:)

I think one of the (many) things that make me so excited for deltarune 3 and 4 is that, as the game's midsection, it's going to be where we Finally get concrete insight into the game's themes and story, if that makes sense. LIKE, Obviously we do already know a whole lot about what the game is and will continue to be, But only TWO of a game's SEVEN chapters Is really not much of the game's total at all?? And it'll be so insane??? To actually have so much more of the game's meat?????

which is?? Huge???? Like in no more than a couple months an insane amount of theories are either going to be proven, completely discarded, or changed in new and unimaginable ways that NO one could've predicted. We might be seeing Follow up on things we've been theorizing and going crazy about FOR YEARS. Like, Mike?? Image Friend?? The ice palace?? The egg man??? Dess???? Etc etc, WE'RE GONNA SEE NEW SECRET BOSSES THIS YEAR. Think about that.

Also i am both excited and slightly scared of the fact that the chapter releases will probably make the game "mainstream" again 😭 Like especially cause the new chapters releasing on different consoles means more people are probably gonna play deltarune than ever before, and more Content of the game is gonna be available than ever before, for Everyone, and that's. Kind of scary BUT REALLY EXCITING. I want to see 1 trillion subscriber slop gaming youtubers playing deltarune and trying to understand what Woody Theory is

Also i think it'll be really fun when deltarune gets super popular on tumblr again. The era of when everyone was dropping the most haunting and beautiful snowgrave art pieces with 20k notes was so good. It must return.

Consider: paleontologist with a hypnosis kink using an ammonite fossil to put someone into trance

How to Find a Traitor

Hi! This was inspired by This Hypnotic Audio by VerityLey, which is insanely hot....but also, yknow, CW for this being based on a very real hypnosis file that can give you very real hypnotic triggers (and while I don't think this story would do that on its own...safety first and all that). So y'know, just keep that in mind, I suppose ;p

. . . . .

Who was it?

The Captain of the C.N.S. Byzantium was known as a cruel, harsh man.  Many were the days he had spent chasing down defectors, and many were the names of those who had... disappeared, once he had inevitably sniffed them out as plantfuckers.  

Couldn't be someone from Engineering...unless that's exactly what they wanted him to think.

Even though he had only served for a single year as Captain, the turnover rate aboard his ship was almost three times the amount of any other of its class.  This despite the latter half of his year spent with his ship in drydock, slowly receiving repairs while the battle against the Weeds raged onward.  

He winced as he remembered the close call that had completely knocked out his engines and eventually sent them limping into the nearest safe haven.  How nearly half of his crew had been taken by the damnable affini...and the angry chewing out he had received from his superiors within the New Terran Militia (or whatever it was they were calling themselves these days; it seemed to change every month).  

Was that their plan?  Get him kicked out of leadership, make him slow and dull?  An empty-headed idiot, unable to think? Not him. Never him.

The Captain scowled at his hands, at the thickened band of skin caused from years of running his fingernails over the backs of his thumbs.  His thoughts sometimes felt muddled, messy. The lines drawn between the web of relationships hard to keep track of. Even if it didn't make sense to him, he was still in control.  

He just needed to find this most recent traitor, and then he would finally be able to sleep right.  He knew they were in his crew...somewhere.  He could feel it in his gut. Outbound communications had been rising steadily, and his newest Comms Officer (the previous one had, of course, been a traitor as well) had quietly notified him of that fact.

A knock at the door drew him from his thoughts.  A pause, and then the door opened to reveal something that finally brought the ghost of a smile to his lips: two of his most trusted Officers, and an Ensign they were practically dragging in behind them.  The lad was barely out of Naval Academy, boots still muddy from spending so much time on-planet.  The recruit's eyes danced across the room, unable to settle. Pumped full of adrenaline, as sure a mark of a traitor as he had ever seen. The innocent had nothing to hide.

How could such a fresh-faced recruit have found himself in this position? How long ago had the worms buried into his mind?

The Officers set their prisoner down roughly in the only chair in the room for guests, then took their leave.  The door creaked shut, locking itself automatically. Only he had the key. The Captain preferred to handle these sorts of things by himself; the guilt of an innocent loss would weigh on him, and him alone.

