#you can u__u

[revasserium]

lie to me

harrison; 1,872 words; fluff and a bit of angst; fem!reader a/n: in which harrison tells you five lies and just as many truths

01.

“lie to me.”

“i love you.”

“ah, but that’s an easy one — how could you be in love with someone you just met, right?”

you smile, lacing your fingers under your chin as he looks you over, the smile on your lips simple and sweet and somehow unsettling in its simplicity. there’s something hidden there — he knows it. he just doesn’t know exactly what it is yet and… that in and of itself is intriguing enough to warrant a second glance, a second’s pause.

“go on, isn’t this supposed to be what you’re good at?” you ask, cocking your head, your eyes never leaving his.

harrison feels himself being drawn into you, the unflinching way you meet his gaze, the seemingly indomitable nature of your curiosity, your striking, painful honesty. ah — so is that what it is? has he gotten so used to the truth hidden beneath the lies that seeing truth hidden behind another veneer of truth has become strange? certainly, it’s not something he sees everyday but…

“alright then — i don’t love you, but i think that maybe i could —”

eh?

you blink, but harrison is already pursing his lips with a shrug, pushing up from where he’d been sitting across from you, your coffee mugs still steaming.

“there, ponder that one for a while, hm?” he grins, shooting a lazy wink your way, “and… that confused look on your face… i don’t hate it, y’know.”

02.

“lie to me.”

“my favorite color is yellow.”

“well, mine’s green.”

harrison looks up at you from across a piece of perfectly buttered toast, his mouth halfway open, watching as you slather your slice of toast in a truly impressive amount of jam. you’re humming to yourself and when you glance up to find him watching you, you shrug.

“what?”

harrison smiles, shaking his head, “nothing. just… ah — nevermind.”

“no, tell me.” you take a huge bite of toast and he can’t help the way his eyes snag on the smear of jam on your lower lip or the way your tongue sweeps out to lick it up.

“nope. don’t wanna.” he takes his own rather large bite of toast, washing it down with a sip of coffee that’s just a bit too hot.

“even if i say ‘please’?”

harrison pauses, considers. and then he smiles.

“for a second there, i just thought you were… cute.”

your blush makes something warm and tight unfurl in his chest. but you narrow your eyes and the tension inside his chest lightens ever so slightly.

“saah… was that a lie or was it the truth?” he muses, reaching out to tap a finger to the center of your forehead, making you blink, “well, you can believe whatever you want to believe. i don’t mind it either way.”

03.

“lie to me.”

“i actually don’t really like lying.”

you pause over the still-warm cranberry scones, your hand hovering over the butter dish.

“then why do you do it?”

harrison licks his lips, his eyes fixed on yours. he feels the beginnings of something cresting from his stomach up into his chest, over his shoulders, down the length of his back. it’s a strange thing, a nearly foreign sensation. but it leaves his whole body a mess a livewire tingles, and it makes him wonder about stupid things like truth and trust and belonging.

“because… it’s easy, i suppose.”

you nod, slowly breaking off a corner of a scone, and applying a liberal amount of butter to it before offering it to him. on the windowsill, there’s a vase full of bright yellow tulips, freshly picked and watered.

“my parents always said that if you tell a lie enough times, it starts to sound like the truth.”

“hm… they sound like smart people.” he reaches out to take the bit of proffered scone, popping it into his mouth and savoring the sweetness.

you watch him with a grin, “they were.”

a moment passes, and then another; harrison reaches for the sugar bowl at the same time you do and your hands brush. you pause; so does he. and then — laughter, as he pushes the bowl towards you and you shake your head, nudging it back.

“three sugars, right?” you ask, watching as he drops the cubes into his coffee and stirs.

“what can i say? i’ve got something of a sweet-tooth.”

“yeah. i know you do.”

04.

“lie to me… please — t-tell me everything’s gonna be okay.”

there’s blood everywhere, and the world is around you is a blur of rain and shadows. the streetlamps cast the air in a hazy glow and it would be beautiful, if it weren’t so deeply, horrifyingly terrible.

you cradle harrison to your chest, a hand pressed to the side of his stomach, where a sickeningly hot stream of blood is pouring from a bullet wound, your other hand holding his head upright.

“i — i think i’m gonna die,” he says, forcing a weak smile as he raises a hand to cup your cheek.

“h-harry! that’s not — that’s not funny —” but you can’t help the watery laugh that bubbles from your lips.

“you — you told me to lie to you… right? so…”

you bite back a sob even as it rips itself from your throat and you shake your head.

“y’know… you’ve gotten s-so bad at this…”

harrison’s own laughter is stuttered through with coughs. more blood, painting the soft of his lips so bright it almost looks like lipstick or strawberry jam. you reach up your hand to wipe it away, smearing the red across his cheeks.

he catches your hand in his, and the cliché of the moment hits you like a runaway train, veering off it’s tracks — the rain, the blood, the falling in love.

“what… at lying? ah… i guess that’s true… hey… look at me…” he presses his blood-stained lips to your hand before resting it along his cheek, holding it there even as more blood gurgles out of the side of his mouth. you try to tug your hand to wipe it away but he holds you tight, holds you dear.

