade's feet. For real, this time. His legs gave out.

With 2 overblot ghosts left still, Trey put himself into the middle of the fight. "I don't have enough magic to both overwrite your pain & defeat these overblot ghosts at the same time. So, run away while I try to hold them back."

Jade started to think how unacceptable it is that he is protected by someone who is supposed to be weaker than him. He should have been the one protecting Trey as mermaid is a stronger being, however he is nothing but a hindrance right now. Trey would even win the fight if it was not because of him.

So Jade found a way. He made noise to get the overblot attention's. He directed them to him so he could take them out by letting the chandelier fall over all of them together, including him. He was so ready to be crushed & took all those responsibility with him.

But, of course, Trey can't have that! Trey saved Jade at the last minute. He pushed Jade away, so the chandelier missed him. But in consequence, Trey had his legs broken as they were the ones that got crushed by the chandelier, instead -- together with the remaining overblot ghosts.

Jade who still didn't realize the situation, said "... Oh. That's too unreasonable to suddenly jump in, under the chandelier and come..." "I can't help it."

Jade slowly turned his head.

"It's too easy to want to help the person you love." "...So let me help you out." The horror of the current situation finally creeped to Jade's face.

"T-TREY-SAN! TREY-SAN!!!!!!!"

[ What do i do now?? What do i do??? ]

"Go, return by yourself even without me..."

Jade started to think of all his options. Phone? out of range. Magic? Out of the question, he just realized that his magic gem is now broken. The only mirror to come back to the school was at the foot of the mountain, while the castle they were in was at the very top of it.

[ Carry this person on your back. ] The voice in his head said...

"Carry this person on my back--?" he turned his head, and suddenly imagined the path of 'knives' he had to step on to go back. Not alone even.., but together with this person. ...The additional weight surely would pressed his feet harder to the ground, causing even more pain.

Trembling from the thought of the pain, Jade thought... "This is bad..., I only have one more painkiller...."

He took out that single pain killer in his pocket, and put into his mouth, seemingly ready and prepared to walk; at least a few steps back without pain. But no, he refused to do so. Trey is wounded. He must experience pain too right now. Lips-to-lips, he gave the wounded Trey the painkiller & let him swallow it.

"I'll help you now..." Jade said, repaying on Trey's deed & now walking back without painkiller, with his dear senior on his back.

His feet hurts. So badly that he started to bit his lips & let them bleed. The sudden thought of wild animals attacking them in this situation, made him shuddered.

Near them, he spotted a good running river.

...

[ I can just abandoned this person... and jump into the river. ...With that I can easily reach the foot of the mountain. ... With that, I can become a strong creature again, not the helpless one like what I am right now. ]

...

For a second Jade lost in thought of abandoning the weak like what the sea always taught him to do. But then, reminiscing how Trey carried him at that crucial time when he needed him to, he said to himself...

"No. That doesn't matter... "

"Because right now ..., I am helping him out of pure love."

And so, he kept enduring, until Idia who wandered at night to get his late night snack from the school's vending machine, found them who successfully came back, fainted at the hallway.

--

Time passed.

--

...

"Jade refuses to walk for awhile now." Floyd said, guiding Trey further inside to the longue. It might be because that event; so traumatic & painful, that Jade just wanted to forget entirely about walking all together. Or maybe it was out of guilt, for him being the reason that Trey had to be confined in the hospital room to recover & not being able to go anywhere. That's why, Jade isolated himself in the glass wall as a way to punish himself & share the same feeling with Trey.

"Sorry for the trouble." Trey replied, pushing his wheelchair with his hands.

"It's okay. It's Jade's own fault." Floyd replied, nonchalantly. Just like he always been. Oddly comforting, at the current situation. "Jade, sea turtle is here~~"

There he is. Jade, swimming in his mermaid form. Their eyes met. Seeing Trey sitting on a wheel chair, his eyes, glistened.

--

"So will your legs heal?" Jade was still in his mermaid form. He perched on surface of the longue's glass wall he was in, to talk to Trey.

"Yes."

"It's not just the bone fractures, right? It's also the ability to walk, right?"

"Of course."

...

Jade was relief. But he was still burdened with other feelings from the incident.