Fortunate for him, then, that he had yet to make a mistake.

The Ensign stirred, face pale with fear as he realized just how screwed he was.  The Captain waited while he continued to look around; they always spoke first, eventually.  It was just a waiting game. This time, he waited three minutes.

"I...um, Good Afternoon, sir?"

The Captain slowly blinked as the recruit nervously stammered, unimpressed.  He sounded nervous, shaken- clearly not cut out for the life of a rebel.  No doubt the Affini Compact had offered him a whole bevy of comforts to get him on their side. Two square meals, warm showers for a full minute and a half, the kind of stuff he hadn't gotten in years.

What a fool to accept them.

The traitor bit his lip, then snapped a salute as he spoke again.  "I'm... I'm here to, um, that is...whatever it is Juarez said, it's all a lie, okay?  I'd never betray my brothers and sisters, I swear it!"

A common refrain, an attempt to assuage doubts.  The Captain's stare only tightened, pinning the young man in place while he opened a hidden compartment in the left side of his desk, retrieving a few items and placing one on the table, and keeping the other in his right hand.

The tools of the trade for this kind of thing.

He glanced at the tablet first, scrolling through with one hand until he found the Ensign's information, skimming it quickly.

Ah....of course.

Just as he suspected.  Those in charge had designated Recruit Burkes as a clear potential ally to the Compact after accidentally speaking with a Mx. Drythes, Third Bloom, over a communication device disguised cleverly as a bar's video game; the report made great effort to impress how dangerous it would be to leave someone like Burkes in the rebels for much longer. 

He needed to be...removed.

The Captain pushed down the feeling of guilt in his chest. It was for the best; once the Affini Compact got their vines into you, you were as good as theirs forever. There wasn't any point in trying to bring the recruit back (something he found hard to believe...but those in charge had insisted. Who was he to argue?). Burkes would soon be in a better place, and that was all there was to it.

There was only one thing to do, really.  Even if it didn't make sense to him, the orders were clear.

The Captain levelled the service weapon in his hand, aiming it center-mass at Burkes; he rose to his feet and stepped back and over to the bookshelf in the corner.  He accessed the hidden switch on the underside of the middle shelf, sliding the whole thing over and revealing a darkened passageway.

Almost done...almost done.

The satisfaction of a job well done dangled just out of reach…but no.  Premature celebrations were for others; not the Captain. He knew the hardest part was yet to come; felt it in his gut like vent-critters.

The crewman got to his feet (albeit shakily), eyeing the tablet the Captain held in his other hand.  Burkes chewed on his lip, but upon seeing the iron in the Captain's eyes, decided to comply; the recruit cautiously stepped into the dark passage, the Captain following a few steps behind.  Neither of them spoke; they both knew there was no longer a point.

Soon, it would be over. Soon, the Captain would get a reward.

Why was his heart beating so rapidly?

It wasn't the first time he had done this.  The passage in general was created months ago, serving as a way for the Captain to take care of such business in a discreet manner.  No mess, no worrying about others, just clean and simple and safe.

...Simple...

And yet with each step, the feelings grew and grew. The Captain's eyes darted left and right, searching for...something.  Someone.  But the passage was dark and narrow; they were alone.

The thought of that was...upsetting.

The Captain frowned.  Why?  This is how it had always worked.  Even if it didn't make sense, all that was left to do was bring Burkes to the end (a spot of light rapidly approaching), and then there was…

There was something…that the Captain wasn't supposed to worry about?

It doesn't...it doesn't make sense to...

“Good puppy~” *click click*

The pieces fell into place.  The veil was lifted.  

Oh.

The two Terrans stepped out of the darkness and right into an ambush, vines of soft green and deep blue shooting out and binding them both before they had a chance to blink.  Burke let out a strangled yell of panic, but an injection from her new Mxtress immediately began to calm her right down, based on the noises made soon after.