“there you are…” he says, his eyes flickering over the plains of your face, “i su-suppose you might make an honest man of me yet…”

you shake your head again, fervent and desperate.

“no — i d-don’t want that — harry, please — you can’t —”

“m-my favorite color… didn’t used to be yellow… but now it is… and… i never did like lying… but i hated doing it to you… and… i never thought i could fall in love but… here i am… so there — i — i think that’s most of them —”

“harry, what are y-you doing?”

“i’m… telling you the truth. now… your turn — lie… lie to me.”

you let out another sob as you see the light from his eyes slowly fading, even as the distant sounds of shouting alert you to the ambulance racing your way.

“i-if you die, i swear to god, harry — i’ll chase you right into the gates of hell and pull you back with me —”

harrison laughs, his hand falling from yours, his lashes fluttering as his gaze goes wide and glazed.

“now that’s a lie… i’d be happy to believe…”

05.

when harrison next wakes up, it’s to a nearly pitch-black hospital room and a solid weight somewhere to his right. he lets out a soft groan and looks down to find… you, with your face pillowed on your arms, fast asleep by his bedside.

“she’s been here for three whole days.” victor’s voice is light but for once devoid of it’s usual levity.

“ah… of course she has.” harrison reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, a smile stretching his lips at the way your brows furrow slightly, your body shifting as he traces a thumb along the contours of your cheek.

“try not to excite her too much… she’s barely been eating or sleeping so who know’s — her heart might give out if you give her too big of a shock.” and with that, victor tips his head and slips from the room, leaving the two of you very much alone.

harrison revels in the quiet, in the patient pace of your breaths, the rise and fall of his own chest, his own miraculous heartbeat mapped in bright green spikes on a screen to his left. and he wonders briefly how quickly it’d have to beat before it would alert the nurses but —

“h-harry? oh… oh my god — you’re awake!”

“hm… really? ah, and here i was, thinking this was all a dream.”

you bury your face in his chest, gasping when he winces, but he chuckles and tugs you back towards him, his seafoam eyes so bright even in the relative darkness.

“i — i thought…”

“what? that i was dead? c’mon… i’m not that easy to get rid of.”

you bite your lips, shake your head, your eyes welling up with tears as you once again bury your face in his chest, this time careful to avoid his still tender wounds. he hushes you as you hiccup, running a soothing hand through your hair, down the back of your neck.

“i’m just… so glad y-you’re alive…”

harrison grins, cocking his head as you pull back to look at him, your eyes wide and watery and so, so beautiful. it’s unfair, he decides, that you should still look so daringly beautiful like this.

“come here… there’s something i need to tell you…”

you blink at him for a moment before allowing him to beckon you closer, to wrap his arms around you and skim his lips by your cheek till he’s whispering in your hear —

“i… i don’t love you… not even a little bit.”

and for a second, you freeze, your whole body going cold, but when you pull back, there’s a smile on harrison’s lips that makes you roll your eyes. you let out a soft little sigh, pillowing your cheek on his chest as he absently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“wow… when did you become such a terrible liar?”

at this, harrison laughs, and he hisses at the pain but he doesn’t stop laughing, and a moment later you join him, and the pair of you fall into the waves and waves of laughter until he tilts your chin up to press his lips to yours.

“if i had to guess…” he muses as he pulls back, running the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, his eyes flickering from your kiss-bruised mouth up to your shock-widened eyes and back down again, a distinctly fox-like grin stretching his lips.

“i’d say that it was the day that i met you.”

[stalwart-spirit]

𝘉𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦

[speakeasier]

is tumblr still down...because i want to share the loves of my life???

[naisaa]

okay i. didnt expect you are so not invited to my bat mitzvah to actually make me cry real tears. ???? the adam sandler teen comedy movie??? was good???? and genuinely funny??? and made me so emotional?????

idk maybe im surprised bc the last time i watched an adam sandler movie was in like 2012 and i never rly liked any of them. and with this one Some of the humor and over-the-topness was a toned down version of the same type of not rly my thing... but i liked and felt for the characters and the overall tone was so. charming?

i feel like if i was a teen i'd've haaated this movie bc of how it portrays teens. like i assumed the 'ha ha look at the silly slang and behaviors of Kids These Days amiright' would start to annoy me v quickly at the start of the movie... and i do think there were a FEW moments of it being like that. but overall i was so surprised that it just felt very loving, more like lighthearted teasing. i'm sure it'll grate on actual teens anyways (and fair enough) but as an adult the more remarkable thing was rly the palpable empathy.