" --- IF I NEVER MET you, after graduating, I would have returned to the sea and keep being a strong creature forever....." "I am so scared and feeling so pathetic......."

...

Trey reminiscing the moment Jade carried him on his back, while enduring the tremendous pain on his feet, said, "You are...? At that time though, you looked like the strongest person in the world to me..." He patted Jade's head, consoling him.

Jade was relieved once again. " ... Trey-san ... " But it seems that this mermaid still has something in his mind...

"...When you risked your life, and let yourself be crushed under the chandelier..., was it all just because of the natural instinct inhabits in your body, OR-"

He didn't finish his question, and yet Trey answered. "It's because, I like you."

...

Jade proceeded to come out of the water, having his tail transformed to legs, once again after a long while. He approached Trey who sat there still with his immobilized legs.

"...I never thought I would ever need my legs again... He gazed Trey in the eyes. "But it is necessary...." "...There are a lot of things I want to do with you, with these legs..."

"...Many..."

And they both shared a kiss, which became the start of everything else.

[ironunderstands]

Genuinely I think headcanon edits are extremely fun, I just think people should stop trying to fight against the original art style like their life depends on it. Some great ideas get absolutely ruined when this happens. Like at least personally, I think drawing a semi-realistic nose on a cartoony face just won’t look good or make sense no matter how nice that nose looks disconnected from the whole drawing because it doesn’t suit the proportions of the original art.

Like be confident, make your own fanart! Your style is great, and trying to glue it to a different one does not do it justice at all! I understand drawing is hard, trust me I’m ass at it, but like, yall have talent, stop weighing yourselves down by the limitations of the original piece. Fuck it, redraw the face entirely, you can do better, I know you can :)

[dream-cake]

hi guys! I added a tipping option to my blog, and I'd really appreciate any tips to help feed my fur babies!!! thanks y'all!!

have some pics of them 😍

other tip links:

c$pp | vnm | pypl | ☕

[mercymaker]

I made a lil tumblr community for bg3 creators to share their stuff (art, gifs, edits, writing, etc.) to maybe bring more eyes to everyone's work

I wish inviting people was easier (especially on mobile), but let me know if you'd like an invite 💖

[ashton-ryder]

// int. loft #905 quarantine suite 2, room 2 - morning. 24th march. @pxtitxrosx

The moment the 48-hour quarantine was lifted, pretty much everyone quickly vacated the rooms they've been locked up in to escape the growing cabin fever, the outside team locked up together due to the lack of space and influx of new survivors, all still under the watchful eye of Val. Ash himself bunkered down with some of the people that were outside of the building; he wished he had the time to grab a book or something before they got locked up but their entrance back into the building had been a lil.. chaotic and dire. At least the company was good, thanking the universe that Ruth was okay, Aggie stuck mostly to Jer silent throughout the two days, and Jer- it's always nice being with Jer. Even though they mostly spent it separated in silence, resting and recuperating after the shitty day they all had.

Ash had let everyone else in their suite peter off first while he still sat on the bed in the room alone, not really too desperate to get out and meet other people just yet even with the temptation of breakfast, and he doubt anyone would really be looking for him anyways. His shoulder burned more than usual from the inside while every other injury seemed to be on mend, his left shoulder had always been the stubborn one even after 5 years, hoping to sort this out before he trudge down those flight of stairs back to his own apartment, eager to just give the breakfast a miss. He simply popped a few anti-inflammation pills Ruth gave him, pulling off one side of his sweater to redo the loosening shoulder brace, "-sh fuck," he muttered to himself with a hiss, using his one good hand to retighten the straps, struggling to reach behind.

"Yeah I'll be out of your hair soon Val-," Ash felt another present come into the room but with his back facing the door he could only assume who until he turned around to see Charlie by the doorframe. He didn't really know what to say to her after not being able to say anything to her for so long. Instead he just pulled his gaze to the floor, and dropped his hand, mentally prepared whatever wrath was coming his way, quietly murmuring, perhaps she's just looking for her brother, that's the more likely case anyways, "Jer went upstairs already." Felt weird and almost sore to say, with the Roses always having lived on the same floor. Her oncoming words can't hurt more than his fucking shoulder right now, or it might, he couldn't be sure.

