#wish i could just yknow

[foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland]

thinking abt that one post abt that person who couldnt move into their new apartment properly after they went thru a rlly fuckin rough patch n their friends just came round n did it all 4 them and didnt offer their help they basically forced it into their hands.

man i need smth like that ig

bc like ive got to the point where i dont want to talk to anyone and would just rather p much ghost everyone than to respond to a msg being like “if u ever need anything just say”

but like. i appreciate that. but if anything that makes things worse. bc like. i cant say. my brain wont let me. and ik this is my fault n all bc the only way things can get better is if i accept help bla bla bla

but like. i just cant accept help bc i need to first identify whats wrong and then how someone can help me and then also become a pleasant person to be around

bc like. being depressed makes me miserable. and also miserable to be around. like rn i am such a fucking dickhead bc i am so sad.

so like

i somehow need to basically halfway fix myself before i can even ask for help ???

so i just. dont. like ive got abt 50 msgs ive completely ignored for the past month or 2 bc i just. cant ???  like how do you tell all ur friends “hey im sorry i havent texted, i most likely wont for a while. i dont hate u, i just hate myself, and have convinced myself to start hating everyone else. im difficult to love and finding it difficult to love rn and i cant guarantee it wont be like this in the future. there isnt a whole lot u can do to help since that requires me to first accept the help, but because i hate myself right now, accepting help is harder than doing my hundred missing assignments.”

or i could just say “sry 4 not texting. kinda been goin thru it. ttyl.”

but no i literally just say nothing.

and the thing is its like im just fucking stuck in this sort of chasm. and on one side is me reaching out to my friends again and asking to spend time and things going back to normal. but that also means getting a response abot 1/5 of the time, and almost all of those responses are “sry cant rn maybe some other time” and end up driving myself back into the depression pit bc i cant cope with getting rejected so fucking often

and on the other side is just letting all my friends ask to spend time and risk not getting anything at all bc im just waiting for them to ask anything and let me know they want me around which is pretty much equally as bad as the other side of the chasm

so instead ive sunk to the bottom between each side where im completely ignoring everyone i know to the point some of them think im dead just because i cant fucking deal with some rejection.

[zzzero-percent]

who wanna scamper through the forests w me

[gunstellations]

In the world I love

_

In a different world

[ricky-mortis]

Hatchetfield @femslashfortnight Day 2: Retro

[salbertwolf]

The earth shattering realization the game you have played is the only one like it, there is no other game, there isn't a world like it and you are cursed with that knowledge and abandonment for it, you are happier to have known and experienced the joys of playing, have come out wiser for it, but you'll never get anything like it again.

[vic-does-battlecats]

Minor spoilers for the already revealed chapters of the next A Starless Clan book Wind

[captainxandis]

Yknow someones probably made this observation before, but I bet when Gideon and Ianthe were becoming besties Gideon FINALLY got to see Naberius's disarm again

[aberfaeth]

this is not going to be well articulated but i think the reason i and lots of other people feel a bit weird about certain aspects of tonights ep is that like. the ratgrinders have literally never posed a genuine threat to the bad kids in any aspect of their lives—social, academic, relationships, even their physical wellbeing, any of it. they bodied the last stand, they bodied the dragon fight. the closest thing to a bad thing happening this season was kristen almost getting expelled and that was all bobby dawn who wasnt even a part of the battle! like i genuinely cant relate to people feeling catharsis at the RGs going down bc i was just sat there like. what did they even do other than be kind of a general annoyance and a little bitchy lmfao

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

[luck-of-the-drawings]

IMAGINE. working at ur stupid uhhh job or whatever. pulling into your drive way and ready to work on some crazy project in your garage. opening the door to the most unfamiliar silence. did your wife and kid leave for something? could you imagine knocking on your kids door, hardly getting an answer, and opening it to find the splattered remains of your wife across his room your child is scared! hes hardly consolable, in a state of shock and terror. you are too, but youre the adult here. you need to take charge. you need to protect him. you need to do something. you need to do something.

[eikichi-supremacy]

good ending! gay love pierces through the veil of death yet again✌🏼

something something man is god to a dog ft. kuwameshi

I'm Your Man, Mitski

[likesdoodling]

Gossiping about Sigiswald backstage with Rozemyne and Ferdinand!

I love that Rozemyne's thought bubble is an actual quote from the book.

