entrancelogs | + FOURTH WALL EVENT: BEACH PARTY +

+ FOURTH WALL EVENT: BEACH PARTY +

Who: E V E R Y O N E
Where: The Beach!
When: Sept 5th to Sept 10th
Rating: G to PG-13 (please label higher ratings, thank you!)
Summary: Are the other parties a little too crowded and chaotic for you? Come and chill by the water! And don't forget to have a look at the Fourth Wall Master Post for event rules, puzzle clues, and more places to mingle!
The Story:

Beginning on September 5th, much of the shoreline will be taken over by a massive beach party! As with all good Wonderland parties, it will be run day and night, always mysteriously tidy and always with food that replenishes itself.

At various points along the beach, there will be wheel barrels full of candy and treats, and torches for people to claim as their own. There are also volleyball nets, and when darkness falls they will light up like Christmas trees for those who want to play well into the night.

There are many places set up to sit - some with tables, some with pillows and blankets, many with shade, and some even dug out in the sand. There is music playing, but the source is unclear.

However, there's one thing that the curious may find - a message in a bottle. It will regenerate within five minutes if taken, allowing as many curious truth-seekers to investigate as possible.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[They want to snap at Frisk to not call it love, stop calling it love, love is too painful and destructive. Love tricks you into needing it then breaks you down to nothing, just stands and watches with a polite pitying smile as you topple over without that support.

They bite their tongue.]

We're... sure, aren't we? That we're... our memories line up exactly. We belong together. Even if the world snatches us back, we'd still be partners?

[They'd thought that all timelines traced back to a common ancestor. A divergence point. A trunk each of the branches connected to. Between Sans and this event, that seems to have been pretty thoroughly blown out of the water. But they remember the same things.

They think they remember the same things.

But theirs is a Frisk who can dig, who knows how to find an spr, knows what it stands for, because how could a mirror made from their memories know things about the Underground that Frisk didn't? A Frisk who has the power to know things. A Frisk who could maybe... take away their memories, just like they could take away Asriel's?

A Frisk who could delete system_information_963?

No. Surely not. I'd never doubt you, Chara!

They'll never doubt you, Frisk. Ha ha. There's one of those parts that's too ugly to love!]

Have you met other versions of... of anyone else? Are they as different as we are?

[Or are they, as always, the exceptions?]

We have to be. We remember all the same things. Don't...don't we?

[There's that tremor of fear in their tone. They don't want to accept any kind of alternative. They don't even want to consider it. They've been together, and they'll continue to be together forever, won't they? They know the things that Chara knows, only with enough searching and digging and pulling forward the framework of the other's mind. Like a secret code. Like a combination that only they would know.

Yeah. Like that.]

I met...so many strange ones. They were - one who came from, from a world where I fell first and you fell last. One of you from some kind of...castle. One of us who was a monster. [They can't bite back the ache of longing that circumflects the word "monster," and so they don't try to. Chara would understand. Of course they would understand.]

I don't care, though. I don't care. None of them were you. They weren't you.

[A world where Frisk fell first. That's funny. They remember talking about it, months and months ago. Frisk suggesting, in awestruck tones, that they could have just as easily been Chara.

They wonder.

How did the story go in that universe? In a place where Asriel got exactly what he wanted. The friend he wished for, not the friend he was stuck settling for. Did Frisk come up with a plan too? Or did they wait, patient and passive, until old age took them and the Dreemurrs could decide for themselves what to do with that SOUL? Easier if someone else decides for you, isn't it? Better, probably.]

A world where you were first. Asriel had a real best friend. How did that one turn out, I wonder?

[Would it make Chara the seventh or the eighth child to fall, then? If Frisk was better, if Frisk didn't slowly carve themselves to nothing and hand their SOUL over, if Frisk would never dream of steering Asriel toward a village full of sinners who were due to pay, who were evil enough to have their SOULs reaped for a cause.]

Can't have stayed perfectly happy for long if I still fell into it, though, could it? Funny to think we foreshadowed this for ourselves long before we had any idea how interchangeable we truly are. Swap around each other, just because! Maybe nothing changes at all, because we're that interchangeable!

Turns out it...it ends up the same way. Both of us dead.

[They laugh, and keep laughing. It sounds like a horrible joke. Boy. Guess they really don't matter in the grand scheme of things, do they! Guess they were such a great best friend that they still ended up condemning the people they love to death, and tearing apart their family!]