[revasserium]

狐と蛍の物語 (the story of the fox and the firefly)

harrison; 4,064 words; fluff and angst a/n: for @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978's summer days, sultry nights event -- prompt "fireflies" (obviously); i'm also gonna say this counts for my 31 days of au prompt -- reincarnation!au; inspired by hotarubi no mori e and catheryn m valente's deathless and honestly, i'm so proud and happy with this one that i'd encourage you to read it even if you have no idea of the fandom/character. u__u i would love, love, love to know what you guys think!

once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a girl who only danced to the firefly’s light and a fox who could tell nothing but lies.

01.

for as long as you can remember, there’s always been the wood. and it has always been behind your house, it’s leaves and branches foreboding in the winter wind, and somehow less so in the simmer of mid-summer afternoons, when the sunlight dappled light across the soft, forest floor. it isn’t a very large wood, but it’s a wood nevertheless, and deserves all the respect and fear afforded to bigger woods in faraway places. woods that warn of teeth and terrors, woods that hide both dreams and monsters.

you’d been wandering the wood from when you were a little girl, and to you, there’s not a single rock you don’t know, a single tree you haven’t tried to climb. and the forest knows you, as forests do the people who frequent them, and it welcomes you with open arms, it cradles you to its chest, whispers stories into your ears, carves itself open to show you it’s secrets —

“you’re late.”

you crinkle your nose at the familiar voice, letting out a huffing breath as you drop your picnic basket in the middle of the small, sun-lit clearing, taking your time with laying out the checked picnic blanket and two cups and saucers for tea, and finally, pulling out a tray of confections, covered by a thin, linen baking towel.

“no, i’m not! you just want me to think i am so i’ll give you more than half of the sweets.”

a boy settles over the picnic blanket, cocking his head at you before you narrow your eyes.

“well? isn’t that true?”

“ahh… i wonder if it is…” he says, but you can hear the grin in his voice, even through the material of his fox-faced mask, which, after a few more seconds of posturing, he pushes up onto his forehead. he shakes out his milk-tea hair and slates you a poison-ivy grin. you know that grin like you know the woods— and you know the woods like you know the backs of your own hands. better, even, you think sometimes.

because for as long as there’s been the woods, and as long as you have wandered it’s depths, the boy with the fox-faced mask has always been there.

“there were fresh strawberries at farmer’s market today,” you say, setting up the tea service as you nudge the opened picnic basket towards the boy with a foot. he peers in with wide, curious eyes before letting out a soft noise of contentment as he reaches in to pull out a slice of freshly baked strawberry cream cake.

“your grandmama makes the best pastries in the world,” he says, and there’s such sincerity in his voice that for a moment, you almost believe him.

but you nod and take the compliment in stride, “she sure does!”

he digs in with gusto even when you tut that the tea hasn’t steeped properly, but you laugh as he smears a large dollop of whipped cream across his cheeks. you point it out to him with a dainty finger, and as always, you fight the urge to reach over and wipe it off for him. instead, you hold yourself still and sigh as he finally gets to it, smudging a bit into his hair in the process.

“clumsy fox,” you giggle, pressing a hand up to your lips.

“picky girl,” he snipes back, but there’s that full, sated grin on his own lips as he leans back, his elbows propped up on the soft grasses of the clearing.

after a moment of pleasant silence during which the leaves sang on their trees and the grasses swayed beneath the breeze, the boy turns towards you.

“so. no dancing today?”

you turn your head towards him before casting your eyes up towards the still bright blue sky.

“you know it’s not time yet.”

the boy heaves a melodramatic sigh, sound much bigger and larger than his 14-year old body should be able to hold.

“ah… right, right — because you can —”

“— only dance by the fireflies’ light — yep!”

the boy regards you with an imperious sort of look before breaking into a fit of bright, open laughter.

“you’re the strangest girl i’ve ever met!”

“just you saying that tells me it’s not true,” you stick out your tongue at him, even as heat washes up into your cheeks.

the boy shrugs, lying back down on the picnic basket, “i don’t always have to lie, y’know.”

and it’s your turn to regard him with the imperious look, and, a the cock of a singular eyebrow, his lips tug into a lopsided grin. his eyes flash, the color of budding spring.