*dying laughing-

Yes. You're definitely playing into his 'evil, evil hands'

*strangled laughter-

And the end scene of this book? (spoilers if you haven't read it, but if you know what this is from then you probably have-)

I loved it so much!

*intense fangirling in my little corner over here-

Especially seeing it from Lutz' pov where Rozemyne is just blushing all over the place?!

*more intense fangirling/manic grinning-

It was just so- so-

Yeah. It was cool. I liked it a lot.

I didn't end up doing the shading on this purely because I just don't have as much time as I used to, and I'm probably gonna be pretty busy for the next week with midterm tests prep- *sigh...

I did want to do the colouring though, since I absolutely love the fact that Ferdinand's outfit matches Rozemyne's hair and that Rozemyne's outfit matches Ferdinand's hair-

*internal screaming-

I love this entire series. It is kind of sad that it's pretty much finished, but that's what fanfiction and fanart is for, amiright?

(glances over at the various au ideas and animatics that I still have in the 'in progress/drafts' pile-)

Anyway. I'm definitely still gonna be doing fanart for this series for a long time. Just so you guys are aware~

:D

(and maybe actually finish the fanfic which I got like 57,000 words in and left un-updated for over a year- *cough - Myne working for Police Superintendent Ferdinand au anyone? Can't believe I started that like, last year- it's been so long... Drawing is... More my forte when it comes to committing to things, but I am planning on finishing it, university got in the way - *cough)

[cosmicaces]

perching on the dash (redrew this to the best of my ability)

[identitty-dickruption]

having your trauma anniversary on a relatively major holiday kind of sucks because it all makes it completely inescapable. the shops have already started to stock themed decorations and such and it feels like a personal attack. just constant reminders that It’s Coming Up and there’s nothing I can do about it

[regret-evatorful]

prototypes rad coolness

[demodraws0606]

You know I think there is something interesting to say in terms of where the fuck WxS is going because like

I think WxS is the only unit where the end goal or overall progression is probably the most unknown out of all of them ???

MMJ and VBS are extremely obvious, they both have the most explicit goals that are said to us in a straightforward way

25-ji, in the end we know the main goal at the end will be for all of the characters to go over their hurdles with Mafuyu finally being able to find herself and move forward

Leo/need is probably the closest in terms of vagueness but we know the end goal is clear for them to grow as a band, probably ending in a big concert or something along those lines

But with WxS...like I guess the closest thing I can see to an end goal is all of WxS preparing a show together with everyone playing their part but that definitely doesn't feel like something you'd build up for an entire arc and definitely not something that feels fitting after the emotional turmoil that was the disbandement arc ???

In terms of physical achievements as well they literally revived an entire parc through one gigantic show, so it just comes into question what they can do now.

Then you look at their first few event for this arc considering usually the first event kinda set up what will be planned for the future but it's...weird.

Yeah, Tsukasa and Rui's events set up they're inexperienced and how they will grow in the future but also there is this weird feeling of something feeling off ?

The plays/scripts all are strangely depressing, the play in Tsukasa's event being about a failed writer planning to drown himself (which I believe is one of the only undeniable explicit description of suicide ever in the game?????) and the second being someone whose given up on life meeting their estranged sister only for her to become ill.

We even have Emu's side story in Rui's event where they watched the movie Rin was watching during the event made by the same producer and Emu herself note how depressing the story is (meanwhile the main character of the movie clearly parallels Rui)

We don't see the conclusion of these in-game stories as well, lingering on their worst moment never really seeing the presumably happy conclusion.

THEN we also have Emukasa fes which....again strangely different in tone from what you'd expect a WxS fes card, they're not really all that conclusive either. Tsukasa never aknowledges how he relates to the brother in the story and Emu doesn't really get a conclusion on her grief.

Then we also have Rui's entire fuckign event with the cards and his cyberpunk deadbo-YOU SEE WHAT IM SAYING

The closest we fucking have to knowing what WxS's fucking endgoal towards the story is, is fucking WL which....TELLS US NOTHING

At least with VBS we know that they're goal is to go even further beyond and conquer the whole world, that is a developpement of their goal.

What I'm saying is I don't know what the fuck colorpalet is cooking wiht WxS but I feel like i'm a fucking twilight zone reading the way they're writing WxS now because I can't be the only one feeling insane at how weird all of this is