"There you areeeee, silly little puppy~!"  The vines binding the Capt...the puppygirl squeezed her tightly, drawing excited yips and barks from her like water from a well.  she fell into Mistress's grasp with delight, dropping the tablet Mistress had given her and the squirt-gun (it shot a harmless paralytic) to focus entirely on licking all over her Owner's face.

she was such a Good girl!  she obeyed, and listened, and no one got hurt, and was a Good girl, and everyone was happy!!! she was home she was with Owner and this was her favorite part and Good girls got rewarded!

*click click* went the little circle in Owner's hand, the sound sending shivers of pleasure down her back, causing her eyes to roll and drool to fall. Dumb little puppies like her got Clicker, and it was...sho good...

“Settle down girl, come on now~” puppy’s Owner giggled, brushing her vines through the girl's long hair, which was hidden beneath the cap she usually wore when pretending to be the Old Meanie.  her previous self, the one before Owner had found her on that ship, the one she had ripped from her spirit and soul so lovingly over the months in dry dock.

“Wh…whhhuz goin…on?” The cute rescue, the one-who-used-to-be-Burkes, mumbled through her teeth, having already been stripped and redressed in a flowery flowy slip of a thing. She was already looking so much better, with pupils wide and gaze empty.  

“It's quite simple, little one~ You see, my obedient and precious little girl here, who you may know as the Captain, did what she did best…” Owner smiled down at the puppy, making small coo-ing noises. The puppygirl giggled, writhing as her tummy got rubbies.

*click click* *click click* *click click*

“she fetched what was asked of her.  Such a Good girl, yes you areeeee, yes you areeeee!” Owner began to scritch under puppy’s chin, causing feminine moans and squeals of delight to slip free from her soul.  It was so hard pretending to be a mean nasty angry Captain, which is why Owner did that thing in her head to help!  She didn't really understand how it worked, but that was okay.

How the affini had broken her? Doesn't make sense to puppy!

What was going to happen to the rest of her crew? Doesn't make sense to puppy!

Her Owner's plans for her? Doesn't make sense to puppy!

*click click*

puppy felt the thoughts and questions blissfully slip from her mind, giggling in delight.  Stars, she was such a ditzy little happy pet.  So well trained, so mal…malle…um…so well trained!  Owner tilted her head up to gaze into her eyes, and puppy felt so happy...and a bit sad.

Because this was the Hard Part.

The part that made her whimper. The part where her Owner's eyes pulled her back to the Old Meanie. She felt herself falling, falling to Owner's pretty voice...

“I know, petal. I know. But you get to sleep with me every single night already, don't you? Yes you do, yes you do~ Good puppy.  You're making me sooooo proud, doing this. And very, very soon, we will be ready to get everyone else in one go~”

. . . . .

The Captain woke slowly, peeling his face off of the desk.  He groaned, rubbing his forehead as he glanced around the room.  What had he…?

Oh, right.  He had taken care of the latest traitor, and then he was getting a small nap in.  Something told him that he needed to be extra vigilant for the next while, to find out as many traitors as pawsi...as possible. Those in charge were counting on him.

...It was a little weird that he had been so tired he had collapsed into his chair completely naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, or the smile he was unable to wipe from his face, but that was okay.

And in the corner of his mind, just out of sight...a whisper.

It didn’t have to make sense to puppy.

Castles

You've said many things so far, my sweet. And yes, I understand they are Important to you, these…concerns. I understand they feel like castles, Big and Tall and Impossible to overcome, Impossible to ignore. Even the myriad explanations I offered did not so much as scratch their polished marble surface, I expect. These walls were made to last through much more than one single sophont, one single conversation.

All I ask is that you consider my question with the same seriousness I considered yours, understand?

....

Tell me, petal: Do you enjoy your suffering?

….

Yes, I'm quite serious. Don't you Free Terran types all yearn to work your sweat and blood and tears into the dust, whereupon you are graciously "allowed" to retire at the young age of…what was it again? Seventy-five?

….

Eighty.

Little one, let me be blunt. You were not made for those cruel systems. You were not made in this universe to waste away your life in pain, limping along and waiting for The Next Good Day. The ones who loved you did not make you to be forgotten.

You were made for dancing in the starlight, my sweet. You were placed here to be spoiled, to be loved. You were created to sing that wonderful song I can hear buried in your voice, the one that holds curiosity and joy and life itself.