“liar,” you say, but you’re smiling too as you lie back down to watch the clouds pass.

he makes no sound to correct you.

02.

once, you’d asked him what his name is and he simply shook his head and said —

“call me whatever you’d like.”

“but i want to call you by your name.”

“what’s in a name anyway?”

“uhm… nothing’s in it but…” you’d frowned then, your eight year old mind spinning to try and catch up with this strange, strange question and this strange, strange boy.

“see? so why should it matter what my name is? just… call me whatever!”

but you’d only frowned hard enough for him to roll his eyes.

“fine then — uhm — what’s the name of the current prince?”

you’d blinked, “harry.”

“then call me that.”

“but is that your name?”

“well, now it is.”

you hadn’t been convinced but you liked it better than not calling him anything at all.

“harry, then,” you’d said, smiling. and the boy — harry — had smiled too, slipping his fox-faced mask back in place as he led you further into the forest.

03.

“y’know…” harry says, his voice light as the sun dips beneath the horizon line, leaving behind a blaze of reds and pinks. you turn your head, eyes catching on the shape of him, inked out against the dying light.

“you’re the only person i’ve ever met who’s wanted to be cursed.”

you take a long breath and turn your eyes back up to the bleeding sky.

“well. you’re cursed, and you seem just fine to me,” you try to keep your voice strong, resolute and steady. grandmama had always said that if you keep your voice strong, people are more willing to believe your words. you wonder if that’s why harry’s voice is always soft, always lilting, his words slippery as moss-covered stone.

“yeah, but you can’t even touch me,” he says, and for once, his voice is harsh, his words sharp and hard as broken glass.

“that’s okay though — once i get my own curse, i’ll be able to touch you, right?”

harry fights back the urge to turn, to take you by the shoulders and shake you till you push him away. he wants to scream, to howl at the moon like the mother wolves and the hungry cubs that live in the heart of the wood. he wants to run through the woods, crash into things, climb up the trees and shake off all their branching leaves.

but he can’t, and so he doesn’t.

instead, he turns to look at you and look at you and look at you.

he wonders if it’s a strange thing, to like looking at someone so much, to find something new about a face every single time it’s looked upon — the wisps of hair fallen loose to frame your face from the velvet ribbons holding it back, the curve of your button nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow. he wonders if this is a normal thing, the thick weight of it in this chest, the truth of his curse sitting heavy on his tongue.

“yeah… probably,” he says — and the lie is smooth as milk, sweet as just-spun sugar.

“good. then we won’t have long to wait, hm?”

04.

there’s a story, so you’ve been told, of a fox that lives in the woods — and the fox can tell nothing but lies, lest the truth cut open it’s throat. and when it bleeds, because even monsters bleed (oh especially monsters), it will bleed in blue and silver, which everyone knows is the color of magic.

“but why would telling the truth kill it?” you’d asked, your eyes wide and round as the full-bellied moon.

your grandmama had sighed, rocking you in her lap as the forest outside shivers and shakes with the steps and breaths of creatures unseen.

“that’s what curses do, my sweetest… they’re unfair things, they are. and they don’t like to make a lot of sense.”

and that had been that. she’d moved onto a nicer story, a sweeter story, a story that was not so much truth and mostly lies — because the truth, as your grandmama had said, is sharp and unfair and makes so very little sense.

lies are much, much the better for the makings of stories.

05.

he has never complimented you on your dancing, not even once — not in all the years you’ve been dancing for him, by the light of a million and one fireflies.

you’d been eight when you made the promise, it’s been ten years since then.

and at eighteen, you wonder how many more years it’ll be before the moon or the forest or whatever it is that chooses people to curse will take pity on you.

it’s just after sunset, and you’d just finished your customary sunday afternoon picnic. harry is sprawled out on the picnic blanket, his fox-faced mask lying in the soft, long grasses, an arm thrown over his eyes. you wonder if he’s asleep, though you don’t think you’ve ever seen him fall asleep, not in all the time you’ve known him.