I guess we...guess we are. Really are just a set of names you can overwrite. Insert name, get your own Fallen Human, free of charge!

[The words sound too bright and snapped-out and vicious to feel like them. They try to claw it back. Drag it back into something that feels more like Frisk, and less like Chara. They're Frisk. They're Frisk.

Not that it seems to matter, does it? No, it doesn't seem that it matters at all.]

I don't...it doesn't matter, though. Even if there are others, we're the only ones who are us.

[A Frisk who apologizes too much, who hems and haws and ums and ers. A Chara who likes puzzles and won't ever admit that they love puzzles, who says things that are darkly hilarious, who smiles too much.]

[Frisk's not the only one who laughs. Chara positively hoots with laughter, is outright in stitches, positively collapsing into hysterics.

The universe actually lets Asriel get what he ought to have - the friend he'd always wished he had, someone who really and truly is the greatest person, the sort of kind of gentle friend he was meant to be with, and that's what he ends up getting? History repeating! The exact same fate! The angel who has seen the surface! The martyr who sacrifices for us all! The messiah, the victim soul! Born purely to suffer, and to suffer purely at that! A selfless, noble, romantic sort of agony, the kind people make paintings and carve statues of! He's literally destined to be wronged, to be tragic, to be exploited by a demon and trade himself for everyone's happiness!

And then there's Frisk! Once again, stripped of all individuality, reduced purely to the function they can provide to others! Somehow simultaneously an utter pacifist who would never take the life of someone else and a person who would plot to take the life of six human beings! Don't have to think about it too hard, what Frisk would want surely isn't a factor in what makes for a prettier narrative!

* Isn't that right?
* You mold the world to what you want it to be, and that includes Frisk.]

We really are exceptions, aren't we! We truly, completely do deserve inherently less than everyone else does, huh? Don't even deserve things like identity or personality!

[Frisk has to earn the right to a name by being good enough. Chara only gets the true name by pure chance, only if they're lucky, only if the one who names them knows things that have been buried. Otherwise, they'll take what they get and be grateful for it. Blank canvases, truly, to be slotted in and out as is convenient!]

Did the world ever see us as anything but SOULs? We really don't count as persons at all! Just... whatever bit of use can be wrung out of us, that's all we are.

That's what Undyne told us. That our SOUL...it was our only chance of redemption.

[They bury their face into the fabric of Chara's shirt, into their shoulder, and hope to god that they're not about to start crying. They've been doing so well up until now. Holding it all in. Biting their tongue or the wall of their cheek or clenching their jaw or whatever they had to do to keep from bursting into embarrassing tears.

They start to cry. of course they start to cry. They're going to soak Chara's nice shirt with their big stupid tears and ruin everything. They're going to mess it all up. It hurts. It hurts, and it hurts, and they hate it.]

Guess she was right, huh?

[The words emerge a high-pitched whisper as they try and fail to mangle a hold over their fraying control.]

Whatever we are, we...

If I didn't wanna stay here before, I do now. I do now. I don't wanna go back if that's all there is. Just...names and, and personalities people can just write over. Like we don't matter. Like we could be anyone.

[Big kids don't cry. Show a sign of weakness, and they'll eat you alive. Chew every last tender bit up and spit you out again. Keep up that immature snivelling and the world will really give you something to cry about.]

Crybaby.

[They shift one of their tense clinging hands, bring it up to the back of Frisk's head. Like they're trying to hide Frisk, shield them from the entire rest of the beach, even if nobody's paying attention to a couple of little brats sitting over in the dark sidelines. Speak when spoken to, go play in your room when the grown-ups are talking. Only allowed to be perceived when you can be of use.

There's hate smoldering in the pit of their stomach, bitter and acidic. Anger at humanity, society, the entire world, existence itself. A wild, futile loathing for the sheet, incomprehensible injustice of it.]

You don't need that world. You deserve better than that. You shouldn't have to settle for that. You deserve a world that gets how important you are! A world that... that's never even heard of us, that won't dump those useless expectations onto us or try to overwrite us at its own convenience.

I guess it - doesn't matter if we never go back, then. There'll just be another me, and another you. Maybe even with our places reversed!