And one day, one day far away from now…you will be Remembered. Your stories, your achievements and triumphs will be kept safe in my core for eternities upon eternities. I will outlast your castles, my dear. I will remember the marble as it returns to the earth. And when it is gone, I will always be here to remember your smile, your dance, your gifts and your love.

Let me take the pain away, darling. Let me care for you, now and forever. It is not a choice you will ever regret, you know. And, if I may confess…I am hopeful you do. I want to see something, you see.

I wish to see how fast you can run without the weight on your soul. Those first few shaky steps as you brace yourself for pain that will never come again. The careful jog, starting to test the new wings on your feet. And finally, finally the full sprint that you put your whole chest into, the kind that leaves you breathless not from exhaustion but from wild laughter, in delight, in hopes realized.

I wish for you to run to me, my love. And I will be waiting with vines outstretched.

The last part really resonates with me because recently I've disconnected almost entirely from franchise movies, current releases, anything in "the industry". At this point, the wells of Hollywood and big-budget videogames have been irreversibly poisoned for me and the only way I can connect with art anymore is either when it's something created by individuals, small teams, anything independent, or it's something I've created myself (and I am an individual). I think once you take that step back you really see how bad it's gotten. I feel like corporations have taken such insane steps to commodify and reduce what is, at its core, the very medium of human expression. All the talk of "IP" and "content" and "canon" and "consuming", is so sterile and lifeless, and I feel like the normalization of this kind of language is seriously affecting how people relate to anything creative. Someone else said it better than I ever could- "why on earth do you let a company buy the right to determine what you think and feel? Make them "the legal owners of what happens in your mind?""

I love the practice of requisitioning, remixing and reworking books, comics, movies etc. through any means you like, but I hate hate hate the way so much vocabulary that used to be rooted in individual creativity has been taken over by this kind of fucked up deference to mainstream publishing and ip.

easy example: everyone calls the characters they work up for their projects 'OCs' now. that genie is out of the bottle, I'm not even going to try and cram it back in. it's universal terminology. but I do want to reflect - why is the default position to assume that when someone says 'my characters' they mean something derivative, unless they specify 'my Original characters'?

similarly, all character relationships are 'ships'. but what's wrong with that? you say, it's just short for 'relationship'. and you would be right, by merit of completely ignoring the fandom ancestry and common understanding of that term in order to win an argument. because you know as well as I do that 'ships' aren't 'relationships', they're hypothetical romances that the speaker is rooting for. so why do I keep seeing people talk about shipping their OCs? why is a hypothetical relationship entertained and enjoyed by the creator of the work described using fan terminology?

I have for real no joke seen people talk about their 'headcanons' for their own characters, in their own stories. that's not a headcanon babe, that's canon!!! that's YOUR WORK. moreover, why are we even talking about the canonicity of your personal original writing? this isn't the star wars extended universe, why are international franchise IPs setting the baseline for the relationship you have with your writing and the terminology you use to conceptualise it?

tbc this is not a 'fandom brainrot' post. because I don't think it's fanwork that's the root of the problem. I think it's the insidious creep of capitalism and the ever more draconian weaponisation of copyright law that has rewritten our capacity for talking about creative work so that it revolves at all times around ownership and precedent. there is a deep learned anxiety about describing fictional works as fictional properties, that echoes in our vocabulary as we constantly make clear what is owned and what is not, what has been established on the record and what exists in the realm of speculation.

the reason 'fandom brainrot' is such a compeling stand-in for this issue is that it's really just one step downstream from all that voracious rent-seeking behaviour by publishers. if the only things you ever read or watch are in the milieu of those franchise copyright lawyers, that is the understanding of fiction-as-property you develop. if you're not exposed to a broader spectrum of art and artists, living and dead, who talk about their work as work - as expression, as experimentation, as a personal process and as a shared space with their audience - you will quickly be alienated from your own creative practice by design.

the point i want to make is this: going off the beaten track, exploring outside the franchises and bestsellers and box office babies, is not just a matter of good taste. imo it is a necessary act of solidarity with artists who still live, work and speak as individuals. it's a healthier environment for you as an artist. you deserve a relationship with your own work, not a ship.

get lost

a story about hapless wanderers and the fairy that collects them

Masterlist

TW: mind control, drugging, restraints, captivity, hypnosis, non-sexual touching and manhandling, condescension

You are lost.