“music, please…” you announce to the clearing, and after a long pause, as if the forest itself is coming to life, the wind picks up — the leaves rustle on their branches, the birds sweep up into a twitter wingbeats and song, the grasses around the clearing hish and hush the thrumming baseline to a music that only you and harry and the forest can hear.

slowly, harry pushes himself up, making a show of rubbing his eyes, and in the darkness you can only see the shape of him.

you don’t see the prickle of tears at the edge of his eyes as he wipes them away.

instead, you close your own eyes and wait.

and wait.

and then — at the first flicker of a firefly’s light, you lift your hands and start to dance.

06.

once, you’d asked him how he’d gotten cursed in the first place.

“it’s a long story,” he’d said.

“i’ve got a long time,” you countered.

he’d crinkled his nose, pursing his lips as the pair of you hopped over a narrow stream, him watching as you teetered on the edge of the water.

“hm… well, if you do something a ton of times in the wood… the wood decides that that’s all your good for, and it becomes your curse!”

you’d blinked up at him from over your shoulder, a soft smear of mud on your cheeks.

“oh… it’s that easy?”

“easy?”

“i mean, to get a curse.”

he’d narrowed his eyes, “why would you want a curse?”

you’d straightened up, pressing your palms down your rather sullied dress.

“because — you said that i can’t touch you cause i’m human, right?”

“uh-huh…” harry had nodded, uncertain of where your child-logic had taken you.

“but other cursed things can touch you, right? like the wolves and the shadows and the queen of ravens.”

harry bit his lips. but you seemed to have taken his silence for consent and happily skipped off further into the forest. he’d never corrected you even as he heaved another world-weary sigh and followed after you. because technically, you hadn’t been totally wrong.

and his curse was only that he couldn’t correct you.

07.

your mind wanders as you begin to dance, and these days, it’s been doing a lot of that — wandering. so your grandmama says that it’s a part of growing up — learning when to let your mind wander and when to reign it back in, hold it on a tighter leash and tell it to wander no more. it’s a blessing to be able to let your mind wander, and so you do.

it’s just that these days, you can’t help but notice that it’s less of wandering and more of… well, a straight-shot descent to a well-known destination. and you know from a whole childhood of actual wandering that if you know the way and you know what you’ll find at the end, then it’s not wandering at all.

it’s just going.

but still, you let your mind go where it wants, and lately, it’s been going and going and going... to harry.

harry and his soul-soft laughter, harry and his knife-edge smiles, harry and his loose, lethargic movements, unhurried and always so certain. back when you were both still children, he’d led you through the forest with nothing but his voice, spouting out random facts that were much too outlandish to be true, and later, when you were both a bit older (and you’d long since memorized every bit of forest there was to memorize), he’d walk alongside you in companionable silence.

you knew his favorite trees, his favorite flowers, his favorite birds and colors, his favorite season, his favorite sweet, his favorite fruit and so many others.

and still, it feels as if you don’t know him at all, even though you’re certain he knows everything there is to know about you.

except…

you spin out on the long grasses, the light of a million and one fireflies dancing across your skin, dancing with you, singing with you as the forest does. and above you, a crescent moon cuts a sinister smile into a lonely, starless night.

years later, you’d wonder if the night had known — if the wood had known (of course, of course it had known, because there are no secrets the woods do not know, no secrets the waning moon doesn’t keep from the sleeping earth), if the entire world had conspired against you and for you that night.

when you finish dancing and the last of the fireflies flicker down to rest on the long, soft grasses, you’re breathless with exertion, luminous with exaltation and drunk on the song of the forest and a million and one lightless stars.

in the middle of the clearing, harry is smiling, you can see it even from here, and for the first time since you’d danced for him the very first time, he brings his hands together and claps.

“that was… beautiful,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, supple and sweet with the night air.

“th-thanks! phew — i really think that might do it,” you say, plopping down on the picnic blanket next to him, spreading wide your arms and staring up at the velveteen sky above you.

08.

once, you’d been told another story, though you don’t quite recall who you’d heard it from. maybe your grandmama, and maybe the old man who sits in the village square after all the longest days of the year, smoking his pipe and telling his stories.

“do you know why the cursed forest creatures can’t touch humans?”

“why?” a village boy had asked before you had the chance to.

“because… if a cursed creature touches human flesh, the cursed creature will die.”