[Ha...they hiccup-sob-laugh, and the sound emerges a strangled thing. Crybaby, Chara says, but it doesn't feel like there's much venom to it. Their hand goes to the back of their head in a motion that's so comforting and so Toriel and they - they -

They really do take after their mother, don't they?]

You deserve better too, okay? You deserve a world where, where you're allowed to have a chance. You deserve that, and I don't care if you don't think you do. I think you do.

So. So that's...that's the plan.

We don't go back. We find somewhere better. And, and it'll be okay.

[They nod once, a jerky, choppy movement impeded by the way they're still awkwardly clinging to Chara, their partner, their partner, who has not and maybe won't ever let go.]

[They feel the nod more than they see it, folded together as they are. A stirring against their shoulder, against their hand. Sensing it rather than observing it, almost like the echoes of one SOUL resonating off another. As close to melding together as they can get now.]

We can find some corner nobody else wanted and make it all our own. Maybe... if we can SAVE and ERASE, maybe we can create, too. Maybe we could even make emptiness home. I don't care where it is, as long as you're there.

[They... know it's childish, know it's impossible, know it's silly and embarrassing and immature, but they slip back towards naive escapism, the impossible kind of fantasy a kid dreams up as they're huddled in their closet.

Reality's... too much. Hurts too bad. Play pretend. It's the only comfort they can think of.]

We could take care of ourselves. I can cook, I can clean, I could...

[...Shoplift. That's not very reassuring or romantic.]

I could work. I already work at the diner here, so I've got experience. We could have a place in... in a forest somewhere, away from everyone. Nobody else would know where it was. We could grow flowers, and have shelves and shelves of books.

[Frisk laughs, and this time it's more genuine, more real. It's such a bizarre fantasy. These two children with the ability to warp space and time, and they're going to go off and just...make their own world. Make it their own! Doesn't matter where, they'll just invent it and invent themselves.

It's better than here. It's like that game they used to play. In a cupboard, under a bed, under a staircase, in a closet...wherever they were, they could play it.

"Anywhere but here."]

You don't have to do all the work. I know you always have to save me, but I can do some stuff. Like...like organize everything. Help keep the garden. And make sure you eat. Get something like a, a punching bag?

Whatever we need. Anything we want.

[Even if they might not always like to FIGHT, sometimes it pays to be able to defend oneself.

They certainly learned that well enough in these past few days.]

We'd take care of each other.

[They amend it to that. Would be sort of stupid to pretend that this is a completely one-sided partnership, that they just take care of Frisk and get nothing out of it. Frisk is not a burden.]

A big, heavy punching bag. And you could hang up drawings anywhere you want, and just tape them or pin them without worrying about wrecking the paint or the drywall. It... it wouldn't have to be a big place, if it was just the two of us. It could have a cozy kitchen. Not cramped, just... full. So it never feels too empty. And we'd have a table by the window, big enough for the two of us, and we could drink tea and look out over the garden.

We'd live somewhere warm, so we could just lie outside in the afternoons, and the sunlight would filter through the treetops until it dotted our skin like freckles. We'd smell grass and flowers in the breeze - lilacs, maybe - and we'd blow dandelion puffs without anyone making us feel bad for spreading weeds. We could pick berries and eat as many as want, and they taste so sweet that we don't mind they're sun-warm and there's juice on our fingertips.

[They don't even know what the point of elaborating like this is. Maybe Frisk will think it's stupid, because it sort of gives away how mundane and boring Chara's imagination actually is. They don't think in prismatic, towering gods or fanciful, creative impossibilities like Asriel does. Their self-insert is just them with a knife and a spooky face. Their make-believe escape, the Idlewild they dream up, is just... an ordinary, unspectacular place. No secret passages or waterslides or trampolines for floors. No neon pink skies or crystal ceilings.

Ha. Just flowers and kitchens and a drawer full of broken crayons.

Just the kind of world they'd once woven when they thought about the Surface they wanted to give to Asriel.]

[Their eyes slide shut as they let Chara talk, let the words wash over them. Breathing in and out, their hiccup-sobs fading as they listen, try to form a picture in their head.]

You're really good at this.

[Maybe they played this game too. Before they fell, and maybe even after. Imagined the details so cleanly and so completely that it seemed like, like maybe...maybe if they wished hard enough, wanted it badly enough, ached for it, really, really prayed for it to whatever deity might be listening, that it might appear. Didn't even dare to hope, just stood there with their eyes welded shut, whispering a litany of pleases to whatever higher power it was they hoped would hear them.