Maybe you decided to go for a hike that was above your skill level. Maybe you wandered into the woods behind your suspiciously cheap vacation rental. Maybe you woke up here among the thick undergrowth. You might not even remember how you ended up here.

But you know for sure you are lost.

Any hint of a path has long been swallowed by roots and branches, moss and weeds. You might have some supplies, but they're not nearly enough to spend a significant amount of time lost in the forest. The trees are even so thick overhead that you can't reliably tell the direction of the sun, if you even knew which direction might help.

The only thing you can do is to keep trudging, hoping that eventually you'll get somewhere.

The more you climb over thick roots and rotten logs, the more you wade through tall grasses, the more exhausted you're becoming. Your calf muscles ache. Your arms are scratched and stung from twigs and rough bark and bugs. You're so tired. But you know you can't stop for long if you hope to get out of the forest before nightfall. It can't be that much further, can it?

You pause for just a moment to lean against a tree, taking a deep breath. The smell of green leaves and damp earth fills your senses, both pleasant and oppressive. This time, you think you sense something else. It smells almost sweet, like flowers or candy. It's different. And while you're not sure it will help, you feel drawn to it.

As you stumble further into the forest, you notice more and more flowers growing thick around you. Scatterings of clover and goldenrod are giving way to larger, more exotic blooms, in stunning jewel-tone colors. Even as the forest gets deeper and darker, you see more and more of the flowers, surrounding you, and the scent of sweet nectar and pollen grows stronger. It makes you feel woozy, almost drowsy, but you can't stop now. You need to keep going. 

You wonder vaguely how such large flowers can grow in a place with little sunlight. The flowers hanging from the branches and swaying in front of you are nearly as big as your entire face. They sway softly in a breeze you can't feel, and you watch them, transfixed in wonder. They're beautiful. And they smell so good.

You don't notice when your feet stop moving. You barely notice when something warm snakes around your ankles.

The flowers sparkle and shimmer and sway in front of you, and you sway too, dazed. A cloud of yellow engulfs your vision and you cough softly as your head fills with pollen. You feel so sleepy, so deeply drowsy, as though you'd like to lay down and take a nap, just rest your eyes for only a minute...

No, you can't stop here. You're lost, and the forest is dangerous. You muster up what strength remains to you to try and take a step back, only to realize that your legs are halfway wrapped in vines, holding you firmly in place. Your feeble struggles cause you to lose balance, and more vines catch you, wrapping around your chest and arms.

Your limbs are already heavy and numb from the sedating pollen, and your weak thrashes against the vines holding you captive do nothing to free you. Just as you start to panic, your mind trying to reassert itself against the numbing influences, the flowers appear before you again, distracting you with their colors. They're starting to blur, your vision fogging. You're getting sleepy, all of your fight draining from your body. You yawn involuntarily, taking in more pollen. You're fighting a losing battle against your heavy, drooping eyelids.

As your mind starts to slip into a drugged, half-awake daze, you're vaguely aware that the vines are pulling you against a tree and restraining you firmly but comfortably. You can hardly move an inch now, but you're becoming less and less inclined to try. It's so much effort to resist, when you could just fall into a dozing dream, relaxed and comfortable and so drowsy.

One of the flowers is growing closer, engulfing your entire vision. You feel the soft petals brush your cheek, the scent of sweet pollen and nectar intense as the flower seals around your face. The dim spark of consciousness that remains to you recognizes this as the final step in the trap: it's going to put you to sleep. You know now it's aware of what it's doing, and it's going to incapacitate you, make you sleep so deeply, helpless and unaware, vulnerable to whatever or whoever set this trap in the first place.