“oh…” you said, clutching your hands to your chest, and you’d never really thought about dying. because really, what ten year old in their right mind would? but you knew of the concept from when grandmama talked about grandpapa — how he was there one day and then the next day he just… wasn’t.

“he died in his sleep,” she’d said, a tone of sadness in her voice that you’d never heard there before and wished you’d never have to hear again, “it was the best way to go.”

you’d wondered then if there’s really such thing as a “best” way to go. wouldn't the “best” thing to be not going at all?

“then… do the cursed creatures get to live forever?” you asked, before the village boy could cut in.

the old man took a long sip from his pipe and blew out a few concentric rings of smokes before coughing and waving it all away.

“no… you see, if the cursed creatures get to pass on their curses, they’d get to be reincarnated into being a human once more.”

09.

“do you… really want to be cursed?” harry asks as the pair of you share in the silence after your dance.

you suck in a long breath before pushing yourself up to sit in front of him, careful to keep your knees from bumping his.

“of course i do! it’s… it’s what i’ve been trying to do since i was like — eight!”

“but… why?” and harry’s voice is small, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, even though now, his eighteen year old body should carry a much heavier, harder sound.

“because,” you say, resolute as you’d always been, “once i’m cursed, i’ll be able to touch you.”

“and why… is that so important to you?”

harry casts his eyes towards you; you catch his gaze with yours, holding it steady. and in that moment, you mind lets go of the story that the old man told you. because it was a long time ago, and the story was so, so far away. and sometimes, the mind chooses which truths it wants to listen to, which truths it wants to believe in.

sometimes, it chooses truths that don’t look like truths from the outside in, but from the inside out — they’re the truest things to ever be true.

like this one —

“because i want to touch you. because… it’s what i’ve wanted since i was a little girl. because… sometimes, i think i want to do more than touch you — sometimes —” your voice catches on a hitched breath, lost somewhere in your chest, somewhere between your heart and your throat.

but then, darkness descends over your vision and it takes you a long moment to realize that you’re staring at the inside of a mask, thin but solid — the fox-faced mask that harry always wears.

and then pressure, and warmth, right where the fox’s dagger-carved grin usually is, so close to your own lips you can feel the heat.

it holds for a long, long moment, and then it’s gone.

the light returns as harry tugs the mask from you, grinning that teasing, lopsided grin of his, though there’s something about it tonight that makes your heart seize.

“tell me, one more time…” he says, and his voice is jagged with something that sounds painful and true and so, so terrible.

“i — i want the curse…” you say, before you really realize what you’re saying, and it takes you a moment to realize that this too, is the truth.

“okay then… it’s yours.”

and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

the truth, harry realizes, is always bitter, and harsh, and much too sharp. when he pulls back, he presses his palms to yours and lets the moon wash the clearing in blue and silver. you gasp as you feel the magic creeping into your bones, tugging you under, dragging you through the cracks in the world even as harry is tugged away from you back to the world of the living.

“w-was this all a lie?” you ask, because inside you, your heart is fighting for it’s last few beats.

“no,” harry says, his voice is pained, and his expression even more so, because every truth he tells cuts him a little deeper, and he feels his throat constrict over the words, “your dance really was beautiful… and…”

he swallows hard, feeling the knife-edge of this one final truth slicing through him, sharp as moonlight, sweet as the lightless stars.

“i love you. please… don’t forget me.”

and already, you can feel the truth starting to hurt, starting to constrict inside you like a curse. but still, you force it from you as harry flickers and fades along with the light of a million and one firefly lights.

“i — i won’t.”

10.

“but how exactly do you transfer a curse?” the village boy asked, his voice loud and jarring.

the old man takes another long sip of his pipe, puffs out a few more smoke rings.

“through a kiss,” he said.

you blinked. a kiss?

“ew!” the village boy recoiled then, shrinking back from the thought of kissing — because that’s what children are taught to do at such grown-up concepts as kissing.

you, on the other hand, you stayed right where you are, but a frown has creased your tiny, child-like brow.

“and the trick,” the old man continues, his smile going wide and a little lascivious, “is getting someone who will take their curse willingly… to accept the kiss.”