Please, please just take them away. Take them to that world they're imagining.

They don't know how long they stand there, listening to the waves, the cadence of Chara's voice, the picture they build in their mind. When they open their eyes, there's no house, no sun, no pictures, no gardens, no tea.

There's the beach, there's Wonderland, and there's Chara.

But the latter makes it all worth it.]

I used to do this all the time. Before...

[They laugh, breathy and short.]

I...I hope we can. I really, really hope we can.

So did I.

[Somehow it feels like saying so out loud isn't even necessary, like they both already understood without having to put it in words. Which is... it seemed like one of those things that nobody was capable of comprehending, didn't it? Make-believe was a game for Asriel, something to be picked up and put away like his toys. Pure, wholehearted, and innocent. Never melancholy or desperate, not until...

Well, that's what those endless loops had been, right? Squeezing your eyes shut and wishing for "not here" so fervently, so painfully. Trying and trying to keep something insubstantial and wistful clutched in your mind's grip, trying to make it feel real.

They wonder if this is just what make-believe is like for people who have suffered unbearably.

It's... not play, not at all, but Frisk has stopped crying, at least.]

We'll make it. Even if I have to plant a whole forest and build the house myself.

[They speak with firm conviction, even if they know how unrealistic, how impossible, how naive it is.]

I mean... maybe we can't exactly build paradise from the ground up, but... we can stick together, surely. Can still take care of each other. Even if it's Room 12 forever, or sleeping in an abandoned barn, or... or anywhere.

Home is...it's not always a place, right? It's like, like a feeling. Lots of feelings.

[A collection of sensations - the smell of butterscotch-cinnamon pie, the crisp snap of fire magic, books about snails. The strains of a guitarlike instrument, the tinkles of a music box, shielded from the rain by an outstretched umbrella.

The warm, woolly fabric of a white hat with soft ears and horns knitted into it. A bouquet of origami flowers artfully arranged in a vase. Pictures taped to the walls with clumsy inelegance, crayon drawings of flowers and houses and people.]

So home is...you.

[And they laugh, because it sounds so cheesy, like something you see on the back of a card, or something they'd hear in an animated after school special. But it's true. It's true.]

I don't care where we are. Long as we're together.

[That's so outlandishly sappy that Chara scrunches up their nose, laughing right with Frisk.]

You absolute dork.

[It's too, too cheesy to take it that seriously, to respond straight-faced with an earnest "welcome home" or something, but... home feels like a little too much pressure on their damaged ribs and Frisk's hair under their fingers and the smell of the soap Frisk uses, subtle under the atmospheric scents of salt and seaweed.]

If that's all it takes, then... then we'll be...

["Okay?"

They keep running into those loaded words over and over. Got to find a new word to accidentally smother with double-meaning.]

Maybe we can even manage to actually enjoy ourselves at this party. You know, for a minute or two. Between the wildfires.

What, like you weren't expecting it?

[Their tone is warm, though, utterly devoid of any bite whatsoever, as they draw back slowly, incrementally, so they can finally look at Chara and they can see the extent of whatever damage was done to them, not just the scratches of bandaged hands against their hair but actually seeing that they've been through...

They've suffered so much. They always do, but they were right. This party, this event, whatever it is, the one that's dragged people from all sorts of different worlds and exposed them to versions of themselves they never wanted to know about - it's been considerably more brutal than they ever would have expected it could be. Wouldn't have ever wanted it to be.]

What happened?

[For a second, they stare blankly, because they don't quite get what Frisk means. Then, rapid-fire, realization comes back. Ha, right! Wildfires! It's... probably not normal to be fighting with every new face you meet. Normal people are... probably having a lot of fun, actually, huh? This is a party. Parties are for fun.]

I fell off the monkey bars.

[Part of the rapid-fire reaction. Well-ingrained reflex. Realize it's not normal to hurt, answer with a normal sort of excuse for being hurt. Realize a second later that Wonderland doesn't have monkey bars, doesn't have a playground, doesn't have recess. Realize that Frisk is thirteen, so they're supposed to be thirteen too, they're not a kid, they're far too old to use playground equipment as an excuse. Should have said stairs. Should have said a tree.