'look i dont understand all of this and think a lot of it is silly or even worrying and i will make fun of it a little bit, but i can see you're struggling and i care and feel for you regardless.' like. im not even a parent but that was the vibe of the whole movie and it was. genuinely rly touching. and i did not EXPECT THAT

[danothan]

a fandom pet peeve of mine is when a ship dynamic puts one person on a pedestal to save their more “troubled” partner, whose pov is, more often than not, the ONLY pov thru which fans interpret and analyze the relationship. the byproduct of this is less focus on the “savior” character (at best) and total mischaracterization (at worst), essentially reducing them to a plot device instead of, y’know, an actual person experiencing this relationship too

like i get it, i understand the draw for overtly flawed characters in fandom. it’s appealing to see your down-on-their-luck blorbo get the love and healing they deserve. or on the flip side, it’s fun to indulge in the angst of jealousy, injustice, and other complex feelings that come with opposing morals/reputations. “troubled” characters openly invite exploration into their flaws while “savior” characters are (seemingly) flawless—aka unrelatable

but both characters are complex in their own right, and it’s a shame to see interesting, well-written characters get dismissed for being “too good” (read: unfairly idealized) when they’re usually my personal favorites. even if ppl have a strong preference for only half of a pair, getting a one-sided pov of your fave doesn’t give them a complete, rounded understanding either. no one is defined by the limits of their own mind, so why limit yourself as the omniscient viewer? ships like this (and in general) are a package deal, if only fandoms would treat them as such

tldr: pls stop turning paragon characters into manic pixie dream girls, they deserve love too 😭🙏

[weaselishmcdiesel]

You wish you simped as much for Mumbo as Grian does /j /lh.

grian is merely feeling the shockwaves from my immense simpage and is thusly inspired

[propertiesofjoy]

hi hello! if you don't mind, can i ask where can i find amrita to read? i've been searching the ebook like crazy 😭

i believe this copy on internet archive is good! 

[blujayonthewing]

god I wish I liked hot chocolate more, I love it so much in theory but in practice I'm always just kinda done with it like four sips in

[yutadori]

also even though saturday was mildly horrific tuesday was somehow WORSE????? it was my head supervisor, this guy i've worked with before who scares me, and this girl who i hadn't met yet and it was so bad oh god it was so so so so bad an absolute nightmare so that was the first time i worked during the day and it was surprisingly dead .__. which SUCKED because there was FOUR of us..... i wanted to end it all so bad like every time i made a drink at least ONE person would be watching me like 👁️___👁️ and if it's my head supervisor who's watching me then okay i get that because she's a supervisor but i don't know why my other coworkers were staring at me !?!?!?! i get it was DEAD but we're allowed to go on our phones if it's dead and there's nothing to do!!!! anyway it was mainly the other girl who was watching me alongside my head supervisor and idk if it's because she was told to but . they would correct me whenever i made a mistake which was fine and that's what happened during the prev shifts but idk why i felt so TENSE and bad about this time??? anyway i felt like an idiot the whole time and what ended up killing me in the end was when i was making a drink for the customer and my head supervisor was watching me but also kinda talking to me and i just had to pour a little bit of tea into the cup and then seal it with the lid. i forgot which tea it was and i looked down at the label on the cup and i was JUST about to reach for the correct tea when the SCARY GUY reached out to tap the tea container somewhat intensely and was like 'it's this one' and i almost DISINTEGRATED ON THE SPOT HE SOUNDED SO MAD ???? and i looked at him and i couldn't tell if he was side-eyeing me or not because he turned away kinda fast and i was just ???

like my supervisors told me it's okay if i'm not fast and if i look at the label multiple times and idk that was just so weird because he was so intense about it??? and it's not like !!! we were rushing or anything it was literally just one customer?? and idk ive only worked with him twice but i feel like he already doesn't like meeeee like he talks with the other employees like ^__^ but when he talks to me it's very blunt and he only speaks to me when absolutely necessary and it just feels so bad i hate being around him i feel like he wants to take me out (negative)

[poptartmochi]

i must.. resist.. urge to shop for ren faire....

[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.”

[lunealys]

apparently my main main is blocked??? so I can't reblog and devour your dcest art and spam reblog it so I'm just going to sayHOLYYY SHIT IT LOOKS SO GOOD. BITING IT. I LOVE YOUR WORKS ND THANK YOU FOR IT I WISH YOU THE BEST ND GOODBYE /gen, pos, sending all the good vibes and again sorry for reaching out while I am blocked

( omg no worries, let me know your user (if possible aaa) so i can unblock ! ) THANK YOU SM ANON i shall be doing more dcest art soon ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡° ) I also wish you the best and hope you have a wonderful day/night !

[oflgtfol]

not the lenny face

[naisaa]

hi hello psa for my beloved fellow transgenders who are worried about somehow ruining their singing voice by going on testosterone: i’m about 2.5 years on t, my normal speaking voice has dropped about an octave and a half and i just hit the high C ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[danothan]

had an 8hr superhero call with @bebagerie and they drew my barry?? easily i could cry

[nart-is-a-monster]

Ya know me I'm not normal Abt the fic, so here you go THE BLOODY MARRY SCENE BC I've been thinking of it lately :3333

AAAAAAAAND here's the link of the fic :D

And if you see this and have no idea why Varian is in that situation

Go read the fic so we can be not normal Abt the fic together U__U

And go follow @glitter-lisp @eggmuffinwaffles bc they have written the thing and I love them (and you should too) :333