01.

for as long as harry can remember, there has always been the wood. and in the wood, there’s always been a girl with a fox-painted mask who danced to the light of the fireflies.

once, when he’d gone exploring (even though his grandpapa had warned him time and time again about going into the wood by himself), he’d nearly run into her and she’d cocked her head when he’d fallen face-first near the bank of a tiny stream, smearing mud across his cheeks.

“you’re strange little boy,” the girl said — and she could be no more than his age, harry thinks.

“and you’re a weird little girl,” he counters, his eyes catching on the bright red of the fox’s painted mouth.

there is magic at work here, harry knows, though he doesn’t know what kind, and all he really wants is to explore the woods behind his house, to know all there is to know of the world, and perhaps — he thinks as you turn and make your way deeper into the forest — to one day hold the hand of the girl with the fox-faced mask.

but that’s a wish for another day, he decides as he follows after you, jogging to catch up and ask for your name.

“ah… what’s in name,” you say, you voice light and languid, even as he frowns, “you can call me whatever you like.”

02.

once, harry had asked his grandpapa what the truest feeling in the whole wide world is.

and his grandpapa had answered —

“that, harry, would be falling in love…”

“falling in love?”

“yes, my dear boy — and the thing about love is that it’s like a curse… but it’s also like a blessing.”

“but… how can a thing be a curse and a blessing?”

then, his grandpapa had smiled, a smile that is starlight and wolfsong and all the secrets the forest ever has to tell.

“because we are doomed to always, always fall in love, my boy — and it will always, always be like handing someone and knife and asking them to cut open your throat.”

[basofy]

i hope when the lisa definitive edition releases old and new players start to see the party members as not only a fun mechanic to progress in the game but also as their second purpose (specified even in their gang page)

which is to tell how different the people of olathe are from eachother from good to neutral to bad.

all of the party members got their own personalities, points of view and goals, which i've always been appreciative of because it makes them all feel like they're their own person and it shows that they're not going to think exactly like you just because they're on your side.

so some of them can be assholes that despise brad for different reasons and are even creepy to buddy and others can just be neutral on the whole thing or don't care about brad but don't hate him and there are others who are nice people who just want someone to hang out and get attached to brad and it pains them to betray him at the end. some of them even got someone they care about too the same way brad cares for buddy.

and all of this is made just so you don't see them only as tools, they are written this way to show you what the people of olathe are like from a closer perspective. the only other way to do this would be using npcs which would go more overlooked, and it already IS overlooked by players

becuz over time i've seen toooo many fans who speak as if absolutely every man in olathe is an asshole and a pedo, which is why they congratulate tooley too much just for being decent to buddy. i like him but you give him too much credit for something other characters do as well.

and they talk like these are just 'olathe standards' and like it's okay for this game when No, this game condemns this type of behavior at all times and it makes it very clear. it's not normal, it's just common

i mean was terry a creep towards buddy??? bo?? carp?? shocklord? birdie? nern? olan? the warlords??? and more characters and there are even npcs who deeply question the stuff going on around buddy or are simply not interested in her

and then i see takes such as "maybe x character is gay becuz they don't seem interested in buddy". pal i can think of a million better reasons to consider a character gay (sometimes no reason at all, have fun). (also again, TOOLEY. i mean he was seen at the beehive, isn't that a better reason to think he's gay??)

you don't need to be a pedo and a rapist to be attracted to women, and it's crazy how little the concept of consent matters to some people, because this isn't the only time i've seen this type of thinking over a piece of media.

this is a way of thinking that comes from people who got into lisa for the fun battles and do not understand the story, and it's sorta okay, it's fine if the battles are your favorite thing or if you're not that fond of emotional stories, but you can't ignore this part of the game, to do that you better just play something else, because my problem is that when you try to explain the emotional matters of lisa's story they never want to listen; they preffer living in their little bubble of misinterpreting everything. (like the amount of times i've tried explaining to other fans why lisa isn't worst than her goddamn dad and it's like talking to a wall) like damn, i love the battles too but i can perfectly have both things yknow.

anyway just my silly little thoughs that have been going thru my mind these past weeks, i take this game too seriously but i also feel like it's dumb not to because that's what it wants you to do.

hope things go well when the definitive edition drops and that everyone enjoys it 8)