...Realize they're making excuses to Frisk. Go a little redder, start to laugh.]

Turns out I don't like me very much. Nor do you. Or Toriel. Or Sans, unsurprisingly. It's probably just quicker to say that nobody here likes me very much.

Nothing to worry about, though! I haven't gained any more EXP. I promise. I've been on my best behaviour!

[No they didn't.

They don't need to shoot any holes in that excuse. They don't bother to. It's an utterly fake excuse, and they both know it. Frisk has "fallen down" enough "stairs," and "run into" enough "doors" to grasp that meaning full well.

Their hands are still resting on Chara's biceps, and they try not to tighten their grip at that string of admissions, the bright flurry of laughter that hurts to listen to.]

No one we know, right?

[Their tone is low and subtly urgent, searching Chara's gaze with an intensity that maybe doesn't suit the situation but - it's impossible to ignore that surge of outrage, of anger on their behalf.]

'Cause if it was someone here...

[They don't think they've ever made that kind of weighted threat before. They're not sure they like it. But the thought that so many people hurt them - hurt them when they've already been kicked repeatedly by a spiteful, stupid world, is - it's almost too much to bear.

It is too much to bear.]

[Chara doesn't understand this.]

Frisk, relax! I told you, I haven't gained any EXP. I haven't hurt any of your friends.

[That's what it's about, right? The sudden hardness behind Frisk's eyes, their fingers around Chara's arms, asking who it was... that's what it has to be about.

They grasp it in the same way that Frisk would, had their positions been reversed. They internalized that lesson, too: their life isn't worth as much as other lives are. It's normal for them to get hurt - it's only when they start to hurt back that it's a problem for anyway. If Chara's hurt, they had it coming, they earned it, they made us do this to you, Chara.

That's how it was when they were alive. That's how it was when they watched Frisk traverse the Underground. That's just - this is what the world is.]

Came close to it with Sans' mirror, though. He was trying to drag the real one into some kind of street brawl. Can you believe that? I never thought a Sans that tryhard could possibly exist.

That's not what I care about!

[Their tone cracks across the distance between them sharply as their brow knits down in concerned frustration.]

I care about you. I care that you're hurt. That people who hurt you are still walking around like nothing is wrong! That's not - that shouldn't be allowed.

[No one is supposed to hurt them. They already hurt themselves so efficiently, so completely, so constantly, in all the ways that cut into the both of them, so that the rest of the world doesn't get the satisfaction.]

I don't - I don't like that people just...attacked you.

[Chara is silent.

Chara doesn't understand this.

Of course they're walking around like nothing is wrong. That's what their parents did on the Surface. That's what the entire village did when a monster picked their corpse back up and silently walked away. That's what taught them the helpful hint they could pass along - if you look cuter, monsters won't hit you as hard.

That's what every single monster in the Underground did to Frisk, and it was super allowed. Like, Frisk deliberately walked all the way back to their homes to solve their problems and be their friends. They were rewarded for attacking Frisk. The only ones who even really offered a "hey sorry for trying to kill you" at all were, what, Asgore and Asriel?

And Frisk knows that, of course.

Frisk knows that. Chara doesn't even bother to point it out, because they're sure Frisk has pointed it out to themselves a thousand times already. Maybe, somehow, in spite of that, Frisk can believe in "it gets better" or "it'll stop someday," but... Chara wraps an arm around their sore ribs, like applying too much pressure again will change something.]

Nothing is wrong. It is allowed, and whether we like it or not has no influence over the matter.

[Frisk knows that.]

You know me, anyway. Always asking for it, huh? Rebel without a cause?

[They smile. It's not even a big deal. They're used to it. They're tough. It's not a good trait - it's a trait that proves they're a vile, horrid parasite - but they're a fighter. They're a spiteful, contrarian little thing that defies and instigates - invites trouble like this - and comes out of it still laughing defiantly! They can take what gets dished out, and they're not even bothered.

So... Frisk shouldn't be, either.]

You didn't ask for it. I don't care if you think you were asking for it. It's not fair and it shouldn't be - that's not how it should be. Not here. Not when I keep saying that - that things can be different, and they are.

They're not like how they were Underground. People shouldn't just - attack you for no reason.