There's nothing you can do about it but take a deep breath. You're so comfortable and sleepy, and your eyelids are beginning to flutter, too heavy to keep open. You relax into the vines. Everything's starting to feel so floaty and far away, and it's so nice to feel your pain and fear flowing out of you. Every breath smells like flowers. Every breath pulls your eyelids down, coaxing you into a gentle, easy slumber. You're too tired and dazed to fight it, to even remember why you wanted to fight it. It's so much nicer to stop moving, to shut your eyes, to let the gentle flowers and vines lull you into sleep.

You skim the edge of sleep, and your dreams are filled with the forest, but you're not lost any more. You belong to it. You're part of the moss on the trees and the breeze ruffling the flowers and the ants marching in a neat line. Your mind relaxes, defenses lowering, as the wind and the  trees whisper to you in words you don't understand.

You don't know how long you sleep, but eventually you feel someone pulling at the vines holding you in place, the light pressure on your body loosening. You fall forward into warm arms, blinking slowly, dazed and just barely awake.

"There, there, I've got you," says a voice like flowing water, washing over you. "Just relax. You're safe."

You have questions, but your tongue is too thick to speak and your mind too drowsy to formulate them. "What...?" you manage.

"Shhh, hush, now. I'm going to take good care of you." 

You're being picked up in a strong grip, and you feel yourself being carried away, the meager light around you dimming as you're brought into an even deeper part of the forest. Your helpless body is laid down on soft grass and moss, propped up against a tree, and you sink into it, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.

A face appears in front of you, shining in the dim light. The eyes sparkle and the mouth smiles, but you can tell instinctively it is not human. 

The strange being sits back and begins to play on a set of panpipes, a low, haunting tune. Its form is difficult to make out, youthful and humanoid but not clearly male nor female, and you can see sparkling, deep blue wings like those of a butterfly. A fairy, perhaps -- that's the closest thing your mind offers. It seems clad only in flowers, ribbons, and strings of beads, which flutter slightly in the breeze. 

It's so hard to think, to even remember how you came to be here, and the music is slowly but surely stealing your focus away. The song is so beautiful, and you're completely relaxed and calm, not at all inclined to move, much less escape. Increasingly less inclined to think too hard about any of this. The air around you seems to sparkle as your vision blurs, your eyes blinking so, so slowly. 

Through your haze you see the fairy smile, looking down at you. You smile back weakly. It stops playing -- although the music continues to tie your mind in binds -- and kneels beside you. It tilts your chin up with the softest of touches, their fingers like sunbeams, and gaze into your glassy eyes.

"What's your name, little one?"

Your name spills from your mouth, and the fairy laughs with a sound like bells.

"Of course it is. You're such a silly little thing, running away from me, aren't you?"

Running away? Your brow furrows. Even in your entranced state, that doesn't seem quite right, does it...?

"You don't even remember why you ran away, did you?" The fairy ruffles your hair affectionately. "It's an awfully good thing I found you before you hurt yourself. You were like a helpless moth, flapping uselessly against a spider web."

"I didn't..." You're trying to collect your thoughts enough to explain why that's wrong. "I didn't run away from you," you finish weakly.

"No?" It leans in closer, eyes far too bright. "Then how did you get here?"

Your mouth opens and closes.

The fairy traces a finger along your cheek, just under your eye. "Can you remember?"

You can't. Your mind is still full of fog and pollen and everything feels like a blur. "...I was lost," you manage.

"Yes, you were," it says with a predatory grin. "And now you're found, but you don't even remember that you belong to me. Poor dandelion fluff." It produces a long, iridescent ribbon from seemingly nowhere, holding it up in front of you. "But don't worry, I'm not mad. I know you can't help it. Your head's just so full of flowers that there's no room for anything hard, like memories."

You'd like to protest, but that seems right somehow. Doesn't it?

"Here, let me put your collar back on." It ties the ribbon in a bow around your neck, and you're too relaxed to stop it. The ribbon feels silky smooth and weightless, and the fairy wraps one end around its wrist. That feels right, too, like something long forgotten locking into place. "Let's get you home, little moth."

It picks you up effortlessly once again, and your limbs are too heavy and numb to do anything more but lean against it. In the blink of an eye, you're flying. The soft, rhythmic wingbeats fill your ears and soothe you as the fairy somehow glides effortlessly through the thick tangles of branches and vines.