[And Chara will FIGHT back, of course they'll FIGHT back, as they lash out back at the things that come at them, at a world that has been too unfair and too harsh and too unforgiving. They will always FIGHT back, but they will never deny the world the opportunity to strike them in the first place. They will never claim that it is not, in some twisted way, justified.

It doesn't matter. They don't care. They don't care, even if they considered themselves an acceptable loss Underground, used to dying, used to suffering for the sake of a greater cause, but Chara - Chara isn't. Chara isn't allowed to die and suffer like it doesn't matter. Like they don't matter.

"Things can be different," says Frisk, over and over again.

Guess they can just add that one to their long, long list of broken promises.]

Sans's mirror. A version of you. A version of...me? Toriel? Who else. Anyone else?

[Chara - Chara's starting to feel nervous?

Where's the "what did you do," where's the "you could have tried something else?" Why is Frisk saying stuff like this instead of asking what they said to provoke all those people, or chiding them for not trying to run or call for help or talk their way out of it? Why aren't they considering what Chara's guilty of?

Did they... make this happen? Are... they're being manipulative, aren't they? Bending Frisk over to their side. And now Frisk's getting a list of names. People who wear the same faces as Frisk's friends. People who Frisk would probably get along with just fine, except now Chara's isolating them, poisoning their relationships, making Frisk choose Chara over everyone else. And for what? A bump here, a little bitty cut there? Barely even hurts! They've got 99 DF, they can withstand it! So why are they making Frisk feel sorry for them, when there's nothing even worth feeling sorry over, when it's not even as bad as it could be, when the last thing they want is worthless pity?

Why didn't they just keep it to themselves?]

Frisk, shut up. It's - that's just how the world works. I've had worse! So have you!

What's it even... who cares who did it? What, you're gonna go look for them and maybe * Flirt? Steal their hats and tell funnier ice puns than theirs? Go on pretend dates with them and have cooking lessons? Yeah, that'll show them!

I don't like you being hurt!

[The words come out much more harshly than they mean them to, cracked out hotly with a fierceness bordering on shouting. Determination wells up briefly inside them, almost prompting a reflexive SAVE -

They divert it. They're not in any danger. And Chara's...okay. They're okay. The adrenaline is pumping wildly through their veins, but it's okay. Even if the sight of bandages on their partner's arms is almost too much to bear, even if now they - they match the ones on Frisk's.]

Was it my mirror? It was, wasn't it? They're always hurting your mirror, and they must've been so - so happy to finally get their hands on the Real thing. [Their tone vibrates with thinly-concealed disgust, outrage, anger. If they could just talk to their Mirror, face to face, for five minutes...]

[Always hurting Chara's mirror, are they? What sort of pitiful, utterly un-Chara-like thing are they, if they let themselves be hurt and do nothing about it?

(Why do I keep trusting you? They demand it desperately around heaves, ashamed and humiliated and sick and invaded, even if they know they're bad for asking, because it was for your own good.)

Maybe it's Wonderland's idea of a joke. Look, everyone! Now Frisk's the bad one and Chara's the good one! Hilarious, right?]

It wasn't anyone.

[It barely even counts as a lie if Frisk knows it's false and Chara knows it's false. But people look away when you tell them you tripped, you just teased a cat and it scratched you, you were climbing a fence on a dare and you slipped, no matter how often you make those excuses. Talking about it never stops it, and it's a relief to them if you give them permission to not make it their problem.

Frisk gets that, right? They never called Papyrus and went "hey, Undyne is literally raining spears on me relentlessly, please make her stop." Never told Sans the lady behind the door might prefer it if he asked Papyrus to just not capture the human at all. Never told Alphys that they didn't like being manipulated or lied to.]

I'm not trying to make things messier. Let's just... have fun, okay?

[Can't give Frisk names. If they gather EXP, ruin that pristine, innocent zero they've held onto for so long... that'd be Chara's fault. If they really do take Chara's mockery seriously and run off to go have cooking lessons or heckle the responsible parties...

Ha. The world will do what it always does to people who don't find back. Will do what it did to Asriel. Throw stones, swing bats, get the hunting rifle. That will be Chara's fault, too. They tug their sleeves down lower, pull the hem of their shirt down, shift their shorts to be sure that everything is all nice and covered.]

Forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind. Parties are supposed to be happy.

+ FOURTH WALL EVENT: BEACH PARTY +

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abuse allusion cw

following that up with a self-harm cw

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