You come to a stop at a darkened clearing filled with enormous mushrooms, large enough to sit on and pulsating with soft blue-purple light. There are beads and ribbons and trinkets hanging from every tree branch. In the dim light you can see the sparkle of many colored crystals, and, off to one side, there seems to be a pile of people huddled on top of the mushrooms. Humans, like you, all in various states of undress, with their skin painted in wild, rainbow hues. All of them seem fast asleep.

Before you have a chance to wonder if this is the fate that awaits you, you're laid out onto a bed of soft mushroom, your ribbon-leash tied to a tree. You try to push yourself up and look around, but your head feels dizzy and your arms are heavy and uncoordinated. The fairy pulls your pack from your back and pushes you down gently. You watch as it rifles through your things, tossing this and that to the side, running its fingers down the rough paper of your sketchbook, using your pens to mark its hands, clicking your flashlight on and off, before tossing it all into a pile of other backpacks.

"Drink." The fairy is holding out a small clay cup of unnaturally bright red liquid. "You must be thirsty, little moth. Drink."

You swallow hard. Your throat and lips are dry, but the last remnant of your reason is warning you with all its might. "What is it?" you ask.

"Medicine, silly thing. Medicine to open your mind. Medicine to help you accept. Medicine to soothe you to slumber."

You manage to shake your head. "I don't want that."

The fairy smiles, the shimmering red liquid reflected in its impossibly large eyes, and speaks your name. It sounds like water rushing down a mountain, like fire consuming a forest.

It holds out the cup once more, and your hands reach to take it, unable to stop yourself from drinking. The medicine is warm and tastes like sweet berries and slides down your throat like a living thing.

"Foolish little bunny," it says gleefully, and then you feel everything. Slow. Down.

Suddenly, you're hyperaware of everything around you. The mushrooms below you and the cool air around you makes your skin prickle, the beads clinking together overhead sound like a symphony, and you can smell a hundred things you're sure you've never smelled before. It would be utterly overwhelming if you weren't completely relaxed. A butterfly flaps nearby, and you watch its wings sparkle through lazy, half-lidded eyes.

The fairy is in front of you again, holding a tray of little pots of pigment. It dips its fingers into the purple and runs its thumb along your cheek, outlining your eyes. Symbols are drawn on your forehead as it mutters strange words under its breath. With the pads of its fingers, it coaxes your eyelids shut, and you can feel pigment being applied to them too. You're not inclined to open them again as it lines your lips with colors, running down your chin and onto your neck.

"You're so cute under my spell," says the fairy. "Sometime I'll take you to a still pool so you can see how beautiful my painting is on your blank face."

It picks up your hands and decorates those as well, as your mind dozes and drifts, listening to the far off sounds of bird wings and creatures scuttling through the undergrowth. Your thoughts are filled with colors and mushrooms as a deft finger draws lines around your arms, the fairy's muttering turning into a song, a spell. 

You can feel the magic settling on you and around you like a heavy blanket. Your shoes and socks are pulled off too, landing nearby with a thud, and your feet are decorated, pigment tickling the soles of your feet and the spaces between your toes. Hands that feel sun warmed draw your wrists together and bind them with more silky, weightless ribbons.

"Sleep now, tired little thing. You're safe and sound here with me."

You're half-asleep, eyelids fluttering, as you're picked up and set down again next to the pile of other humans. 

You were lost.

And now you have been collected.

And now you will not be found.

It always warms my heart to see this show get some love, it's criminally underrated. When I'm at work and nobody else is around I always seem to catch myself singing the "Archeologists" song from the first couple episodes

(Also I'm glad your cat is healing well, hope he's okay)

There is a World Doctor's quote for everything, I promise.

Also, Shadow is healing up well since I posted this :) He just decided to fist fight a raccoon at 17 years old or whatever, dumbass cat.

Art for NikkisFloof on Twitter

tea time approaches

and we’re sitting down to eat and my dad wants milk in his tea. Cant get a moments peace round here.

Maya in Professor Layton vs Phoenix Wright doodles

feat my crappy handwriting :)